Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her morning begins with a surprise from two visitors—one, a familiar crow, and the other a familiar cat. The rain pelts against the outside of the mansion, bringing a damp smell through the fresh air, and both of her guests are more than happy to burst inside the moment she slides open the door. Chachamaru steps forward with some degree of uncertainty, at least, but the crow belonging to the Ubuyashiki family shows no sign of hesitation before descending upon her shoulder and nudging her with the letter enclosed in its beak.

“Good morning to you, too,” Shinobu chirps. She plucks the letter from its grasp. “I imagine this will take me a bit to get through. Tell Oyakata-sama my response will be along within the hour.”

The crow bobs its head once before detaching itself from her shoulder and darting out through the open door. Shinobu shoves the door shut. Chachamaru will not leave before she pens a response, anyway. Taking a moment to wipe the dirt of Chachamaru’s paws with a warm towel, she then leads the cat back into her office.

The Butterfly Mansion is quiet at this time of the morning, save for the rain droplets that hit against its walls. Its inhabitants are likely still sleeping, though she expects that they’ll begin to rouse within the hour. The only one that might be awake right now is Kanao, but Kanao understands how sacred Shinobu’s privacy can be. There’s no chance at an interruption from anyone. 

Even so, Shinobu gently closes the door once Chachamaru crosses the threshold into her office. 

“Well,” Shinobu says, “come closer, won’t you? If Tamayo-san sent you all this way, it must be important.”

She’s never been a fan of furry creatures. She can appreciate the crows that function within the Corps, and she has a special fondness for her goldfish, but the unpredictability of cats and dogs have always kept her away. But Chachamaru is patient while they wait for Shinobu to take a seat at her desk and pull the additional letter out of their backpack. 

Shinobu unfurls the letter, recognizing Tamayo’s penmanship immediately.

Kocho,

Thank you for sending along the most recent blood samples from Nezuko. As I suspect you’ve already realized from your own studies, Nezuko’s blood cells continue to evolve at a rapid rate, as they have from the moment I met her. It’s gotten to the point that I don’t know whether the constant evolution is due to an attempt to reverse her demon nature back to that of  a human, or if she’s becoming something beyond any demon you or I might’ve encountered. It is rather curious, and this is precisely why I’m hoping you’ll send along another sample with Chachamaru as the last one is over two months old. Please give her my deepest apologies. But you and I both know that creating the cure is our utmost priority, and I hope she’ll forgive me for asking her to extend her generosity again. 

I’ve sent along the most recent version of “the cure” with Chachamaru. I’ve not had any more successes with this batch. I worry the two of us have reached a standstill. It is possible that the blood from Upper Six is not enough. 

We may need a blood sample from someone higher up in the Kizuki. At present, the cure can only help a demon regain their sense of self rather than reverse the effects of Kibutsuji’s blood completely—and even so, the process requires a great deal of time at present and numerous doses…

I’m enclosing a list of ingredients that I’m hoping you have in your reserve for testing. I hope that my theory is incorrect. I fear that the lives of your comrades that have since joined Kibutsuji’s side—

Shinobu stops reading with a sigh. She sets the letter aside, ignoring Chachamaru’s cries of protest, and turns her attention to the other letter, this one from Ubuyashiki.

Shinobu,

I am writing this letter on behalf of my husband, who sends his regards. I hope this letter finds you and the rest of the inhabitants of the Butterfly Mansion well.

I wanted to check in regarding the cure and the progress—

This time, the smile does slip off her face. Shinobu huffs, the simple action sending her stray hairs askew. She understands Amane’s concerns and questions, and she understands Tamayo’s insistence, and most of all, she understands the importance of the cure and why its responsibility has rested on her shoulders. If she and Tamayo can’t create the perfect cure to turn a demon back into a human, to reverse the effects of Kibutsuji’s blood, then she will have failed again to save the people that depend on her. She will have failed Nezuko, and—

Her fingers clench into a fist as she continues reading, skimming past Amane’s questions.

We received a report last night from an eyewitness that claims she spotted a figure with different colored eyes and a snake wrapped around his neck climbing the rooftops of her village. She thinks she remembers him having blood on his hands, but the shock makes her uncertain. Regardless, although we may not wish to believe it, this sighting confirms that the worst may have happened.

Please, if there is any progress at all, let us know. 

Ubuyashiki Amane

There isn’t any sense of relief that comes from finishing the letter. She folds it closed with delicate fingers, secretly glad that it’s too early for anyone else in the mansion to be awake to witness her visible frustration. She knows better than most that the cure is a priority. For Nezuko, the cure would mean regaining her sense of self and being able to walk beneath the sunlight again. Everyone wants for her to be able to recapture her humanity.

Despite her unchanging hatred for demons, Nezuko is different. Nezuko is as earnest and kind as Tanjiro, and even though the odds have been stacked against her, she has never resorted to Kibutsuji’s desires. She has never harmed or killed a human, instead protecting them with her own life. 

The cure has always been a priority—for Nezuko’s sake. It just so happens that creating the cure has taken on a new meaning these last few months.

Tamayo and Amane are right to be frustrated. Shinobu is too. This is how she’s meant to contribute in their fight against Muzan, and instead, they’re at a standstill.

Shinobu draws out two new sheets of paper, one in response to each letter. Even if her replies wind up half-hearted, she has to answer. The last paragraph of Amane’s letter in particular warrants a response, even if it makes her stomach turn to think of the implications.

A figure with different colored eyes and a snake wrapped around his neck —very few people would fit that description. 

She’s about to scrawl the first letters when her ears prick, detecting another sound that cuts through the patter of raindrops. There is the soft scrape of footsteps right outside her window, slow and unhurried.

The usual visitors to the Butterfly Mansion arrive in a hurry with various injuries that need to be seen immediately. It is a rare occurrence for someone to stop by leisurely, in the middle of a downpour no less.

Shinobu slips out of her office, ignoring Chachamaru’s mewls, and she retraces her path to the front door. The presence on the other side is neither demonic nor a threat, but they don’t make themselves known even as her own footsteps reach them. It is only when she slides the door open again that she realizes who would act in such a bizarre manner.

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says, trying and failing to mask the surprise in her voice. Tomioka stands on the engawa, tucked in beneath the roof in an attempt to avoid the weather. But he’s doing a terrible job: his hair is soaked, and his haori is damp enough that she wonders whether it’s worth warning him that he might catch a cold. Even at the sound of her voice, his eyes remain slightly unfocused, his gaze directed upwards towards the stormy clouds before finally resting on her. “What brings you here? No injuries, I hope?”

He shifts his weight to his other leg. “No.”

“Then you’re not here just to get yourself sick outside my estate, are you?”

At that, he frowns. “No.”

His responses are as stilted as their conversations tend to be, but she flashes him a smile nonetheless. To anyone watching, this sounds like a perplexing conversation, but for those who know Tomioka at all, there is a major difference in how he speaks.

Tomioka’s temperament has improved in the past few months. She doesn’t know all of the details—Tomioka would never tell—but from what she gathered, a few conversations with Tanjiro were enough to cause a ripple in his stoic exterior. He’s not any less awkward. He still misses social cues unknowingly, and his ability to hold a conversation hasn’t improved. But the intention is different: before, Tomioka might’ve walked away instead of persevering through the awkward encounter. Now, he steps inside the estate, removing his sandals and taking the towel she offers to him without a word. 

“Thanks, Kocho,” Tomioka murmurs. He drags the towel through his hair, ruffling it in a way that makes him appear boyish. 

“At least you haven’t forgotten all of your manners,” she says. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m going out on a mission.” His eyes flick down towards the towel in his grasp. “There are reports of several men disappearing over the last week and a half in a village up north. I’m being sent to investigate.”

Her eyes widen. If it had been a year ago, a Hashira being sent out regarding these reports would be commonplace and expected. It would be their duty to investigate. It shouldn’t fill her with surprise, but circumstances have changed. Nowadays, in the past few months, missions being directly assigned to the Hashira have grown rare. 

“Really? Oyakata-sama asked himself?”

Tomioka hums. “As far as we know, whatever demon is there hasn’t been damaging the village, but the rate at which these humans are vanishing is worrisome. I’m being sent because it’s within my region.”

“But—” Almost as soon as the complaint rises, she forces it down. Tomioka is a Hashira. This is their responsibility—to protect the innocent and defenseless. If she received an assignment tomorrow, she would go without hesitation too. “You ought to be careful then, Tomioka-san. We can’t afford to lose any more Hashira. The last time a Hashira was sent to investigate a demon sighting alone—”

It’s becoming an effort to maintain her smile, especially as the memories swim to the surface of her mind. She remembers the crows and their anguished calls, the emergency summons to Ubuyashiki’s estate. She can still hear the gasps of her comrades and Kanroji’s muffled sobs as though it were yesterday. 

It’s happened twice. It happened eight months back when Shinazugawa didn’t return. Everyone had been forced to assume the worst—that he’d encountered an Upper Rank and died as Rengoku had. It happened again three months ago, when all the Kakushi could find of Iguro was his sword. Again, it had been believed that he died in battle. 

But their bodies had never been recovered. 

It shouldn’t have meant anything. Demons are bloodthirsty and merciless, and they could’ve easily consumed all of a Hashira’s flesh if it meant absorbing their strength. That might’ve been a mercy. 

It hadn’t been until the first eyewitness report that Shinobu ever considered that Shinazugawa and Iguro’s fates could’ve been much worse than death.

She’d had no intentions of revealing the contents of Amane’s letter to anyone else. The less people knew, the better. It wouldn’t help anyone to worry about what they couldn’t control. But the Ubuyashiki family would never expect the Hashira to keep secrets from each other. 

“I received a letter from Oyakata-sama this morning,” she says instead. “There’s been another potential sighting of Iguro-san.”

Tomioka’s lips press into a thin line. 

“I know you’re very capable, Tomioka-san, but at this point, we have to assume that the Hashira are being targeted. Instead of killing us, Muzan is…”

Tomioka nods. “I know.” He hands the towel back over to her. “But we’re Pillars. We have to set an example. I’m not more special than anyone else. I don’t expect my life to be protected more than anyone else’s either.”

“How noble.” The sentiment is similar to what he’d once said to her many years ago. At that time, she’d been reeling in the aftermath of Kanae’s death, and the doubts over whether she deserved her position had sunk its teeth in her. His words then had struck a chord, as they do now. “You’ve changed, Tomioka-san.”

A furrow appears between his brows. “How?”

She shrugs. “For one, you sound like you believe in what you’re saying.”

His eyes flutter shut, though she can’t tell if he’s more exasperated or frustrated with her. “Kocho.”

“Be careful, regardless!” She changes the subject before he can press further. “You’re a Pillar, so you are important to the Corps. I’d hate to hear that you fought an Upper Rank and faced an untimely death.”

It isn’t worth mentioning that death no longer seems like the worst outcome. 

“Kocho.”

“Tomioka-san.”

His eyes flutter open once more, searching hers. It’s odd how Tomioka manages to make something as simple as eye contact unnerving, but somehow, he does. “I came here because I wanted to see if you needed supplies since I’m heading out anyway. Oyakata-sama said you might be running low on a few things. I can make the trip for you.”

Her eyebrows rise to her hairline. “Here I thought you were inviting me along to be your partner on this mission. That’s unusually thoughtful of you.”

Tomioka ignores her second comment. “You shouldn’t accompany me. It’s not safe.”

“Safe for who?”

“You should stay here. Your work with Tamayo-san is important.”

Shinobu feels her eye twitch. Somehow, even though Tomioka understands that his own life should not be guarded with unequal priority, he’s unwittingly prioritizing her life over his. It’s infuriating, as is everything else about him. 

Tomioka continues on, not noticing her own internal struggle over whether to throw the towel back in his face. “It’s always been important—for Nezuko. But if it’s true that Shinazugawa and Iguro have been turned into demons, then the cure is even more imperative.”

In the end, she decides to set the towel down. “Why?” The question sounds hollow, even to her, despite the grin she offers. “Do you think that Shinazugawa-san and Iguro-san would want the cure if that is the case? Do you think that their human selves would want the second chance? If it is true that they are now demons, they will not be like Nezuko. They will be ruthless and cruel, and they’ll have killed many. Is that what they deserve?”

Tomioka is silent. Shinobu suppresses the sigh that reaches her lips. She’s gone too far. Her frustrations and doubts are her own, and regardless of how she feels, she is also a Hashira under orders. Oyakata-sama has asked her to devote as much time as possible into developing the cure—not just for Nezuko’s sake, but for Shinazugawa’s and Iguro’s as well. Besides, her former comrades did not choose their fates, and she’s in no position to hold what happened against them. 

She is not like Tomioka, who showed mercy to Nezuko even though it went against everything he’d been taught. She is not like Tanjiro, who befriended two demons when they offered their help. She is not like Kanae. She is not Kanae, who’d been gentle and kind and foolish, and who would’ve been devastated over hearing what had become of the two Hashira.

“Apologies,” Shinobu says. “Never mind that. I do have a list. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d take the detour.”

She turns without another word in search of spare paper, not waiting to see if Tomioka will follow. After twenty minutes, she’s given Tomioka a full list, including some of Tamayo’s requests, and with the rest of the estate beginning to stir, she’s eager to hurry Tomioka out the door before anyone notices.

When they step outside on the engawa, the rain has slowed, though it’s stormy enough that she knows all of Tomioka’s efforts to dry his hair will go to waste. He tucks the list she’s given him into his uniform and tilts his head back towards the sky. 

“Not too late to grab an umbrella,” she says. “You couldn’t have chosen a better time to leave.”

“The journey will take a few hours,” Tomioka says. “I can’t afford to wait. By the time I arrive, the sun will have set.”

“I know.”

Tomioka twists his body away from the droplets that slip from the roof. He misjudges the distance between them, though, and nearly leaps back into the storm in surprise once he realizes she’s closer than he thought. From where he stands, his head blocks out the hint of the sun behind the clouds. Belatedly, Shinobu realizes that he smells like the rain.

“Kocho,” Tomioka begins. “What you said before—about whether Shinazugawa and Iguro deserve a second chance.”

“No need to worry about that. I still intend to make the cure. It’ll be up to Oyakata-sama then.”

“That’s not what I wanted to say.” He tilts his head, and once again, Shinobu marvels at how earnest Tomioka can be now that he’s more at ease with himself. She’s known him for several years now, but his actions as of late make it seem as though she hardly knew him at all. “I understand your reasoning. If they are demons, they’re not like Nezuko. They won’t be innocent.”

Shinobu waits, sensing he has more to say.

“But I don’t want anyone else to die because of Muzan.” He frowns. “I want to save as many lives as possible. It feels like we’re giving him a victory if we kill Shinazugawa and Iguro. I’m sure that’s what he’s hoping for.”

“Probably,” she echoes.

Tomioka turns away, and she sees then in the tension of his shoulders that he must be as tired of loss and grief as she is. Who has Tomioka lost? Will she die before she finds out? Will he ever tell her? They’re hardly friends to begin with.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” Tomioka says without preamble. His hand slides along the sheath of his sword. “Goodbye, Kocho.”

“Goodbye, Tomioka-san.” Then, because it feels like a bad omen to omit, she adds, “Stay safe.”

Tomioka is gone within the next instant, the bright colors of his haori vanishing from her sight within the blink of an eye, and it’s almost like he’d never been there to begin with. Shinobu returns to the two letters that demand her attention, and by the time Tomioka’s expected to return, she’s too absorbed in her studies to notice that he hasn’t arrived. 

Shinobu is the last person to see Tomioka Giyuu before he, too, disappears.

Chapter Text

Two months have passed since Tomioka’s disappearance. At the scene, the kakushi had only been able to recover his broken sword and his haori, torn into shreds like the demon he’d faced had taken particular joy in tearing Tomioka apart. There had been nothing else to show that he’d ever been there at all, save for the crows that had been tailing him until he’d vanished. 

There haven’t been any sightings of him since either. While Iguro and Shinazugawa are slightly more identifiable, it’s harder to match Tomioka’s description perfectly to any witness reports. It’s pure speculation on their part, and no one wants to dwell on the hard truth that the Demon Slayer Corps have lost not one, not two, but three Hashira to Muzan. It’s preferable to plow ahead, to plan next steps, and for Shinobu, that starts with perfecting the cure. 

There’s been some progress, though admittedly not as much as she’d like. They’ve been able to use Nezuko’s blood to help a demon turned by Muzan regain his sense of self, but the transformation is not complete. He never changed back into a human. But any progress is better than none—though celebrating is easier said than done. 

It’s hard to acknowledge any positives. Every Hashira meeting is punctuated by the absences of those that are missing; those that have died, retired, or allied with Muzan leave behind empty spaces that are impossible to ignore. No matter how much Himejima tries to keep discussions focused on next steps for the Corps or how much she wards off questions concerning the cure, there is no denying that there is a gaping wound in the Corps. 

Lower-ranked slayers are dying on a continuous basis, and the Hashira have no choice but to pull back, to remain hidden as the Ubuyashiki family do. It’s a decision that isn’t taken lightly by Oyakata-sama, who wanted nothing more than to avoid preventing the Hashira from fulfilling their duty. But there’s no longer any doubts about Muzan’s intentions. He’s tracking down Hashira for the sole purpose of transforming them into demons. If he were killing them, that would be a different matter. But transforming them—it not only rips away all of their humanity, but he’s creating more enemies for the Hashira left behind. Oyakata-sama has no other choice.

It’s frustrating for the rest of them, too. They’ve been given the title of Hashira as a sign of their dedication to killing demons. Now, they have no choice but to stand down and allow the younger, less experienced slayers to answer to reports and demon sightings. More of them are dying without the Hashiras’ support, and at this rate, they won’t have enough manpower to even consider challenging Muzan. It’s humiliating knowing that she can be out there with them, preventing more death, saving at least one person, and instead, she’s kept shackled to her estate, barely leaving the fenced-in property. 

She never gets to go outside anymore. Except for today. 

Today, she’s headed to the Ubuyashiki Estate. Normally, she’d receive a letter penned by Amane if there was something to inform her of. This time, she was the one who took the initiative, asking for Oyakata-sama’s permission before dropping in. 

As of late, Oyakata-sama’s condition has taken a nosedive. He used to be able to oversee all of the Hashira meetings, even if he had to sit or take breaks. Now, Amane has taken over the role in his stead, and last she heard, he’s been confined to his bed. He’s almost lost all mobility. He also hasn’t accepted visitors lately, though today, he’s agreed to see her. 

The wisteria hanging from the fencing surrounding his estate is the first thing she spots as she crosses over the hill. The sun is bright today, and its warm rays beat down on her back as she reaches the engawa and announces herself.

“Hello,” she murmurs. “I am here.” 

Amane is the one who slides open the door for her. She looks as lovely as ever, but it’s evident that the stress of the past year—as well as Oyakata-sama’s worsening condition—are taking its toll. There are the hints of dark shadows beneath her eyes, and her smile is slightly pained as she welcomes Shinobu inside.

“Kocho-san,” Amane says, her voice light and airy. She bows her head, and Shinobu returns the gesture. “Thank you for stopping by.”

“Thank you for having me,” Shinobu says. She’s the one intruding on their privacy, after all. She’s been around long enough to know how precious time is for the sick and their loved ones. The last thing she wants is to overstay her welcome. “I apologize for the short notice.”

“Not at all. My husband is happy to hear your voice again.”

It’s only then that Shinobu realizes that the figure laid out on the futon behind Amane is Oyakata-sama. It takes everything in her to suppress her surprise. It’s been months since the last time she saw him, and the rumors circulating the Corps are nothing compared to seeing him in person. To say that the effects of his illness are worsening would be an understatement: bandages cover the entirety of his face, and the purple blotches beneath his skin—not dissimilar to effects of the poison she uses—have traveled further across his body. His lips twitch in the faintest smile at the sound of her voice, but he makes no move to sit up or lift his head.

“Oyakata-sama,” she says, sinking to her knees and bowing. “I’m terribly sorry to intrude.”

“Shinobu,” he starts. If there’s one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s his voice. Calm and reassuring at the same time. The sound of her name relaxes her in an instant. “Do not apologize, my child. No visit from any of my children could be seen as an intrusion. I was happy to hear from you.”

“Thank you, Oyakata-sama.” Shinobu raises her head. “I wanted to come speak to you in person. Letters can be rather impersonal, and I wanted the chance to properly convey my intentions.”

One of the children enters the room with a tray holding a teapot. Shinobu takes the cup offered to her with a gentle smile.

“What is it that you wanted to speak to me about?”

“I know that you and your family have been anxious over whether the cure is almost complete.” Shinobu takes a scalding sip, and she relishes in how the tea burns her tongue. It keeps her centered—keeps her from backtracking. She tries her best to avoid turning away from Oyakata-sama’s gaze, even if his own is unfocused. “Tamayo-san and I have been hard at work. Thanks to Nezuko’s rapid evolution, we believe we should be reaching the final testing stages within the month.”

Oyakata-sama’s smile is strained, as though any movement draws an intense amount of effort. “That is wonderful news. Thank you, Shinobu.”

Amane settles down to sit at the opposite end of Oyakata-sama’s futon with a cup of tea of her own. Her expression is full of relief. It makes all of the sleepless nights and the incessant headaches worthwhile. If she can provide this family some small amount of peace, she can endure further. It’s a shame that there is a catch.

“However,” she says, setting her cup down, “there are a few herbs that are required in order to stabilize the poison. As you know, Tamayo-san is in hiding, and Yushiro-san is unable to leave their residence freely as he once was. I offered to be the one to procure the last set of ingredients that are needed.”

At that, Oyakata-sama releases a sigh. The sound is tainted with exhaustion, but it lacks the surprise Shinobu had worried about. “I should’ve expected this. Of course it would make sense for you to go.” His lips press into a fine line. “You understand why this makes me uneasy.”

Of course. The last three solo Hashira missions resulted in those Hashira disappearing. The Hashira haven’t been allowed outside of their personal residences since Tomioka went missing.

“I do,” she says. “But the cure is our priority, is it not? We won’t be able to progress without these ingredients, and unfortunately, there’s no way of sending another in my place. Only I know exactly what is needed.”

Amane’s brows are furrowed. She looks between Oyakata-sama and Shinobu, gauging her husband’s response.

“Tamayo-san alerted me to a greenhouse she used to frequent not too far from here. It’s a few hours’ journey. I can be there and back within the day.”

“It is not that I don’t trust your abilities, Shinobu.” His expression pinches. “It’s that I don’t think I can bear losing another of my children. I’m sorry—for placing this burden in your hands. If I had any way of easing the weight you carry, I’d do so.”

Her eyes widen. “Oyakata-sama…”

“Unfortunately, I am powerless. I can only ask too much of you.”

“It is not too much. I want to help. I want to do more.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t blame you if you believed my insistence on the cure was a fool’s endeavor.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Shinobu, I thank you for doing everything possible to bring us closer to creating the cure. I know that it must not have been easy working with Tamayo-san and Yushiro-san, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t believe it to be worthwhile.” Oyakata-sama’s fingers clench at his side. “Muzan has done the unthinkable. It was not enough for him to hurt my children. Instead, he had to destroy their souls as well. He has turned them into monsters simply out of spite. I realize that they might not thank me for offering them a cure, and that they might prefer death after all they’ve done, but I cannot bear it. They’ve been singled out because of their connection to me. I want to do everything I can. If they can still have peaceful, long lives after this, that is what I want.”

After all that, how can she say they don’t deserve it to Oyakata-sama’s face? If Kanae were here, she’d agree with Oyakata-sama. She would’ve wanted Iguro and Shinazugawa and Tomioka to have another opportunity to be human again. She would’ve been able to forgive them. It speaks to how rotten her own heart is that she can’t muster the same sympathy. 

She understands Tomioka’s sentiment a little better than Oyakata-sama’s—that killing the Hashira-turned-demons would be like allowing Muzan a victory. She can at least recognize that.

“As you wish, Oyakata-sama.” Shinobu lowers her head again. “If you will grant me permission, I will continue to do everything in my power, beginning with this journey.”

Oyakata-sama hesitates for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright. You should take someone with you—” He breaks off to cough. “You should take someone with you in case anything happens.”

“I’ll be quicker alone. I’ll draw less attention that way as well.”

Oyakata-sama coughs again, and Amane offers him a tissue.

“I understand your concern,” Shinobu says, “but I promise to be quick. I will be back by tomorrow. The crows will be following me.”

“The crows were also following Tomioka-san before he disappeared,” Amane says while searching her husband’s face. “We won’t be able to guarantee your safety if you go alone.”

“Tamayo-san is updated with all of our recent findings. I’ve also detailed everything in my journals. If something were to happen to me, we would not lose our progress.” She almost doesn’t add this last part, but there’s no point in dancing around it. “There’s also the factor that I may be better protected against Muzan’s blood than anyone else. The poison in my system…” She raises a hand to her heart. “I think at most, he’d only be able to kill me. Not turn me.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” Oyakata-sama peels the tissue away from his face. “That is simply conjecture.”

“I understand. Even so, rather than us expending manpower we don’t have to spare, it would be better this way. If I’m alone, I won’t be slowed down.”

Oyakata-sama releases another deep sigh. The exhale almost sounds as though his lungs are rattling within. “It is not about what is more efficient. It is about your life, Shinobu. I don’t want anyone else to be taken from us.”

Shinobu’s shoulders sag. She understands where Oyakata-sama is coming from. She’d be heartbroken to learn that another Hashira was taken from them. But this is how she’s been asked to be useful to the Corps. She cannot find it in herself to give up out of fear for her own life. “I know,” she says. “I’ll be careful.”

A few seconds pass before Oyakata-sama lets out an affirmative noise. “Very well. You have my permission.”

She sits up straight. “Thank you, Oyakata-sama,” she says, clasping her hands together. “I will not let you down.”

He chuckles beneath his breath. “That was never a concern of mine. You have never disappointed me.”

Her heart swells at that. It’s been so long since she’s heard words of praise from someone who comes as close to a parental figure as it gets. She bows her head deeply. “Thank you again. I will depart once the sun rises tomorrow.”

“Understood,” Oyakata-sama says. As Shinobu prepares to depart, handing her empty cup back to Amane, her master’s voice drags her back. “Be careful, Shinobu. Protect your life.”

Run if needed. Don’t sacrifice your life. That is what Oyakata-sama is trying to say. She smiles back, albeit a bit sadly. There will come a time when she will have to relinquish her life for the greater good. The sacrifice will be needed some day, but Oyakata-sama is right—that day is not today. 

“I will,” she promises. “Goodbye. Thank you.”

Shinobu gives herself the evening to prepare. Kanao returns when the sun is setting, and Shinobu sets aside the time to receive her tsuguko’s mission report and inform her of what needs to be done in her absence. Aoi is already on top of the estate’s chores, and Kiyo, Naho, and Sumi listen to her instructions eagerly. It’s impossible not to notice the glimmer of concern shimmering in each of their eyes once they hear she will be leaving the safety of the mansion, but that worry becomes resolve once she states that it’s for the sake of the development of the cure and that she’ll only be gone for a day, if not two.

She allows herself the chance to sleep for a few hours. She might’ve tried pulling an all-nighter if she didn’t have to make the entire trip by foot, but as it is, she needs to be fully rested. She can’t afford to be taken by surprise.

Once the sun peeks its head over the horizon, she’s off. 

The greenhouse Tamayo had guided her to sits within an abandoned village a few hours from the estate. The town itself is quiet and eerie. It’s had the unfortunate luck of falling victim to terrible flooding over the years: most of the villagers have moved on, leaving dilapidated homes behind and overgrown greenery that sticks to her feet with each step. She has yet to see another person since entering the village, which is a blessing—the less she’s noticed by humans, the less of a chance she has of being discovered by a demon.

Unfortunately, the emptiness of the town means there is no one to ask for directions. She can only adhere to the instructions sent in Tamayo’s letter as best as possible, and even then, the sun has almost set by the time she discovers the greenhouse nestled within a grove of trees, most of which have lost their leaves and color. 

There is a flurry of wings from above, and Shinobu braces herself before her crow, En, settles on her shoulder.

“SHINOBU-SAMA,” she says. “ARE WE HERE?”

“Mhm.” Shinobu hums. She reaches up to stroke her crow’s head once while climbing over a fallen tree trunk. “This is the place. Will you keep an eye out in case anyone approaches?”

“YES, SHINOBU-SAMA.” En puffs her chest before launching off of her shoulder and soaring upwards towards the roof of the building. 

There are other crows nearby, their caws audible from where she stands. She can hear at least two others trailing her other than her own. That thought is reassuring, at least. 

Shinobu reaches the entrance to the greenhouse, jammed shut from the vines that have crawled through the cracks. It takes her a few minutes to slice them away with her sword, and finally, the door opens. 

Tamayo had not been exaggerating when she’d said that the inside might have suffered some decay since she’d been here last. Several pots are shattered on the wet floor, the evidence of rain leaking through open holes in the roof, and many of the plants she passes have withered, their leaves crispy and brown. 

The building has two floors: the ground floor contains more of the vegetables and fruits likely tended to by a farmer that has since moved on, and the top shelters the herbs and medicinal plants. There is a ladder braced by the wall, which she uses to climb up to avoid slipping. 

The plants on the top floor, she realizes, are in much better condition than those down below. A droplet of water lands on her nose once her feet are back on solid ground. She tilts her head back to follow the source to another gaping hole in the roof. It makes sense now—even without constant attention, they at least had access to rainwater.

It’s time to get to work. Shinobu retrieves a drawstring pouch and holds it out in front of her while her eyes scan the labels in front of the individual pots. Most of the writing is blotted out, but her expert eye can pick apart the species even without the additional help. She needs to be quick. She promised. Without wasting another second, she begins cutting from the plants she needs. 

The minutes tick by, and the night sky crawls overhead, the incandescent glow from the moon providing enough light for her to continue. With each passing second, her heart beats more furiously with the acknowledgment that she’s running out of time. The longer she’s here in the dead of night, the greater the chances of someone stumbling upon her. Her fingers weave through the stems with practiced ease, but there’s the faintest tremble that she hasn’t known since the first time she operated on a patient. Although she doesn’t want to admit it to herself, deep down, she’s terrified. 

It’s dark outside by the time she’s finished. Tightening the string on the pouch, she tucks it away with no small amount of relief. She has everything she needs. Now, she needs to get out—

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, there’s a sharp caw from En. 

Her body reacts before her mind registers what’s happening. She ducks down just as a pair of arms crash through the gash in the ceiling, narrowly missing the crown of her head. Even through the dim light, her eyes make out the sharp glints of claws on the ends of the fingertips that reach for her. 

Demon, she thinks, and a year ago, the presence of one wouldn’t have been so paralyzing. But now, fear washes over her like a flood, and her years of experience are all that spur her forward as she rolls along the floor away from the outstretched pair of hands.

“Ooh, we got one!” the demon crows, the voice distinctly female. The arms disappear, but her relief is short-lived as two loud bangs reverberate through the building. The paneling of the roof gives way, and two blurry figures crash through the ceiling, landing on either side of her. They land with inhuman ease, and she doesn’t need to catch a glimpse of the other to know that they must also be a demon. “Look at her!”

The other demon—a male, she guesses—clicks his tongue. “She’s small,” he complains. “She’s not nearly enough to be satisfying.”

“Don’t complain,” the first demon snaps. Her profile is the one that swims into Shinobu’s vision first. Her fangs gleam with irrepressible glee. “You should be lucky we ran into a human at all! No one ever comes here.”

“I guess.”

Shinobu twists away as the female demon reaches for her again. Her ankle knocks into the end of a wooden table, but she’s able to land on her feet at the edge of the platform. “Oh, dear,” she coos. Her heart hammers in her chest, but this is no time to let the nerves overtake her. She’s not a lower-ranked slayer. She’s a Hashira—the Insect Hashira, damn it—and these are two weak demons intending to ensnare a rabbit without knowing she has a stinger. “It appears we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. The moon is lovely tonight, isn’t it?”

The female demon tilts her head, her lips curling back. “What?”

“Why don’t we try this again? We should all be friends!”

Both of the demons have matching perplexed expressions, which makes her smile grow wider. This never gets old. She delights in the confusion, the small light of hope, within the eyes of demons when she extends her offer. It makes what comes after all the more worthwhile.

“Friends?” the male repeats. “We have no intention of playing nice with our food.”

With that, the male lunges for her, and Shinobu dances out of his range. With quick movements, she unsheathes her sword. 

“That’s a shame,” Shinobu says mournfully, that playful smile never leaving her lips. “I think we could’ve made great friends.”

The only reason she misses her shot to impale the male demon through the heart with her sword is because the other demon drags him backwards. “Wait,” she says. “Wait. She’s a slayer.”

The male demon gives Shinobu a dubious once-over, the kind she’s been on the receiving end of plenty of times. It bothers her less nowadays with the reassurance that she’ll savor their dying looks more. “Her? You think she…? She’s small. The sword she’s using doesn’t even look like it could take off our heads.”

A flicker of hesitation. “Maybe you’re right. But if we’re wrong, he’ll kill us for sure.”

He? Shinobu thinks that he must be Muzan if the demons speak of him with such fear. But she can’t even begin to fathom why Muzan would know or care about her existence.

“Hello?” Shinobu waves around her sword. “Do you two intend to gossip all day? Or are you rethinking my previous offer?”

The male demon sneers. “There’s no way. This one’s safe to eat.” Shinobu can’t even make sense of his statement before he launches himself at her again. And again, his hands close over empty space. 

Shinobu perches herself at the edge of the upper floor. If she takes even a single step back, she’ll fall onto the ground floor below. But this height is no concern of hers. If anything, she’s the one that benefits from having the open space.

“Friends shouldn’t eat each other,” she chides. “It’s rude. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to play games tonight.”

“Neither do we, girl.”

Her smile grows. “So it’s settled. Won’t you stay still and receive the deaths you deserve?”

But before Shinobu can thrust her sword forward, there’s another warning caw from the crows outside—this time, from all of them at once. The hairs on the back of her neck rise. There’s a sharp whistle in the wind. The demons, seemingly unbothered, step forward again, intending to intimidate her to fall backwards, but in the next instant, they, too, freeze.

It’s impossible not to. The demonic presence that lands on top of the roof of the greenhouse is so overpowering that it overrides all of her senses. Every bone in her body is screaming at her to run—to escape—but she’s frozen in place. Her knees tremble as the third demon takes a step along the roof, then another, then another.

Judging by the terror that is mirrored on the faces of the demons opposite her, this newcomer is not with them. She’s never encountered a demon with this kind of aura—the one that causes an entire building to notice their presence. Is this what an Upper Rank is like? 

The ceiling creaks as the weight from above shifts, and then, the third figure drops down beside them. Unlike the others, they land gracefully, barely making a sound. Shinobu can’t tear her gaze away. The figure appears to be surprisingly human-like, at least until they straighten. When they lift their head, it’s like a stake to the heart. If she thought she couldn’t move before, she definitely can’t now. 

The demon that stands before them has a head full of dark hair, gathered around the nape of their neck, and they’re wearing a dark blue yukata, now stained at the hem due to the puddles collecting at their feet. Each movement they make is agonizingly slow, and even though she knows what’s coming, her breath freezes in her lungs when the demon that was once Tomioka Giyuu opens its eyes.

Chapter Text

The kanji etched into the irises is the first thing that catches her attention: Upper Five. 

She remembers Upper Five being dead, killed by Tokito during the attack on the Swordsmith Village. Upper Six had been killed by Uzui and the others; Upper Four had been slain at the Swordsmith Village as well. Somehow, in all of her worst nightmares, even though Oyakata-sama had feared that Muzan had turned the Hashira into demons, she’d never imagined this—that they’d amassed enough power to join the Upper Ranks.

What had it taken for Tomioka to develop that kind of demonic aura? How many had he killed and fought in order to make it to the rank of Upper Five? How much of Muzan’s blood fills his system now, overriding any recollection he might have of her, replacing any sense of self with killer instincts instead? She’s not sure she’s ready to hear the answer. 

Even watching him is difficult; he straightens, running a hand over the front of his yukata, the action so frighteningly human until her eyes reach the markings on his skin. His cheeks are dotted with demonic wave-like patterns, almost resembling an ocean that cascades across his skin. His eyes are an unnatural shade of blue, a far cry from how calm they looked before. She doesn’t know what to make of him. 

It’s worse when his stare flickers between her and the demons.

“Upper Five,” the female demon gasps, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and terror. Immediately, the two demons fall to their knees, bowing their heads to the floor. “We did not know you would be in this area. Forgive us for our impertinence.”

Tomioka doesn’t acknowledge them. Instead, his gaze turns to her, falling to the sword clasped in her hand. Her grip is deathly tight, prepared for any sudden movement. She knows that it’s her responsibility to develop the cure for the Corps’ sake, but she doesn’t think Oyakata-sama will blame her if she needs to defend herself.

Protect your life, he’d said. In order to do that, she needs to regard this demon with the same wariness as she would any other. This is not Tomioka. This is Upper Five. A dangerous enemy. 

So she beams at him like she would any other. He blinks back without a word, as is characteristic for him. He turns his attention back to the demons still knelt at his feet.

“Did you not receive Muzan-sama’s order?” Tomioka asks. His voice sounds the same—level and collected. To hear it say Muzan’s name with such respect sends a hot wave of anger over her. “The female demon slayers are not to be killed until he finds the one he is looking for.”

“Y-Yes,” she responds. “But he is looking for a Hashira, is he not?”

Tomioka doesn’t answer. 

The male demon interjects, “This slayer is too weak to be a Hashira. Her sword is too thin to cut off our heads.”

Shinobu giggles then. “Won’t you let me try to kill you? As a gesture of goodwill?”

The male demon lifts his head to hiss at her, and Shinobu lifts her sword higher in response. 

“Won’t you see how weak I truly am?” she asks.

“You don’t know that she’s not a Hashira,” Tomioka interrupts. He crosses his arms over his chest. “You believe she is too weak, so you’ve assumed out of convenience that she is safe to kill. You think it is safe to defy Muzan-sama’s orders.”

The male demon freezes, his eyes wide as saucers. “I—”

“Upper Five,” the female demon cuts in. “We would never go against his orders. We want to serve him with complete dedication!”

Tomioka makes a noncommittal noise. His eyes shift back to hers, but there is no recognition there. There isn’t even a flicker of hesitation—anything that would indicate that he hasn’t forgotten everything. That he remembers who he’d been as a human. How unfair, she thinks, that he acts with Tomioka’s mannerisms and speech, and yet, he’s lost the essence of who he is. 

“Upper Five! Please, we would never go against his wishes intentionally. He would understand—”

“That you’re weak,” Tomioka cuts her off, his voice curt. “That you risked his wrath out of desperation. Hunger. If you were strong, you wouldn’t have taken that chance, and you would’ve tried your luck elsewhere.”

The female demon gapes at Tomioka, but he’s already turned away. “Upper Five…?”

“Why haven’t you killed them yet?” 

It takes her a second to realize that the question is directed at her. Tomioka faces her, the demons at his feet forgotten. There is a layer of challenge in his voice—or encouragement, maybe. Does he know who she is? Her eyes narrow. All of the signs—as well as Tamayo’s personal insight—suggest otherwise, but maybe…

Shinobu banishes the thought as soon as it arises. She can’t afford to let down her guard. This is Upper Five. Not Tomioka. No matter how similar they appear. 

“How rude,” she scolds him. “You were the one to interrupt in the first place. If you must know, they declined my offer. I asked if they would like to be friends, but they said no.” She holds out her free hand. “Would you like to accept instead? After you repent for your crimes, of course.”

Tomioka stares at her free hand, and for a split second, she worries he’ll actually take it. It would be like Tomioka to take the offer at face value. When he says nothing after a while, she drops her arm. 

“Do all demons have poor manners, or is it just you three?” she asks. The silence is her only answer. The pair of demons no longer keep their heads to the floor, but they also don’t dare to stand either. “In that case, I’ll take my leave. There’s nothing else for me here.”

Her farewell snaps the pair of demons back into action. With one eye on Tomioka, Shinobu lunges forward as the male demon leaps towards her. 

Dance of the Bee Sting: True Flutter.

Her body dashes forward faster than the demon can anticipate. While his arm is still reaching forward, she’s already ducking beneath it, and in one fluid motion, she jams her sword into his chest where his heart would be. His outcry gets caught in his throat, and blood spurts out in the same instant as she yanks her sword. 

“You bitch—” the demon gasps.

Shinobu says nothing more. She doesn’t need to. She can already see the poison working through the creature’s veins as its skin turns a deep purple. He clutches at his throat, his eyes bulging, but by the time he realizes what’s happening, it’s too late. It always is. He collapses to his knees, clawing at his neck, and within the next heartbeat, the life fades from his body. The now lifeless corpse falls sideways to reveal the horrified expression on the other demon’s face.

“You—”

Shinobu braces her foot on the edge of the platform, and as the second demon moves towards her, she throws her body backwards. The ground disappears from beneath her. She becomes weightless for that brief moment she’s suspended in the air, as light and free as a butterfly. The demon doesn’t slow down, and it follows after Shinobu, not at all discouraged by the sudden fall. 

Shinobu twists halfway. There’s no need for a breathing form. All she needs is to make the connection, and this demon will follow in the other’s stead. 

She grins. At this position, the demon will land on top of her while she faces the ceiling. Though they’re in the air for mere seconds, it feels more like a lifetime: everything is in her control. Once gravity begins to drag them both down, Shinobu grips the hilt of her sword tightly. She needs to be quick. One quick stab will be enough, and then she’ll have to land on her feet.

But as Shinobu prepares to jab upwards, her gaze catches on something above them—not something, she realizes. Someone.

Tomioka had launched himself after them. 

She can’t help but gape as he holds out his palm, and to her horror, the tip of a sword begins to grow from its center. She’s seen demons with their fair share of weaponry, but somehow, she’d thought that Tomioka would be unarmed given that his nichirin sword was left behind. How unfair, she thinks, to wield a weapon when you already are one. 

The sword that extends from his flesh is much longer and thicker than the standard nichirin sword used by the demon slayers. The blade is a deep blue, matching the color of his former weapon, and before she can blink, the rest of it is already in Tomioka’s grasp. He grips the hilt, and suddenly, he dives downward.

The demon is practically tackling Shinobu now, but they’re still a small distance away from the floor. She has only a split second to aim upwards before her feet make contact with the ground, and she rolls away fast enough before Tomioka’s blade swings downwards.

It misses her.

It strikes the demon’s midsection. 

For a brief second, Shinobu wonders if he’d missed. But no, Tomioka wouldn’t have aimed that terribly. 

The demon is pinned to the floorboards beneath the sword, gasping and panting as the poison climbs through her body. Her arms struggle to grasp onto anything, but it’s futile. The poison is too deep in her system now, and Tomioka’s blow has slowed any regenerative powers the demon might’ve had. She lifts her head to glare at Tomioka.

“Upper Five,” she says, her tone accusatory. “Why?”

“You disobeyed Muzan-sama’s orders,” Tomioka says. He reaches down for the hilt of the sword and tugs it out. The demon’s blood becomes a pool at the site of the wound. “Your arrogance betrayed your disobedience. Besides…” Tomioka swings the sword again, so quickly that her eyes nearly miss it, and the head of the demon falls to the floor. “You couldn’t recognize a Hashira from a regular demon slayer.”

Tomioka’s sword isn’t what kills the demon. She can still hear the breathy sounds coming from the demon’s head, meaning that she’s still alive, even if it’s not for long. The poison is what causes her demise in the end, leaving her coughing and choking on her own blood. It doesn’t take much longer for the noises to stop. 

But Shinobu doesn’t let her guard down. Those two demons were bottomfeeders. The real threat stands in front of her, trying to wipe the excess blood off his weapon.

She lifts her sword in front of her to try and create some distance. “How did you know I was a Hashira?”

For a moment, it doesn’t sound like Tomioka will answer—which wouldn’t surprise her. She’d spent so much time trying to get him to say anything on all of their partner missions, and oftentimes, she’d walk away with nothing more than a one-worded response. But he’d been more talkative prior to his disappearance, and that holds true now, as he says, “The female Hashira Muzan-sama is looking for is a poison user.”

Then Muzan is looking for her. As for the reason why, she has no idea. Is he afraid that poison has the potential to kill him? Either way, this situation is getting more and more dangerous. 

“Is that so?” she asks. She begins to take a few steps backwards. Tomioka doesn’t follow, but then again, he can likely clear the distance in a split second anyway. “Why is Muzan looking for me, may I ask?”

Tomioka lifts his head to stare directly at her. The kanji in his eyes almost pin her in place. “He wants to turn you into a demon,” he says plainly.

Is that it? He’s already turned three of the Hashira into demons. What benefit would it bring him to turn her too? 

“I see,” she says. “Tell him I’m not interested, then! I quite like being a human. I’d rather live a short quick life than become dull and boring forever.”

No response.

“I have no intentions of becoming a demon. If you try anything, I will have to kill you.”

Still, Tomioka doesn’t react. 

She tries not to let her annoyance seep through when she says, “I guess I’ll be going now. You’re a poor conversationalist.”

But as soon as she takes the additional step back, Tomioka starts forward. His sword flies towards her, but it doesn’t come close. It does force her away from the door, though, which might’ve been his intention all along. 

Shinobu dodges the next swing, but the one that follows gets close enough that she’s forced to move further. She rolls over one of the tables filled with flower pots, the ceramic shattering against the floor, and once she’s back on her feet, she kicks the table at Tomioka with full force. 

He doesn’t even flinch. He swings the sword, and the blade cuts the table clean in half before it reaches him. 

“Why hold back?” she calls out to him. She grabs an empty pot behind her and launches it at his head. 

He knocks it aside with the hilt. “I’m meant to bring you back alive.”

“I’m supposed to return back to the Corps alive and human. Our goals are different here.”

Shinobu continues throwing whatever she finds behind her at him. She doesn’t need to land the hit; she only needs him distracted long enough for her to make it to the door. Any consideration that she might survive a fight to the death is far from her mind. As soon as Tomioka spoke his reason for being here, her plan was set. She needs to escape—to run—before another Upper Rank arrives to help. 

But his reaction time is fast—as expected from an Upper Rank. He catches each pot with his hilt, and there’s no chance of slipping past. Shinobu throws another, but at the same time, she flies towards him. 

Dance of the Centipede: Hundred-Legged Zigzag.

The speed at which she darts forward is enough to make the floorboards break beneath her. She has to be quick, quick, quick, and with delight, she recognizes Tomioka’s gaze becoming unfocused as he tries to follow her with his eyes. But he can’t keep up with her at this speed. Glass shatters behind her with the momentum, but she doesn’t stop to acknowledge the cuts along her skin or how her heart strains. 

Tomioka tries to lift his sword in time to stop her, but he’s too late. She’s already reached him, and his mind is only just beginning to catch up with her positioning. She thrusts her sword forward, and there’s a distinctive crunch as it pierces through his neck.

Tomioka gasps at the first sensation of poison filling his system, and she uses his temporary shock to slam into his body with her shoulder. Bracing her free arm against his chest, she shoves him backwards, her sword pinning him to the back wall. From this distance, she can feel the whisper of his breath on her face—can feel his eyes burning into her skull. 

Protect your life. That’s what Oyakata-sama told her. She’s unsure if this amount of poison will be enough to kill Tomioka—or any Upper Rank. But she’s not going to lie still and let him take her to Muzan. She’d rather die than follow in their footsteps. 

There’s a crack as Tomioka’s skull hits the wall, and she lifts her head long enough to see the effects of the poison on his face. His face fills with purple splotches. He coughs, and blood leaks out of the corners of his mouth. His sword lies abandoned beside them, though she can’t remember when it had dropped from his hand. 

From this angle, he looks less like a demon—an Upper Rank demon, no less—and more and more like the Water Hashira she remembers. If he turns his head to the side, it’s harder to see the markings and his eyes, and she can almost pretend that he’s still human. 

Before regret creeps in, Shinobu draws out her sword, the squelch following shortly after, and she dashes toward the exit.

The moon still hangs high in the sky when she leaves the greenhouse. The crows greet her with a chorus of caws, but none of them near her, sensing somehow that they’re not safe yet. She pats her side just to confirm that the medicinal herbs are still there before she leaps into the trees. She’s hoping she’ll be harder to track at this height, but it feels more and more like a fool’s hope as she skips across the branches with ease.

How long will it take for Tomioka to break down the poison? Five minutes? If he can manage it, at least. The thought forces her to move even quicker. She needs to anticipate he’ll do it in even less time and strive to put more distance between them. 

Shinobu’s not sure how long she’s been running for when the crows begin to alert her.

She glances over her shoulder for a mere second, and her eyes pop. 

Tomioka’s already caught up, sprinting with ease over the grassy forest, making hardly a sound. The branches and moss that had caused her so much trouble on the journey up are crushed beneath him, and he navigates around the trees with the kind of effortlessness that only a demon can attempt. He catches her eye the exact moment he decides to jump into the trees himself.

Shit, she thinks. Shit. I should’ve killed him. I should’ve poisoned him several more times, should’ve chopped him into tiny pieces with his own sword, should’ve waited for the sun to rise…

Now, it’s like he’s making noise on purpose to gloat. Each branch he lands on groans beneath his weight, and with each one that brings him closer to her, panic swells up in her throat. All she can do is keep going—keep moving until—

“Blood Demon Art,” she hears a too-close murmur behind her. “Dead Calm.”

At once, it feels like something has slammed into her back, knocking all of the wind out of her. She can’t even make the effort to break her fall before she slips from the branch she’d been perched on, and she lands on the ground in a heap. Her foot makes contact first—not in the right way—and she collapses face-forward in the dirt, her leg sprawled out beside her. 

Shinobu grits her teeth. Her ankle is definitely sprained. Possibly broken. 

She tries to support herself enough to sit up, but the realization sinks in when her body refuses to respond to her: not even her fingers will twitch at her command. She can’t move. She can’t run. Can’t escape. It’s like her heart has stopped, and her body is now an empty shell to encase it. She can’t fight back if she wanted to, and when Tomioka lands beside her, she can’t even turn to look at him. 

“What…” she tries. She can speak, at least, but even that is difficult. It’s like her heart is aching from the effort. “What did you do to me?”

The phrase “Dead Calm” sounds familiar, but she can’t place where she’s heard it before over the storm of panic rising in her head. 

Tomioka walks into her line of vision. He doesn’t answer her before poking at her ankle. The touch sends sparks of pain through her. 

“Stop,” she orders. “Stop that. Hurts.”

She should know better than to expect a demon to listen, but to her surprise, he does as she asks.

“Let me go.” 

Shinobu can no longer bring herself to smile. It doesn’t matter anymore. If Tomioka drags her to Muzan like he intends to, the sister that Kanae loved will be gone, and there will be no point in emulating her older sister’s kindness and memorializing the smile she loved so much. She’d always imagined she’d die facing Muzan, killing Upper Rank Two. This death is so much worse. Her soul will die first, and maybe, if someone in the Corps is willing to show her mercy, her body will die later. But how many others will suffer at her hands before then?

“Tomioka-san,” she says, the name in itself a plea.

Tomioka peers down at her, his eyebrows high.

“Kill me,” she says. “Kill me, but don’t bring me to him.”

Tomioka blinks at her. 

Let me go. Death will be enough. Better.

A snarl works its way out of her throat. “Tomioka-san, say something! How on earth can you be as infuriating as a demon as you were as a human?”

Tomioka stares at her for a few more seconds, and right when she decides to speak up again, he responds. “You can rest for now,” is all that comes out of his mouth before his Blood Demon Art takes over again and her consciousness slips away.

Chapter Text

Her eyelids feel heavy when she finally begins to rouse. It requires more effort than usual to pry them open against the sunlight that trickles in through the window. For a second, all she can do is lie there staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of conversations outside the door and the chirps of the birds in the nearby trees. 

It’s daytime. There is a unique relief that comes with the rising of the sun for a demon slayer—the acknowledgment that, for now, they are safe and protected by an entity outside of Muzan’s control. She doesn’t know where she is or how she got here, but at least she can relax knowing that Muzan cannot touch her in this light.

Shinobu twists her head towards the door. The voices that filter through the walls are unfamiliar. She can’t even begin to guess where she is. She’s been changed out of her uniform, and they went to the effort of tucking her in and elevating her ankle. Someone must know that she’s here.

It takes tremendous effort for her to sit up straight, the covers gathering around her waist. Somehow, even though it must be hours since Tomioka used his technique on her, the aftereffects still linger. Each movement is sluggish and awkward, and she has to hold back each huff of frustration as she wriggles out from her futon.

First, Shinobu needs to locate her sword. That is her priority. Tomioka might not be able to reach her in the sunlight, but she doesn’t like the absence she feels without it.

Which sparks her next question: where is Tomioka and why did he leave her here?

This place feels too ordinary for Muzan to be somewhere nearby, and as far as she knows, Tomioka is on strict orders to deliver her to Muzan immediately. Did he leave her to avoid the sun? Is he going to come back?

Whatever the reasoning, Shinobu can’t afford to lose this opportunity. She needs to leave and make sure to put distance between herself and Tomioka. It’s bad enough that he’s delayed her journey home. She needs to make it back to headquarters and report to Oyakata-sama as soon as possible.

Shinobu is about to try and stand when the door to the room is tugged open. 

“You’re awake!” A young girl no older than Kanao pokes her head through to greet Shinobu with a smile. She carries a tray within her hands with what must be her breakfast. “That’s good. I was beginning to worry you’d sleep through the night.” The girl sets the tray down by the side of the futon. “Were you going to try and get up? You should rest. The doctor said you twisted your ankle, so you should avoid putting weight on it unless absolutely necessary.”

Age seems to be where the resemblance stops. This girl is far chattier than Kanao. 

Shinobu smiles at her. “Thank you, but I’ll be alright. What’s your name?”

“Kikyo.” Kikyo elevates her ankle again, ignoring Shinobu’s protests. “You need to rest. Your companion isn’t here right now anyway.”

The mention of her companion sends an involuntary shiver down her spine. Ensuring her smile remains in place, Shinobu asks, “Where is here? Did he bring me?”

“Yes. Your friend brought you to my family’s inn last night. He sounded like he was in a hurry.”

If the sun was that close to being a threat, she understands why Tomioka would’ve acted with more urgency than normal. But it doesn’t explain why she’s here.

“He said to call the local doctor to take a look at your ankle and asked if we could wash your clothes.” Kikyo’s lips curl. “There was blood all over. What happened? He said you were gardening, but slipped on some water and broke a whole table full of garden pots.”

Her lips twitch. She never imagined that Tomioka could lie on the spot, so it’s even worse that his lie is so flimsy. He’s the airhead—not her. 

“Ah, yes.” Shinobu makes an attempt at looking bashful. “It’s rather embarrassing.”

“You were gardening?”

“Yes.”

“At night?”

“Yes. I was collecting medicinal herbs, so it was urgent.”

Kikyo’s eyes widen. “There was a lot of blood.”

“I broke…a lot of pots.” She shakes her head slightly, trying to move past the absurdity of this conversation. “Thank you for cleaning my uniform—and for calling the doctor for my sake.”

“You’re welcome,” Kikyo says. “Your uniform should be dry within the hour. You should be glad that you only twisted your ankle. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

Shinobu hums in agreement. “Thank you again. Uh, did my…companion say anything else?”

Kikyo shrugs. “He didn’t speak much. I told him he should stay in one of our rooms, but he ignored me and left.” She scratches at her chin. “Otou-san was relieved. I think your friend’s tattoos scared him.”

The markings. “Did you notice anything else unusual about him?”

“Unusual how?”

If it isn’t obvious, then it’s difficult to explain to someone who can’t tell the difference between a human and a demon. She’ll have to approach this from a different angle then. “I mean that he sometimes looks like he’s ill. His eyes are an unusual color, and his skin can look a little gray.”

Kikyo considers this. “His eyes were stunning,” she muses, and that alone causes Shinobu to surmise that Tomioka had shifted some parts of his appearance before entering the inn. The color of his eyes comes secondary to the kanji that fills them. “So blue. But I didn’t notice that he looked sickly. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Shinobu assures her. She’s gotten enough information, anyway. Not all of it makes sense, like Tomioka requesting that a doctor see to her ankle or leaving the inhabitants of the inn unharmed, but whatever conclusion she draws will be unsatisfactory for her brain. “I assume he didn’t say if he was returning.”

“No. He wasn’t a talker.”

Shinobu is well aware. “Did you happen to find anything in my uniform before you washed it?”

Kikyo points towards the wall behind her, and when Shinobu twists, she finds that the pouch of herbs has been left untouched. 

“Thank you,” Shinobu says. “Was there anything else?”

Kikyo shakes her head. “No. I’m sorry. Are you missing anything?”

Yes. “No. Thank you.”

Kikyo nods and rises to her feet. “I’ll let you eat your breakfast in peace then. If you need anything, you can let me know.”

“Thank you, Kikyo-san.” Shinobu turns her head toward the window, and to her dismay, the sun is not as high in the sky as she’d like to ensure she has time before Tomioka returns. “Do you know if anyone is traveling south out of this village sometime this afternoon?”

“No. I can ask the other visitors, but this inn is pretty much surrounded by farmland on all sides. We don’t get many people passing through.”

Her lips tighten. “I see. Thank you, Kikyo-san.”

Kikyo bows before departing from the room, and Shinobu’s smile slips off her face. Her breakfast momentarily forgotten, she hauls herself to her feet, ignoring the ache in her ankle, and drags herself around the perimeter of the room. It is only once she’s done a full sweep that she allows herself to reach a single frightening conclusion: her sword isn’t here, and neither is her wisteria poison. 

Within the next hour, Shinobu indulges in the carefully prepared breakfast Kikyo brought to her. The girl returns by the time she’s finished with her uniform and haori, clean and neatly folded, before leaving her alone again. She wastes no time in putting on her uniform and her sister’s haori. It’s only when wearing both that she feels truly herself again, and she stands up in order to leave the safety of her room.

Unfortunately, Kikyo’s assessment of the inn’s inhabitants hadn’t been wrong. Each guest she encounters has no immediate plans to depart by the end of the day, offering a sympathetic smile and half-hearted apologies. She assures them with a smile before moving onto the next, but after some time, she’s forced to admit defeat.

There’s no chance she’ll be able to hitch a ride. She’ll have to leave alone by foot. It’ll be manageable even with the pain in her ankle, but she’ll definitely hear an earful from Aoi once she’s home. Though, that would be better than the alternative: not returning home at all. 

There is the matter of her sword, but she can always write to Tecchin-sama and request a new one. Her poison is easily replaceable, too. There’s no point in hanging around to see if she’ll be able to find evidence of either.

She may be defenseless, but her priority is to escape alive. She doesn’t need her sword for that, only her legs.

Shinobu hurries back to her room to retrieve the pouch. She doesn’t have any money on her to cover the fee for the stay—Tomioka certainly wouldn’t have covered that—but she can always send a kakushi to handle that later. For now, she needs to leave. The sun is setting, and she’s not intent on testing her luck. 

Kikyo catches her on the way. “Kocho-san!” she calls out. “You’re not meant to be walking around.”

“It’s alright, Kikyo-san,” Shinobu says, speeding past, not allowing her the chance to interrupt. “I’ll survive.”

“Kocho-san—”

Shinobu doesn’t wait to hear her response before vanishing into her room. The sun’s already fallen below the skyline. The pouch is right where she left it, and she scoops it up and tucks it back into her uniform. 

“Time to leave—”

But as soon as those words leave her mouth, a silhouette falls through her window, landing with inhuman grace. He perches himself on the windowsill, outlined by the light of the lanterns outside. Even from this distance, his eyes are unnerving.

Shinobu’s too late. She had her chance, and she squandered it. She took too long to wake up, too long to search for her belongings, too long hoping that someone would help her—

Her gaze trails down his figure until it lands on the sword at his side.

“Tomioka-san,” she says, her voice sickly sweet. “Don’t you know it’s rude to take things that don’t belong to you?”

His hand glides toward the scabbard. “You’re not supposed to be standing.”

“What?”

“Your ankle.”

She resists the urge to glance downward at her foot. His words are cryptic and vague at best. 

Demons will lie and manipulate and use their words to their advantage, hoping for the sympathies of those like Kanae, but in this case, she doesn’t know what Tomioka is hoping to gain. She didn’t want to think about why he might’ve called in a doctor to inspect her before, and she’s even less inclined now. Unless…he’s trying to convince her that he’s unchanged, the same old Tomioka she remembers, in order to take advantage of her mercy.

“I don’t care about my ankle,” she says. The grin she bears is razor-sharp. She’s not going to fall into his trap. This demon may look and act like Tomioka, but he is not Tomioka. He’s an imposter wearing his skin—a monster’s poor imitation. “Are you going to give me back my sword?”

Tomioka grips the scabbard this time. “You’ll stab me again.”

“And?”

“I’m not supposed to give you an advantage.”

“Advantage?” Shinobu tilts her head. “You regenerate limbs faster than I can sever them. You break down the poison I’ve spent years developing. You have a Blood Demon Art that can make it impossible for me to move. And you want to talk about me having an advantage?”

Tomioka’s lips press into a fine line. 

“You demons are all the same. You flaunt your strength over humans whose bodies are breakable and expect to be praised for winning a fight that was uneven to begin with.”

Tomioka sighs, and the sound is more akin to annoyance than anything else. “I’m here to take you back to Muzan-sama alive. I don’t want to fight you.”

“That’s a shame,” Shinobu says. She takes a single step closer. She might be able to retrieve her sword if she’s quick enough. Even with his enhanced demonic senses, Tomioka had struggled to pin her down when she’d been moving at full speed. It’ll be hard to imitate that again with her ankle’s current condition, but it doesn’t hurt to try. “I do.”

Tomioka stays quiet and watches her step closer. He can use his Blood Demon Art at any time, so she needs to be extra cautious. Right as she steps into the shadow of light from the window, the metallic stench reaches her nose. The smell of—

Shinobu clenches her teeth. She’d known this would be the case. If Muzan had turned the former Hashira into demons, they would not be as docile as Nezuko. There would be carnage and blood and death—

And the scent of blood coming from Tomioka is too strong to be from anything but a human body.

“Shit,” Shinobu hisses before barreling into Tomioka.

He left her alone last night, and someone died because of it. Even though logic dictates it isn’t her fault, she can’t help the guilt that troubles her now—the knowledge that if she’d killed him last night, one person might still be alive today. 

Tomioka had been wrong, she realizes. If she kills him, it wouldn’t be a victory for Muzan. Muzan wouldn’t care. Demons continue killing until they’re dead themselves. If she kills Tomioka, maybe dozens—no, hundreds—of lives will be saved. How can she see that as anything other than mercy? 

Tomioka wouldn’t want to continue like this. None of the Hashira would. They took an oath to protect humanity when they first dedicated themselves to the service of the Demon Slayer Corps. A former slayer would understand that this beheading would be justice. An act of kindness. She’d want someone to kill her if the situation was reversed. 

The two of them crash into the wall, and Shinobu gropes along his waist for her sword. Unfortunately, Tomioka is quick to recover. He knocks her hand away effortlessly and slams his knee into her gut. The impact knocks the breath out of her for a split second. If he’d put more of his strength behind it, his leg would’ve gone straight through her stomach. Like before, he’s holding back. 

Once she feels like she can breathe again, Shinobu slams her fist into Tomioka’s nose. She’s never punched anyone before—human or demon—but there’s a satisfying crunch that follows. A trail of blood leaks from his nostrils, and Tomioka huffs before kicking her in the stomach again to force her away. 

Shinobu rolls across the floor, coughing. This is not a fight she can win. She knows that. She has no poison, no weapon, and nothing but her anger pushing her forward. She knows all that, and yet, she can’t stop. That unconditional wrath that has guided her since Kanae’s death keeps her moving. The promise that they’d made—that they’d become slayers to protect others’ happiness—forces her to lunge again. 

When she reaches for her scabbard, Tomioka catches both of her wrists. She’s crouched over him, her knees braced on his stomach, and his spine is bent uncomfortably between the floor and the wall. A dried sliver of blood sticks to his upper lip, but his nose has already healed from her attack. His eyes lock onto hers, steady and chilling, but she doesn’t dare turn away. She’d rather let him see the oceans of rage that spur her on than find any evidence of hesitation.

“Let me go,” she demands, attempting to wrestle herself out of her grip.

“I can knock you out at any time,” Tomioka says, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “Why are you still fighting?”

It’s true. If he decided to use her Blood Demon Art again, she’d be defenseless. But…she can’t ignore the life that was lost because of her negligence. She can’t let that victim fade from her memory. “Tomioka-san.”

His brows furrow. “You keep calling me that. How do you know my name?”

His question makes her pause. “How do you know your name?” She’d assumed that demons lost most of their human memories, including their names. She’d been calling him Tomioka-san mostly out of jest. “Stop trying to distract me.”

His mouth clamps shut, and Shinobu takes that as her chance. The daggers she kept on her person in addition to her sword have all been confiscated, but she has two that Tomioka hadn’t remembered to steal. 

Shinobu swings one leg up right as Tomioka uses his weight to pin her to the floor. Before he can stop her, the knife in her sandal slots out, and she uses her foot to jam it into his stomach, dragging it up from his naval all the way to his eye, cutting through the kanji in his iris. Tomioka cries out in pain, and she tries not to focus on the sound. His blood spurts out from the gash and lands onto her face, but she barely notices. 

She tries to replicate the action, even though the element of surprise is no longer on her side. She urges her foot higher, higher, until it slides out of his forehead with a sickening slice. As she attempts to cut into his throat, Tomioka reaches out and grips her foot, forcing her to stay still.

Shinobu shakes her leg to try and free herself, but Tomioka’s grasp on her is tight. If he wanted to, he could break her leg—twist her ankle and shatter all of her bones. But he doesn’t retaliate. His chest heaves with heavy breaths, but in no time at all, she watches as the wound stitches itself up. If it weren’t for the blood, there would be no evidence that she’d landed a blow at all.

“Why?” Shinobu demands. “If you’d been like Nezuko and had never eaten a human, I could forgive you. I’d shelter you and protect you like I did for her. But you’re not like her. You’ve killed. People have died at your hands, haven’t they?”

Tomioka doesn’t answer her right away. His chest continues to rise and fall from where he’s positioned on top of her, like he’s unaccustomed to having to regenerate in such a short span of time. She supposes that might be the case. He’s likely never come across any demon slayers before her. 

“I…” His voice is gruff. His eyelids are shut. “I…am a demon. I need to feed. More than the average demon.”

She pauses. “What do you mean by that?”

“Muzan-sama gave us more of his blood. He said it was a gift, so that we’d get strong faster. I can’t go long without feeling hungry. Akaza said it must be a side effect from the high amounts of Muzan-sama’s blood because he’s never seen demons need to feed so often.”

That would explain how Tomioka had climbed into the Upper Ranks of the Kizuki so quickly. He’s only been a demon for a few months, and he’s developed a Blood Demon Art that would make killing so terribly easy for him. He’s grown at a rapid rate for a demon, if Nezuko stands as a point of reference. Unfortunately, his rapid growth makes him a greater threat. 

The confirmation that Muzan wants the former Hashira to gain strength faster doesn’t ease her worries either. He wants them to replace the Upper Ranks that have been killed. It’s a two birds with one stone scenario: he steals away the Corps’ most powerful members and modifies them to become his powerful allies instead. It’s unfair and cruel, and it makes her seethe. 

“Who’s us? You said he gave us his blood. Who did you mean?” she asks, backtracking. 

At that, Tomioka hesitates. His eyes open, and they’re now healed, the kanji taunting her. 

“I’m not going to answer that,” he says. “I don’t like talking.”

The absurdity of the statement catches her by surprise, so much so that a laugh bubbles out of her throat. It borders on hysteria, and even Tomioka looks shocked at how he managed to throw her off. 

“You’re right, Tomioka-san,” she says once she’s recovered. “My mistake.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not, Tomioka-san? I’ve always called you that.”

Tomioka scowls. “I don’t remember you. You’re the enemy.”

He’s right to bring her back to the present. She’d almost let herself get carried away by how affronted Tomioka had sounded. It’s familiar to hear his rejections whenever he’s faced with one of her antics. It had startled her. 

“What do you remember then?” Shinobu asks, partly out of personal curiosity. 

Nezuko seems to remember Tanjiro most, and then some vague memories of her family, but her stilted state has created a disconnect between the memories and her grief. Tamayo has told her in the past that demons are meant to forget everything. Muzan would never allow for sentimentality. He’d see that as weakness. But even without the memories, the longing stays. Their heartfelt desires manifest in extremes for what they lost in their human lives. 

Tomioka withdraws from her slightly, though his fingers still wrap around her wrists. “Nothing. No one.”

“You were a Hashira too. Do you remember that?”

“No.” But he falters. “Muzan-sama told us that we were once. But I don’t remember any of that. Akaza says that I was strong as a Hashira, but I’m better now as a demon.”

She has a better idea of who us must mean—Shinazugawa and Iguro. If the sightings hadn’t been enough to confirm their identities, this is. 

“I see,” Shinobu says. She wriggles, trying to test how stuck she is, but Tomioka doesn’t allow her to move at all. “I disagree. I liked you better as a human.” A beat passes. “You once lived and died to protect human lives. Now, you destroy them. Tomioka-san, does this not strike you as wrong?”

Tomioka blinks. “Akaza says that our human lives are meaningless. I don’t know why I was a Hashira, and I don’t remember anything about it.” He shakes his head slightly. “I’m here to serve Muzan-sama.”

Shinobu tries not to gag. Oyakata-sama had been deserving of that dedication. What has Muzan done to warrant that level of respect?

“Then I was right,” Shinobu says. “You have to die.”

Tomioka only stares at her. “How?”

“I’ll keep you here until the sun rises. Rip out your eyes with my nails in the meantime. Tear apart your guts again.”

He sighs.

“You would do the same in my position. You would’ve understood—if you were still human.”

“I’m not,” Tomioka says. 

“Stop bickering with me, Tomioka-san.”

“I’m not.”

Shinobu huffs. There is no reasoning with him. She can’t force him to recall his human life—his former ideals and morals—when his memories have been stolen from him. There’s no point. She’d be doing him a favor if she were to kill him. 

But everytime she imagines what it would be like to inject her most lethal dose of poison into his heart, two faces swim to the surface of her mind—both Oyakata-sama’s and Kanae’s.

Oyakata-sama wants all of the Hashira that survive against Muzan to live long lives, including those who have joined Muzan’s ranks. And Kanae—Kanae felt sympathy for demons who’d murdered hundreds. She would only be able to face Tomioka with unwavering kindness even after witnessing what he’s become. 

Shinobu should kill him. She wants to, even if something deep in the recesses of her brain forces her to hesitate. Tomioka would forgive her. The entire Corps would forgive her. Even Oyakata-sama would understand. But all she can picture is Kanae’s tearful expression in her mind.

Tomioka-san used the fifth form of Water Breathing on our mission today, Kanae said once, way before Shinobu had ever met him. It was really beautiful. Like light rain falling against your face. She paused to face her then. He’s a kind person, so don’t be too hard on him if you ever meet him. Alright, Shinobu-chan?

All of the fight deflates out of her. Her back relaxes against the floor. “How many people did you kill last night?” she asks.

If Tomioka is confused by the change in subject, he doesn’t press further. Even so, a few seconds pass before his answer comes. “One.”

The response doesn’t make her feel any better. That’s one person that will never live to see another day, that will never remember the sunlight on their face or what it meant to laugh with their loved ones. One loss that she will carry with her for the rest of her life. “I see.”

If Tomioka is telling the truth, he might need to consume an entire human each day. His hunger will be insatiable. There will be no stopping him. She might be able to procure dead bodies for him to consume, but they’ll be difficult to come by. Tamayo and Yushiro were able to modify their own bodies for the sake of only requiring small amounts of blood for survival, but the process is by no means easy, and Tomioka will not go quietly. Still, there might be a basis for redirecting his cravings. 

“What’s the longest you’ve gone without eating?”

Again, Tomioka’s answer sounds like it’s being dragged out. “Two days.”

Even worse than she’d hoped. “I’d like you to refrain from eating humans for as long as possible, Tomioka-san!”

He cocks his head. “I’m a demon. I have to eat.”

“I do not care!” Shinobu says, perhaps more aggressively than she’d intended. “The human you killed last night—their death is on your hands. You’ll carry that with you until the day you die. I don’t want that to happen again. I won’t stop trying to kill you if you take more human lives. Even if I die in the process, I’ll see this through.” She beams up at him. “I’ll keep trying, Tomioka-san.”

His grip on her wrists loosens. He releases her ankle, allowing it to fall to the floor. “The longer I go without eating, the worse it gets. I might try to eat you if I’m hungry enough, even though I’m supposed to keep you alive.”

“Ah.” She sits up straight and wrings her hands. There might be bruises on her wrists come tomorrow. Even though Tomioka was holding back, his strength is nothing to scoff at. “Would you like to eat me? I suppose I should be honored.”

Tomioka scowls as he scoots back against the wall, putting some distance between them. 

“I have ideas,” she says. “You might not remember, but I consider myself pretty smart.”

He reaches his hand up to his face, where the blood is beginning to crust. “It doesn’t matter what your ideas are. Muzan-sama wants us to devour as many humans as possible. I cannot disobey him.”

Shinobu lets her arms fall to her side. “Don’t worry about it for the time being,” she says. She’ll need to think of something. It might be useful to reach out to Tamayo in the meantime to see if she has any ideas. All she knows is that she can’t bear to watch another die at a former comrade’s hands. “You should trust me more, Tomioka-san.”

“You tried to kill me. Twice. I don’t even know your name.”

“It hurts that you find me so forgettable.” Shinobu reaches into her pocket and draws out a handkerchief that she always keeps on her person. She crawls forward towards Tomioka, and he freezes as he notices her coming closer. “Kocho Shinobu. Insect Hashira. Shall we be friends, Tomioka-san?”

Tomioka glowers in response. 

With a small laugh, she moves until she’s right in front of him, and she brings her handkerchief up to his face. His eyes pop as the cloth reaches his face and she begins wiping off the remaining blood. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, though he remains perfectly still, allowing her to continue.

His fangs are dangerously close to her hands. If he wanted to, he could snap them off before she even notices. “Isn’t it obvious? Your face is a mess.”

“But—”

“Hush, Tomioka-san.” Shinobu finishes cleaning up the rest of the blood, and before Tomioka’s eyes can follow the movement, she folds up the handkerchief and hides it away. “You ask too many questions.”

Tamayo had said that the blood of Upper Six might not have been enough. But perhaps the blood of Upper Five will be.

Chapter Text

Kikyo greets them the second they step outside of the room. Strands of hair are beginning to fall out of her ponytail, the evidence of a long day’s work, but the smile she wears gives no indication of how exhausted she must be. When she spots Shinobu, that smile becomes even brighter. 

“Kocho-san,” she calls. Her eyes flicker over to Tomioka. “I see your companion has returned. Hello.”

Tomioka doesn’t even realize he’s the companion in question at first. His response is far too delayed to sound normal. “Hello.”

“I didn’t see you come in. Sorry for missing you earlier.”

Tomioka shakes his head. “I came in through the window.”

Shinobu jams her elbow into Tomioka’s side and ignores his grunt. “He’s kidding.”

“Oh.” Kikyo glances between them, uncertain. “I was looking for you. I know you were looking for a ride out earlier.”

“Ah,” Shinobu says, ignoring Tomioka’s questioning look. “Yes.” A ride would’ve been helpful if it were offered before Tomioka found her. 

“There’s a merchant outside that’s continuing on to the next town out east. He’s got a cart, so you wouldn’t have to walk either.” She gives Shinobu a pointed glance at her ankle. “I know you said you wanted to travel south—”

“East is good,” Tomioka interrupts.

It’s her turn to shoot Tomioka a dubious look. She knows what his objective is: bring her to Muzan alive without being caught. But that must mean he has some plan to contact Muzan. Deciding to agree to an innkeeper’s offer on a whim sounds ill-considered to her, but then again, maybe this is all working out in his favor. Maybe she’s walking towards Muzan’s doorstep without realizing it. 

“Oh,” Kikyo says, recovering quickly. “Alright then. I’ll go tell him.”

Shinobu waits for Kikyo to disappear before nudging Tomioka in the side again. “Do you plan on returning my sword?”

“No,” Tomioka says. It continues to sit at his waist, almost taunting her with its proximity. She feels its absence at her side more than anything else. 

“Then what about my poison? You’re a thief.”

Predictably, Tomioka ignores her and exits the inn instead of answering her. Reluctantly, she follows after. 

The crescent moon still hangs high in the sky when she steps out into the open air of the countryside. The cicadas buzz around them, only interrupted by the distant crowing of an owl, and the night breeze whistles through the grass that surrounds the inn. Farmland stretches out on all sides, leaving nothing to be seen for miles. The evening is young, the prime time for demons to be causing chaos.

And instead of stopping them, she’s here, trailing behind a demon she’s unable to kill and unable to run from. It makes her feel pathetic, but she doesn’t have a clear plan either. She has no other choice than to let Tomioka decide their next actions. Her only option is to escape Tomioka during the day when he can’t follow her out into the sun. Then, she might be able to leave him behind. 

She just has to make sure he doesn’t bring her to Muzan first. 

The cart Kikyo mentioned waits outside the inn. The traveler is in the middle of rearranging his products in the back. Tomioka steps forward to greet him first, but Shinobu chooses to lag behind. 

She halts beside the sign announcing the inn to those who pass. With one eye on Tomioka, she feigns nonchalance and waits for the flutter of wings. It takes mere seconds before a crow descends upon the wooden post.

“SHINOBU-SAMA,” En calls. Shinobu raises her finger over her lips, and En continues in a quieter voice. “SHINOBU-SAMA.”

“Hello, En,” she says. “I apologize for not having any food for you. You deserve it. You did well to follow us here.”

En raises a foot in Tomioka’s direction. “THE DEMON WAS SLOW. HE WAS EASY TO FOLLOW.”

That doesn’t sound right. She ran through the forest at full speed to escape Tomioka after injecting him with her poison. He recovered quickly, and caught up even quicker. Perhaps carrying her had slowed him down. 

“Thank you,” she says. She doesn’t turn towards En, lest Tomioka notice. He’s engaged in a conversation with the traveler, which appears to be going terribly, if the poor stranger’s expression is any indication. “I have a task for you.”

“YES, SHINOBU-SAMA?”

“How many crows are still following?”

“THREE, SHINOBU-SAMA.”

Three is the perfect number. She removes the pouch full of the items Tamayo had requested. “I need you to find Tamayo-san,” she says. Another crow lands on the sign, joining En in the line, and she hands this one the strings of the pouch to hold. “Please bring her these two things—this is what she asked of me. Then, give her this as well.” She pulls out the handkerchief soaked with Tomioka’s blood, now a darker color than the pure red that had flowed from his wounds. She hands it over to En, who clasps it in her beak. “This is the blood belonging to Upper Five. I hope it’s enough. And if you could explain the situation to her, I’d love to hear if she has any ideas on how to curb Tomioka-san’s…hunger.”

En can no longer respond while holding the handkerchief, but the crow’s eyes speak louder than words. It might be smart to use the crows to alert Headquarters and see if they might be able to send another Hashira to help her deal with Tomioka. If two crows leave her side now, it’ll be all too easy for the third to lose track of her, like they had when following the others. This decision puts her in greater danger; she might vanish without a trace if she’s unable to lose Tomioka on her own.

But she isn’t making this choice with her own life in mind. If Oyakata-sama sends another Hashira, there’s no telling if Muzan will send another Kizuki after them. She could be endangering the life of one of her comrades. It’s better to assume that no aid is coming. No one is helping her. She’ll have to escape herself. It’s the only way to ensure minimal bloodshed. 

Besides, this might be Tamayo’s only chance. The cure is within reach, and if she dies before presenting Tamayo with the key, that door might remain closed, and they could lose this opportunity. It’s a risk she has to take.

“It’s alright, En,” Shinobu assures the crow, turning away. “It’ll be fine. I can handle Tomioka-san. But I don’t want to die without getting this to Tamayo. Understand?”

Begrudgingly, En nods her head.

“I’m counting on you.” Shinobu offers an encouraging smile. “I know you can find her.”

With a flap of her wings, En launches herself into the sky, the second crow right behind her, and the pair of them disappear from sight. She squints in search of the aforementioned third crow, but they must be hidden because she comes up empty-handed.

Shinobu strides forward, just in time to catch the tail end of Tomioka’s exchange with the traveling merchant. 

“...we need your cart,” Tomioka says, and judging by his expression, it isn’t the first time he’s repeated this. 

“I don’t understand,” the traveler says. 

It’s her turn to step in. Shinobu butts between them with a reassuring grin, one that makes the tension in the traveler’s shoulders dissipate without having to say a word.

“Apologies for my companion,” she says smoothly. “He’s not good at talking. What he means to say is that we’re looking to hitch a ride. Kikyo-chan said that you were headed east. Apparently…” She regards Tomioka with a sideways glance. “That is…close to our destination as well.”

Tomioka nods slowly in agreement. “Yes. That is what I meant.”

“That’s a relief,” the traveler says. “I thought you wanted to buy the cart off me. Thank you for clarifying, ojou-chan.”

“Of course. Would you mind the two additional passengers?”

“Not at all.” He pats the neck of the mule responsible for dragging the cart along. “He’ll barely notice the extra weight.”

“Will we arrive before sunrise?” Tomioka asks. His gaze is fixated in the distance on the moon that still guards his life—for the time being. 

“That’s the plan. Though we better get a move on.” He wanders back around to the front of the cart and hops back into the driver’s seat. “The name’s Aikawa.”

“Thank you again, Aikawa-san.”

Once Aikawa returns to his seat, Tomioka is the first to step onto the back of the cart. It sags momentarily beneath his weight. He turns around, his arm outstretched—

“Coddle me, and I’ll kick you off the backseat,” Shinobu warns, her smile sharp. 

Tomioka promptly sits back down. Ignoring him, she lifts herself into the cart, ignoring the dash of pain that shoots up her leg.

Although the cart is by no means tiny, it’s already filled to the brim with fresh vegetables and fruits, along with various other trinkets that would be easy to sell if he found the right person. There’s not enough space to separate herself from Tomioka. To be frank, there’s barely enough room for them to both sit, and his frame is bigger and wider than hers. All she can do is take the seat by his side and try to ignore that her thigh will be pressed up against a demon’s.

“You two ready back there?”

“Yes, Aikawa-san,” Shinobu answers through gritted teeth. 

There’s a snap as Aikawa pulls on the reins, and the cart begins to crawl forward slowly. Each clomp of the mule causes her to shift. The ride will be bumpy against the uneven roads. Normally, she wouldn’t mind. But every jolt forces their shoulders to brush and their thighs to bump into each other, and she’d rather not dwell on the fact that Tomioka’s still as warm as he was as a human.

If she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend this is like any other mission from a few years ago. Back then, Oyakata-sama used to pair the two of them up frequently. Her Insect Breathing is distantly derived from his Water Breathing, meaning their fighting styles are compatible, and not many Hashira are able to tolerate Tomioka. But she’d never minded his lack of conversation or polarizing personality. Although she did wish he’d speak more and tried not to be so vexing, she recognized that nothing he did to drive the others away was intentional on his part. 

Misery recognizes grief, and on some deeper level, although she didn’t understand why Tomioka would shirk his responsibilities as a Hashira, she knew it didn’t come from a place of cruelty. Kanae had been right to say that Tomioka was kind, and Shinobu had always liked kind people—even if she could only imitate that level of goodness herself.

She shakes her head in an attempt to escape her own train of thought. None of that matters now. This version of Tomioka is not the same as who he’d been as a human. He’d been kind, but blunt and awkward then. Now, he’s a mere weapon under Muzan’s control, who can only mimic who Tomioka had been. 

Anything he does is all an act to gain her trust. Unfortunately for him, she’s had a whole lifetime of despising demons under her belt.

Shinobu grips the side of the cart in an attempt to steady herself. It’s pointless: the cart jostles again, and she practically topples into his lap.

“You alright, Kocho?”

“I thought you didn’t like talking.”

Tomioka’s mouth parts, then closes. To her surprise, the kanji in his irises are nowhere to be found. They still remain an unnatural blue shade, but it’s at least a little easier to meet his eye like this. He must be able to shift his appearance, if only slightly. 

“It’s fine enough,” Shinobu says, waving him off. “At least I don’t have to walk to my death.”

There’s a loud caw, and Shinobu startles when a mass of wings dives towards them. The crow misses her by a thin margin, but after a second, she realizes she wasn’t the target to begin with.

The third crow En mentioned topples into Tomioka’s lap without any sense of caution. “GIYUU,” he croaks. “GIYUU. YOU’RE ALIVE. I LOOKED FOR YOU FOR MONTHS.”

If she’d been hoping for some amount of recognition, she winds up disappointed. Tomioka’s palms hover away from the crow’s body, an impressive feat considering Kanzaburo has made himself comfortable on Tomioka’s thighs. Tomioka’s expression is impassive at best, like he’s caught between pushing the crow off or handing him over to Shinobu. The sight of Kanzaburo excited to reunite with his master who no longer recognizes him almost cracks her heart. 

“GIYUU.” Kanzaburo nuzzles Tomioka’s chest. Tomioka is looking more and more alarmed by the second. “YOU’RE ALIVE.”

Shinobu decides to put him out of his misery, just in case he takes out his confusion on Kanzaburo. “Kanzaburo,” she says. “Tomioka-san is a demon now. He doesn’t remember who you are.”

Kanzaburo completely ignores her, murmuring Tomioka’s name over and over. He does look rather old for a Kasugai crow. He’s bigger than any she’s ever seen, and his head never seems to be facing the right direction of whoever is speaking. Maybe his age has dulled his senses, and he’s incapable of recognizing that Tomioka’s changed.

“Kanzaburo,” she repeats, but receives no answer. She decides on a different strategy. “Tomioka-san, you don’t need to look so uncomfortable. You’re breaking Kanzaburo’s heart.”

Tomioka continues staring at the bird in his lap, his shoulders still tense.

“You’re the one who doesn’t remember him. If you dare kick him off, I’ll break your nose again.”

After a long while, Tomioka relaxes his arms enough that Kanzaburo is able to rest against his forearms. Tomioka still doesn’t look completely at ease with the situation, but without any clear objections and no place to run, he’s at a loss for how to respond. “Do all Hashira have crows?”

“All slayers do,” she corrects. She reaches over to slide a finger against the back of Kanzaburo’s head, and finally, he turns to acknowledge her with a soft caw.

“GIYUU’S BACK,” Kanzaburo crows. Shinobu feels a pang in her chest. 

She can’t bring herself to dishearten the poor crow, so she says nothing. She heard from Kanroji that the crows belonging to the missing Hashira had become aimless in their masters’ absences. They circled the areas where they were last seen, hoping to catch a whiff of a trail that would lead them to the former slayers. Oyakata-sama couldn’t bear to call them back if their deepest desires were to keep searching, so they were rarely seen. She’s surprised Kanzaburo had been sent to follow her in the first place. 

“This is my crow?” Tomioka asks.

“Yes. Kanzaburo. You told me once that he gets confused easily.”

“Hm.” 

Tomioka doesn’t comment further, but he doesn’t urge the crow to leave either.

The cart rolls along at a leisurely pace, bumping along the dips in the road. The buzz of the cicadas continues to follow them along the trail. Although the moon is still visible in the sky, Shinobu catches Tomioka making furtive glances upward. 

They should make it to the next town over before sunrise—Aikawa had said so himself—but she can only imagine what this must be like for him. Any person suddenly turned into a demon faces the eternal countdown of the moon each day. For a slayer, the sun means safety. Relief. For a demon, it means death. She can’t fault him for being cautious. But at the same time, it’s a shame that Tomioka will never again know joy from daybreak’s arrival.

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, she inwardly scolds herself. Isn’t the purpose of the cure to be able to free him and the others from this destructive cycle? 

“You two alright back there?” Aikawa calls out.

Kanzaburo had abandoned Tomioka ten minutes ago to scout the path ahead. The two of them are back to their shoulders bumping together clumsily while the cart plows forward. Each time, she has to resist the urge to wince.

“We’re fine, Aikawa-san!” Shinobu replies. “Just a little bumpy.”

“Sorry about that. I wouldn’t normally have such a large shipment back there, but I’m headed to market and then I’m planning on spending the week with an old friend, so I won’t be going back home for a while.”

“Sounds lovely!” Tomioka’s elbow rams into her side, and he immediately shoots her an apologetic look. Her smile in response is a thinly-veiled threat. She’s not sure what it is about Tomioka being a demon that brings out the worst in her, other than the obvious. “Do you and your friend catch up often?”

“Nah,” Aikawa says. “We’re older now. We lost touch for a while after we both settled down, but his wife died a few years back, and I’ve been taking work slow.”

“It’s great that you reconnected again.”

“Yeah.” Aikawa waves a hand back in the direction they’d left. “You might’ve seen his land. It’s not too far from the inn you were at. But that guy’s got cornfields that go further than the eye can see around his property.”

Tomioka stiffens beside her.

“Sounds calming,” Shinobu says. “But I bet he’s lonely.”

“Yeah.” Aikawa doesn’t disagree with her. “I’ve been telling him to stop soon. He’s blind in one eye and can barely walk without a cane. It’s about time he’s put the farmer’s lifestyle behind him.”

“Oh, dear! You’re probably right.”

“He’s stubborn, though, so he won’t. He’ll only stop once it puts him in the grave.” Aikawa lets out a bitter laugh. “But he’s a good person. Just doesn’t know when to quit.” He glances back over his shoulder at the two of them. “You two shouldn’t follow his example. Nighttime escapades are fun when you’re young, but they catch up to you.”

“Duly noted,” she says. When she looks sideways, she notices that Tomioka’s spine is ramrod straight. He sits like he’s holding his breath. “I’m sure Tomioka-san will live forever, so he won’t have that problem.”

At the sound of his name, Tomioka scoffs. But she notices the tension loosen from his shoulders bit by bit. 

“No one lives forever, ojou-chan,” Aikawa says, almost wistfully. “The ones that deserve forever die young, and the ones that probably should’ve been six feet under by now stay miserable for ages. But no one’s got forever.”

If only that were true. A lot of lives would’ve been saved if Muzan’s lifespan had been cut short by some higher power. Instead, it’s in the hands of those that are vulnerable to act as executioner. 

Shinobu can only answer him with a laugh. 

Before long, the town appears over the horizon. The closer they get, the easier she can see the rivers that wind around the port city and the bridges that connect it all. Despite the late hour, the streets are not deserted, and they pass by at least two pedestrians on their way. She’s half-tempted to urge them to hurry home. The night can be unforgiving to those who brave its darkness. 

The moon is beginning its descent by the time Aikawa brings the cart to a stop in front of the town’s inn. 

“Here we are,” he says, setting the reins aside. “Do you two need any help?”

“No, thank you, Aikawa-san.” Shinobu steps down from the back before Tomioka can even consider offering his assistance again. The landing sends only a minor shock up her leg. “You’ve done enough.” She bows her head. “Thank you.”

Tomioka descends behind her. He seems to hesitate on whether he should extend his gratitude, but in the end, he settles for a silent bow of the head as well. 

“No need to thank me,” Aikawa insists. “I was headed in this direction anyway.” He lifts his hand in farewell. “Safe travels.”

“Thank you, Aikawa-san.”

The cart moves further and further along the street until it turns a corner and disappears from view. Shinobu turns around once it’s gone, half-expecting Tomioka to toss her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and summon Muzan right this instant. But instead, he’s staring out at the point where the cart left the main street with an unreadable expression.

“My, Tomioka-san,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d be so sad to see Aikawa-san go.”

Tomioka drags his gaze away after a few beats. He visibly hesitates before admitting, “I think I ate his friend.”

Something icy and cold washes down her spine. Her smile drops against her own accord. “What?”

He’s even more reluctant to explain after seeing her gut reaction. “I didn’t go far,” he says in a small voice. “I ran through the fields. There was an elderly man in the first home I found. It looked like he lived alone. He had a cane. He didn’t even notice I was behind him—until—”

Shinobu clenches her teeth so hard that it aches. Of course. Aikawa had said his friend had been partially blind. It might be a coincidence, but even if it’s untrue and Tomioka is mistaken, the harsh reality is that Tomioka did kill someone. He killed someone’s friend—someone’s partner or sibling. The weight of that loss is almost dizzying, even if they’re a stranger.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Shinobu snaps. It takes her all of two steps to enter the front door of the inn, lift her smile back into place, and abandon Tomioka out on the street. 

It takes all of two seconds for Tomioka to catch up with her. Shinobu doesn’t hide the fact that she’s avoiding him. When he tries catching her eye, she looks the opposite way; when the innkeeper gives her their room numbers, she goes on ahead without waiting for him, knowing full well he won’t have any difficulty keeping up. 

It’s only when they reach their separate rooms that they hit a snag. Shinobu moves to open the door to the first room, only to notice Tomioka still hovers behind her. At first, she chalks it up to him being overbearing, but when he steps forward to follow her inside, she hits her breaking point.

“What are you doing, Tomioka-san?” Shinobu asks with a faux smile. “You do realize it’s poor etiquette for you to follow me into my room, don’t you?”

Tomioka squints his eyes. He doesn’t have to speak for her to be able to read his mind: You’re a prisoner. She’s not meant to have the luxury of privacy.

“Yes, well,” she says, shooing him with her hand. “Imprison me from the next room. You’re faster and stronger than me, so even if I did try to make a run for it, I doubt I’d get far before you catch me again.”

“Not faster.”

“What?”

“I’m not faster than you,” Tomioka corrects. 

Shinobu falters, unsure of whether he’s meant it as humility for his own sake or a compliment of her skills. 

“I’m not supposed to leave you alone,” Tomioka says. 

“I think you just have bad intentions. Other than you trying to turn me into a demon.”

His eyes shut, like he’s praying for the patience required to handle her. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“Right. Do nothing in your own room then.”

Shinobu tries wiggling through the gap in the door, but to her dismay, Tomioka wedges his shoulder inside before she can shut it completely. It’s a pointless endeavor to try and shut him out, especially when he could break down the door if he wanted to, but she can’t resist the childish urge to lock him out. 

“I guess we’re sharing,” she announces, sounding none too pleased about it.

It’s one thing to share a room with a partner on a mission—something she hasn’t done often either. But it’s another to share a room with someone who’s actively a threat. Someone who could rip out her throat in an instant and feast on her severed limbs. Someone who intends to subject her to the same miserable fate. She’s not at all happy with the circumstances.

But a small voice in the back of her mind whispers that it could be worse. She has no idea when they’ll meet up with Muzan, and she’d rather stay in the dark regarding that. She’d like to avoid him as long as possible. As long as Tomioka isn’t actively dragging her in front of Muzan, she supposes it can be much, much worse. 

Her eyes flicker over to the windows. Tomioka has already begun pulling the blinds shut even though the sun is still some time away. 

The sun is not a bad idea, she considers. She could rip open the blinds, let the light flood into this enclosed space, and allow Tomioka to burn to a crisp before her eyes. He’d have nowhere to run. He’d be at her mercy.

“Don’t think about it,” Tomioka says suddenly, interrupting her reverie.

“Think about what?” she asks absentmindedly.

“The sun. I’ll just use my Blood Demon Art before you can make it.” He finishes drawing the blinds and regards her with an even look. It’s the same look that made Shinazugawa and Iguro think that Tomioka elevated himself above the rest of the Hashira for years—flat and vacant. “Don’t bother.”

Her lip twitches upward. “We’re friends! It would be terrible if I were to expose you to sunlight. You’d die!”

His expression doesn’t change.

Shinobu scoffs. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“I could sense your murderous intent from across the room.”

“Keen observation skills, Tomioka-san. I’m impressed.”

Shinobu removes her futon from the closet. Without thinking, she almost grabs a second one for Tomioka before remembering that he won’t need it. Unlike Nezuko, he won’t sleep. When she turns around, he’s seated on the floor, his hands clasped in his lap, eyes shut, and she wonders if she’d been wrong. Perhaps he is sleeping.

As soon as she tosses her futon, though, his eyes open again. The kanji have returned. 

She moves towards the door, only for Tomioka to begin to rise, too.

“What are you doing now ?” she asks with a tight smile. 

He stares at her like it’s obvious.

“I’m going to the bathroom to change, Tomioka-san. Since I no longer have my privacy, I have to undress in another room. You were able to sense my ‘murderous intent’ from across the room. Surely, you’ll sense it from across the inn and don’t need to follow me!” 

Without another word, Shinobu leaves him alone for the second time tonight.

By the time Shinobu returns to their shared room, the sun has begun to rise. A few early risers filter through the halls of the inn, no doubt headed out to get a head start on fishing or setting up their market stalls. But for her, the sun’s presence means that it’s time to rest. There is no way for Tomioka and her to move around during the day, so his plan must be to wait out the sun inside until he can bring her to Muzan at night. 

The demon in question has dragged the extra futon to the darkest corner of the room. If she were to open the blinds, the sunlight would not directly reach him. Even knowing this, he sits on the mattress, his covers tucked over his shoulders, as if this additional layer might save him from the sun’s ire. He looks—pathetic. And a little sad. Upper Moon Five, reduced to hiding beneath a blanket if it means he won’t burn alive.

She might be able to run. Daytime might be enough to deter him if his Blood Demon Art doesn’t get her first. 

In the end, she wanders back over to her spot. Her futon is still where she left it, spread in the direct line of the window. She crawls beneath the covers, but instead of lying down to sleep, she mirrors his position and pulls her knees to her chest. 

“You must be frightened!” she says. “Knowing that the sun is so close.”

Tomioka shrugs. Then, to her surprise, he coughs into his hand. 

The wheeze that leaves his lungs sets her on edge. But in the next moment, she relaxes again. Tomioka is a demon, after all. Demons don’t get sick. 

“You’ll get used to it,” he says.

“No, thank you,” Shinobu says, grinning. “I don’t want to get used to it. I love the outdoors too much to give up the sunshine. I love my garden, and sitting outside feeling the wind on my face, and watching the butterflies float around my estate.”

Instead of rejecting her statement, he murmurs, “That sounds—nice.”

“It is. You must miss all of that.”

Tomioka shrugs again. “I have no memories of the sun. I can’t miss something that never existed to me.”

Shinobu’s brows furrow. “But it did,” she insists. “Just because you don’t remember your human past doesn’t mean you don’t carry it with you.”

“How?”

She considers that. Many of Tomioka’s mannerisms have been retained even through his transformation, but it feels oddly invasive to point them out. What can she say? “You wear your hair the same way,” she decides.

“That isn’t special.”

“You’re being difficult on purpose. Let’s see…” She scans him from head to toe. At present, the most prominent features showcase how he’s changed. She needs to recognize how he’s stayed the same. “Your markings. They look like ocean waves. You were the Water Hashira.”

He still looks unconvinced. She’s doing a terrible job.

“That.” Shinobu snaps her fingers. “Exactly that. That look. That’s the same.”

Immediately, Tomioka attempts to school his features into a different expression—and fails. 

Shinobu snickers. “Tomioka-san, you’ve always given me that look whenever I’ve tried pestering you on purpose.”

“So you admit it’s on purpose?”

“Of course. You need to talk more, Tomioka-san. You’re terrible at making friends. This is why no one likes—” Shinobu cuts herself off. Somehow, even though the rest of her statement comes easily, it no longer sounds right. She’d said it in jest previously, but she was at the emergency Hashira meeting when it was announced that Tomioka had also gone missing: the matching looks of devastation on everyone’s faces are etched into her memory. “Ah. Anyway. You’re much too gloomy all of the time.” 

Tomioka studies her, and for a moment, she wonders if he’ll press her on what she’d originally intended to say. Instead, he says, “It sounds like you knew me well.”

“Well. I don’t know if anyone knew you well. ” 

The Water Hashira had always been surrounded by an air of mystery. Most of the Hashira were unforthcoming with their personal histories, but they could at least be open about their shared mission of ridding the world of demons. With Tomioka, even his intentions were murky. It was precisely why someone like him—who’d always completed missions without fault and followed orders to a T—disobeying and allowing a demon to live had seemed so wrong. 

“But I suppose I knew you well enough,” Shinobu continues. There’s a note of melancholy in her voice that she can’t hide. Death is terrible in how it tears loved ones and families apart, but her grief does not know what to make of someone who is a ghost of their former self. “I don’t know if you’d even considered me a friend.”

(Tomioka-san. Don’t you dare train before I tell you it’s okay. If I have to redo your stitches again, I will purposely make it a painful experience.

Yes, Kocho. Sorry.)

The memory trails off before she gets the chance to dwell on it. Had Tomioka considered her a friend? She thinks he was hers. 

“I think…so,” Tomioka says. Her head snaps up to look at him. The words leave his mouth slowly, like he’s deliberating over each one before speaking them into existence. “You seem—like a kind person. I think…I would’ve wanted to be your friend.”

A lump forms in her throat, swallowing any response she might’ve had. She’ll never know for sure. She never had the chance to ask before. She’ll only have his speculation and his incorrect observation that she’s a kind person.

“You’re confusing me with Kanae!” she says, her smile even more forced than usual.

Tomioka tilts his head. “Who’s Kanae?”

That is a road she definitely doesn’t want to travel down today. With that, she says nothing more before digging her feet beneath her covers and resting her head against the pillow. 

“You should sleep,” she suggests. “I’ve heard sleeping makes demons stronger!”

Instead of responding to her suggestion, Tomioka says, “Good night, Kocho.”

She hesitates, then returns his wishes. “Good night, Tomioka-san.”

Chapter Text

She knows that it’s nighttime again when Tomioka twists open the blinds, allowing the moonlight to filter through the window. 

Without the sun, it’s hard to convince her eyes to open, but there’s a pinch in her stomach that demands food immediately. Tomioka might not have considered the necessity of multiple meals, but the last time she ate was Kikyo’s breakfast yesterday afternoon. She’s starving. 

“Good evening, Kocho,” Tomioka says. He glances over at her reclined position, gauging whether or not she’s in a good enough mood to be woken up. 

“I suppose it’s morning for demons,” Shinobu muses. 

There’s an uneasy feeling that twists her gut. It hadn’t been there yesterday—not when she’d woken up alone in the inn without knowing where Tomioka had gone, and not when she’d first learned she’d be sharing a room with a demon. Is today when he decides to take her to Muzan? Is the progenitor of demons closer than she suspects? She’s half-tempted to ask Tomioka. He might give her a straight answer. But on the other hand, she’s not sure how she’ll respond if he says yes. 

If one thing’s for certain, it’s that he has no intentions of staying inside any longer. He stands at the foot of her futon, now dressed in a red yukata, his hair already gathered at the nape of his neck. His arms are crossed over his chest, almost expectantly. 

“Is something wrong, Tomioka-san?” She splays her arm over her eyes to block him from her view. “You might be ready to head out, but humans don’t adjust so easily to your inane schedules.”

“We should get moving.”

“In a minute. I’m hungry.”

When Shinobu removes her arm, she watches his eyebrows lift to his hairline, as if he’d never considered that she also needed to eat. “Right,” he says. “Uh.”

“So I will get ready, but before you haul me off to death’s doors, I’d like to eat! Does that sound fair?”

Tomioka nods. 

“Great,” she says. She sits up straight, rubbing at her eyes with closed fists. “Since you seem so intent on leaving, you could spend your time finding me breakfast while I get dressed.”

“I don’t know what humans like.”

“Guess!” Shinobu waves her hands at him. “Now shoo.”

To her surprise, once again, Tomioka complies. She’s not sure why he seems to be so agreeable as a demon, but she supposes that he’d never argued or bickered with the other Hashira when he’d been human either. Whatever his reasoning, it gives her the chance to fully drag herself out of the remains of sleep and pull on her uniform once more. She does a half-hearted search for her sword in case he’d left it behind, but unfortunately, it’s nowhere to be found, meaning it’s probably already on his person. 

Shinobu has rolled up both futons by the time he returns with a full tray of food. 

“I suppose I did tell you to guess,” Shinobu says, eyeing how crowded the tray is as he sets it down in front of her. “But you didn’t need to bring so much. I’m a small person.”

Tomioka frowns, more to himself than to her. “I couldn’t remember how much anyone would eat normally.” For the first time, there’s a layer of frustration that colors his voice. 

Each time she’s alluded to his human memories thus far, he’s shrugged them off as unnecessary and unimportant. His transformation led him to believe that his life had been worthless until he’d become a demon. Dwelling on the past would bring him more harm than good—at least, that’s what he’d implied. She hasn’t ever caught onto this—this irritation that the knowledge he once had is out of reach. 

It’s—good. It’s good that he’s frustrated. She would be too, if she’d been turned into a demon against her will and forced to forget all that she’d known and loved as a human. Frustration becomes doubt, which in turn becomes anger, and she knows best how valuable of a weapon anger can be. 

If he’s angry, then…

“It’s alright, Tomioka-san,” she assures him, her voice more gentle than usual. Tomioka must pick up on it too. He regards her with a curious look. “You can sit. I’m not the one prone to biting.”

Tomioka settles down across from her. “I’m not going to—”

“Anyway,” she interrupts. She picks up a pair of chopsticks and lifts a bowl of steamed rice. It’s warm against her palms, and her stomach growls on cue. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was until the food was arranged in front of her. “Thank you for the meal. Care to tell me what our plans are?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “We’re going to see Muzan-sama.”

Shinobu smiles placidly at him before beginning with her rice. “So I’ve heard! Did the two of you agree on a location in advance? Or should we continue wandering like travelers to see if he’ll find us first?”

Tomioka inhales deeply through his nostrils before answering her as seriously as ever, “The Kizuki have a special connection with Muzan-sama. No matter how far away he is, I can always vaguely tell where he is. I’m only bringing you to the place where his presence is the strongest.”

Her breakfast turns bitter in her mouth. “I see.” She forces herself to swallow before washing it down with steaming tea. “That’s unfortunate.”

“You’ll become…better once you’re a demon.” It sounds too rehearsed, like he’s repeating from memory. “You’ll be stronger.”

Even though he doesn’t mean it to say she’s weak, she hates the implication regardless. That she’s not enough, that her body is unsuitable for slaying demons, that she’s irresponsible for running into battles where she can only win through poison, not by severing the head. It makes her temples throb. He only means it in the way all demons do—that humans are breakable, that they are not invincible, and if they’re not killed by demons, death will still come for them all the same. Even so, it requires a significant amount of effort to maintain her smile and continue eating.

“Did someone say that to you once?” she asks instead, barely curbing the anger that winds itself around each word that leaves her mouth. “That you were weak as a human.”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Akaza says I’m stronger now.”

“You were strong before.” Shinobu resumes eating the rest of her rice. “And who is Akaza?”

Tomioka’s mouth clamps shut, like he’s realized that he’s said too much. At once, his expression becomes guarded. It isn’t just the kanji that denotes him as a threat anymore; even the way he’s straightened has her on edge. “No one.”

Akaza. The name sounds familiar. Where has she heard it before? 

Tomioka’s mentioned it before, but that’s not it. 

“Is Akaza one of the Kizuki?” When he offers no response, she presses further. “Does he have light hair? Does he have bloodstains on his head?”

At that, his guard relaxes. “No,” he says. “You must be talking about Douma.”

Douma.

Although she’s never heard his name before, if Tomioka was able to pick apart one of the Kizuki from such a vague description, it must be him. Him, him, him. The demon responsible for taking her sister from her. The one who killed her. The one she’ll die to kill herself if it means returning the favor. His name alone makes her feel like ice has frosted over her insides. The only thing warm enough to melt it away is the rage she’s cultivated for years, rising to the surface. 

She can’t even conceal her wrath. Tomioka reels back, his eyes wide, and she wonders what sort of expression she must be making to make one of the Kizuki wary. 

She’s waited for years, carrying the secrets that Kanae whispered to her with her dying breaths, hoping for the chance to avenge the family she’s lost. She’s always known she might not make it to the final battle against Muzan. But she intends to take the Upper Rank with her, at the very least. She’ll do whatever possible to ensure that victory. She can promise her allies that much. She’ll die in her anger, but hopefully, she’ll be at peace again once it’s all over. 

“Yes,” she says, her voice as cold as ice. “That must be him.”

How does she approach this? Tamayo has spoken to her before of the connection shared between all demons—one that links them back to their creator and his personal desires. There’s not much they know about this bond as it exists now. When Tamayo had been under Muzan’s control, it’s likely that he didn’t use it for the same purposes he does today. 

If she asks him about Douma, will Douma himself know about her curiosity? Will he anticipate her arrival before she can even make her first move? 

Demons have all of the advantages laid out for them. They’re strong; they’re unbreakable; they possess talents that can outwit the average swordsman. If it weren’t for their breathing techniques, the demon slayers wouldn’t stand a chance. Even then, some—including herself—don’t possess the ideal body type to face demons head-on. 

There are few advantages she possesses—one of which is her brain. If she allows that Upper Rank to sense her vengeance from a distance, she’ll be relinquishing one of the few surprises she has under her belt. She needs to be careful about how much she’s willing to give away. 

“Have you fought any of the other Kizuki?” Shinobu asks. She tries her best to relax her features now that the surge of anger has passed. There’s no reason to make Tomioka even more suspicious than he is. “Are they strong?”

“Yes,” Tomioka says. “Much stronger than I am. I’m unfit to sit in their ranks.” Shinobu pauses at that, but he continues before she can dwell on the comment further. “I’ve fought with…Akaza before.”

“So Akaza is one of the Kizuki.”

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t have to say it,” Shinobu says. 

She debates whether it’s worth asking Tomioka about his fighting style. After all, her goal isn’t to face whoever this Akaza is, so there’s no harm in him finding out anything through the bond. But judging by how defensive Tomioka became earlier, she senses there’s an invisible line she needs to walk. 

If Akaza is one of the Kizuki, he must be one of the original members. That leaves Upper Ranks One, Two, or Three. She finishes up the last of the rice and sets down the bowl before the realization hits her. 

There’s only one Kizuki the Corps know by name. The only one included in recent reports, known for killing one of the Hashira.

Her lips flatten. Shinobu reaches for the bowl of miso soup, but her fingers twitch in the process.

“I see,” she murmurs, more to herself than Tomioka. “Akaza is Upper Rank Three.”

Tomioka’s head snaps up. “How did you…?”

“Upper Three. You wouldn’t remember, but I should’ve known there was a reason I thought his name sounded familiar.” She releases a sharp breath and starts working on her soup. “Upper Three killed one of the Hashira of our generation. Rengoku-san.”

There isn’t a single flicker of recognition at the sound of his former comrade’s name. 

“You don’t remember Rengoku-san at all? If I remember correctly, he talked to you quite a bit at Hashira meetings.”

He shakes his head. “I already told you I have no memories of my time as a human.”

A pity, she thinks, that Rengoku’s memory is lost. His death was final. He was not turned into a demon, and therefore, he has no choice in whether he’d like to receive the cure and return as a human once more. He did not survive the fight at the Mugen Train because he’d sacrificed his own life to protect all of the lives behind him. He’d died with honor for the sake of justice. The Corps still feels the ghost of his loss even now.

His spirit is permanently gone from this world. At the very least, he should be remembered for his achievements. 

“Akaza was the one who killed him,” she says, matter-of-fact. “If you had your memories, this would’ve meant something.”

His look in return is blank. Lifeless. She sighs. 

“Did Akaza turn you into a demon?” she asks. “Is that why you speak so highly of him?”

Tomioka nods slowly. “That’s what he says. I don’t remember much of the night I was turned.” For some inexplicable reason, he lifts a hand towards his left cheek, where the demon marking rests. “All I know is what Akaza told me happened, and he talks a lot.” He pulls a face, one that catches her by surprise, as it is full of plain annoyance. “He talks too much.”

“You never liked talking as a human either,” Shinobu muses. It sounds like Tomioka wishes Akaza would talk less. “But I thought other demons couldn’t turn humans.”

“They can’t. Only the Kizuki have permission to offer. They can share their blood, but Muzan still needs to make the final decision of whether or not he’ll allow that human to become a demon.”

Interesting. She places the now empty bowl back on the tray and starts picking at the broccoli dish. She’d like to know more about Akaza and how that fight between him and Tomioka ended up like this, but this line of questioning is wringing her dry. It’s clear that Tomioka holds some level of respect for Akaza, despite his show of irritation at how persistent Akaza can be, and it’s too early to press his buttons. 

She can only hope she’ll have time to find out more later. 

“This really is too much food, Tomioka-san,” she says. “Would you like a bite?”

“No.”

“Is your hunger kicking in? Should I be concerned?”

He narrows his eyes at her.

“I’m only trying to help!” She raises her hands in surrender. “I want to stop you from destroying more lives, so please do try and trust me.”

“It’s pointless,” he says. “I will not be able to resist.”

“Then I will pin you to the roof of this inn with my sword and let the sun scorch you.”

Tomioka only sighs again.

“You should stop claiming that you weren’t strong, Tomioka-san.” There’s a bit of salmon left, and she pinches it with her chopsticks. Out of the corner of her eye,  she watches as Tomioka’s gaze focuses on the final dish, and belatedly, she remembers how brightly she’d seen him smile that first time when he ordered salmon daikon after one of their first missions together. How many of his memories manifest now, even subconsciously? “You were strong as a human. Akaza claims that you’re better now because he looked down on Rengoku-san for protecting the weak. Demons have no sentiments for others.”

Tomioka is silent, but she continues, “Demons steal strength from those they kill. They have none of their own, so they can only take. Physically, you’re stronger as a demon, yes. But you now trample over the lives you once swore to protect. In my eyes, you’re the weakest you’ve ever been.” He studies her with a cool, level stare that she does not shy away from. “Do not try and say to me again that you’re better now. I will never agree.”

His gaze is unwavering, even as she organizes the empty dishes on her breakfast tray. She ignores him, though, and simply asks, “Let’s get going, shall we?”

Even though the sun has set, the town still has its fair share of pedestrians passing through. None of them pay her any mind, passing her off as another traveler. Even Tomioka blends in well with humans so long as his eyes are shifted to hide the kanji. He stays at her side, almost annoyingly close, but he doesn’t urge her to hurry or walk at anything beyond a leisurely pace. He’s remarkably unhurried considering she doubts Muzan is a patient man.

It’s unfortunate that she hasn’t found the chance to ditch him yet. She should’ve known better than to assume Tomioka wouldn’t predict that she’d try to escape again. It’s why he’s kept an attentive eye and insisted on sharing her room, but she has no idea how she might make it back to the Corps if he’s always watching. En isn’t back yet either, which poses another problem. She hasn’t seen Kanzaburo since they arrived, and while she trusts that he’s around, she doesn’t exactly trust the awareness of a elderly crow. 

Currently, the only company she has is the Upper Rank at her side, and he doesn’t have her best interests in mind.

“I love seaside towns,” she remarks. “The air always feels so fresh.”

Tomioka hasn’t said anything since they’ve left the inn, but he nods at her statement.

“We can get fish for dinner. I’m sure there are vendors available during the day.”

“If you want.”

“So agreeable, Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says. She glances at him sideways as they cross over another bridge, a young couple passing in the opposite direction. They must be out on an evening romantic stroll. Must be nice. “I could use a bath too. We should spend the night in! Muzan can surely wait another day.”

At that, Tomioka’s stare burns into the side of her skull. He opens his mouth, no doubt to cut her off with a simple No, only to freeze in his tracks. His head twists sharply to the right to look down an unlit and empty street. A second later, she senses what must’ve caught his attention—the sharp, metallic scent of blood. Before she can snap into action, a loud scream comes from that direction, confirming the dread pooling in her gut.

Shinobu doesn’t waste another second. Without waiting for Tomioka, she sprints down the street following the cry. The smell of blood grows stronger the closer she gets. There must be a lot of it—a lot of injuries, potentially many casualties. This happened right under her nose, and she didn’t even realize until it was too late. 

Faster, faster, faster, she thinks. If she’s fast enough, she might be able to save someone. If she’s fast enough, maybe one heart will still be beating. 

Shinobu takes another sharp turn. Within seconds, her eyes pick out the house that the scream must’ve come from. It’s easy to identify. An average slayer could’ve done the same. If the screams weren’t enough, the house being split in two would’ve been a good indicator of what awaits them inside. 

Shinobu doesn’t hesitate before bursting through the gaping hole in the wall. The sight that greets her would’ve been enough to make anyone with an uneasy stomach turn away. The demon had done the most damage in tearing through the structure of the home, but there are still two bodies sprawled on the floor, their faces white with pain. With a sinking stomach, she realizes why the river of blood on the floor continues to grow: the demon had tried tearing out their insides first. The two humans—a man and a woman, likely a married couple if they’d been living together—have matching wounds across their stomachs, like the demon had taken its time tearing through their flimsy flesh with its claws. 

But both appear to be breathing. Their rasps are broken and pained, but their chests still rise and fall. For whatever reason, the demon hadn’t finished the job. 

There’s no time to mull over why that might be. Her priority is saving lives. There are two humans that need her help. The demon can wait. 

With her heart in her throat, Shinobu rushes over to the woman. She’s been discarded beneath the kitchen table, and her gaze is unfocused as she stares up at the ceiling. Every few seconds, another scream leaves her throat. She barely seems to register Shinobu’s presence as she rushes to her side. 

She doesn’t have supplies. She has nothing on her person that might help these people. But she can’t condemn them to death while doing nothing. 

“Kanzaburo!” Shinobu screams. She presses both hands firmly to the woman’s injury, applying the necessary pressure. “Kanzaburo!”

The crow dives through the open gap in the house and hovers by Shinobu’s shoulder.

“DEMON ATTACK,” Kanzaburo cries out. “DEMON ATTACK. WHERE’S GIYUU?”

“Never mind him!” Shinobu orders. Her gaze flickers to the man a few feet away. He’ll die if she doesn’t give him the same attention. But she’s only one person, and she only has two hands. “I need you to find the nearest doctor. Hurry!”

Thankfully, Kanzaburo understands the urgency. “YES, KOCHO-SAN.” He exits out the same way he’d arrived. 

“My husband…” the woman croaks. “Is he…alive?”

Shinobu offers her best reassuring smile, given the circumstances. “Yes, he’s alive. Help is on the way. Please try not to speak.”

Hopefully, Kanzaburo brings help soon. There’s very little she can do other than put pressure on their wounds. Even then, there’s one person she can’t help without releasing the other. For once, she’s completely at a loss of what to do. Again, she’s powerless to save another life.

A shadow falls over her, and her body sags with relief, thinking that the doctor must have arrived. Just in time, too, because the man is dangerously pale. Shinobu turns—and at once, her stomach drops. 

The silhouette behind her belongs to no doctor. Everything about his stance is rigid, his spine ramrod straight, and from her position, she can see his pupils dilating as they fixate on the two incapacitated bodies. His fangs chatter against the rest of his teeth, almost as if he’s already imagining what it would be like to bite. Rivulets of drool fall from his open mouth. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, so tight that his claws break the skin and his own blood drips to the floor. 

She’s seen hungry demons before. Newborn demons in particular seem to react to the hunger in a way that’s almost animalistic. It transforms their entire bodies and dispositions until flesh is all that matters to them. She thought that she could no longer be surprised at how monstrous demons were.

But it’s different seeing that hunger reflected in the eyes of someone she once knew. It’s changed Tomioka’s entire face. The eyes that had seemed cool and unwavering, even as a demon, now flicker with frenzied desire. His veins pulse along his skull, like Muzan’s blood beckons to him, demanding that he give into his wishes and consume all the flesh his heart craves. There’s no doubt in her mind that he hadn’t exaggerated how extreme his hunger is. He’s two steps away from sinking his teeth into flesh. He’s starving.

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says, her voice shaking. She can’t conceal the panic that’s bubbling up inside her. If Tomioka attacks, she’ll have no choice but release her hold on the victim. That action alone could cost these two their lives. She doesn’t even have her sword. It rests against Tomioka’s waist, almost taunting her. She has no way of stopping him even if he does lunge forward; she can only try to slow him down by throwing herself in his path. “Tomioka-san. Stop. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare.”

His teeth continue to chatter. The sound is so overwhelming that she hears it over the rush of blood in her eardrums. 

“Tomioka-san . Don’t you dare attack them. Please resist. I need you to control your hunger for a little longer. Please.” She’s aware that she’s babbling. She never babbles, but her nerves have taken over completely. She doesn’t remember the last time she’s been so anxious. Even when Tomioka had chased her through the woods, her life had been the only thing in danger. Now, two rest in her hands, and the hunger of a starving demon might be the deciding factor in whether they live or die tonight. “Please listen to me. Don’t touch them. Resist a little more. I know it must be incredibly difficult. But if you attack them, I will never forgive you. Please. Tomioka-san!”

A guttural growl tears out of Tomioka’s throat. His entire body shakes violently with tremors. He’s not even looking at her. His eyes are entirely fixed on the two injured bodies in front of him. He might as well be staring through her.

“Tomioka-san, I need your help,” Shinobu says. “I need you to apply pressure to that man’s stomach. He’s losing blood too quickly.”

His fangs clack together.

“I need you to help me! They’ll die!”

His knuckles whiten from the force he’s using. He isn’t healing fast enough to stop the blood that trails down. 

“Tomioka-san,” she repeats. Beneath her hands, the woman’s eyes flutter shut. “Tomioka-san!”

Tomioka uncurls one of his hands. Dried blood colors the inside of his palm, still shaking as he raises it towards the sleeve of his yukata.

“Tomioka-san?”

He tears the fabric enough that he barely has enough to make a whole sleeve anymore. His fingers still tremble as he brings the torn fabric up to his mouth. Quickly, he stuffs it into his mouth and loops it around the back of his skull, tying it into a tight knot. A makeshift muzzle, she realizes. 

He’s still drooling around the gag, but it’s at least stopped the chatter of his teeth. His eyes haven’t lost that wild look to them when he lifts his head again, and his arms quiver even as he takes a step forward, then another. 

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says, her mouth parted with surprise. He did hear her. He’s trying to listen. 

She doesn’t know what made him consider using a muzzle. Nezuko still uses one, even though most people in the Corps trust her enough that she could do without it. Had he subconsciously remembered her? Or, she thinks as he nears, did he remember being the one who originally crafted a muzzle for Nezuko? Another layer of protection that he offered to the Kamado siblings. 

She shoves the musings out of her mind as Tomioka stands behind her. It’s clear that this—standing here, getting close to two vulnerable figures—requires an exorbitant amount of self-restraint on his part. She’s asking too much out of someone who’s only been a demon for a few months. But whatever Tomioka can offer, she’ll take. 

“Are you alright?” Shinobu feels compelled to ask, but she already knows the answer. One look at Tomioka says enough. He won’t be able to control himself for long. “Do you think you can apply pressure to that man’s stomach?”

Wordlessly, Tomioka stalks over to where the man lies. He’s already lost consciousness from the blood loss, otherwise he might scream at the sight of Tomioka towering over him, a crazed glint in his eye like he’s overjoyed to finish the job the first demon started. Thankfully, Tomioka doesn’t follow through with the urge. He crouches down and mirrors Shinobu’s hand placement, pressing hard.

“Yes, like that,” Shinobu says. “Nicely done, Tomioka-san.”

His drool still slides down his chin and onto the man’s prone form. His pupils are still dilated, still dancing with violent hunger, and his shoulders shake every few seconds. But he’s holding back enough. 

“Thank you,” she whispers—and she hopes he can hear the genuine note in her voice. When she’d first seen him in the doorway, she thought they were done for. “I sent Kanzaburo to find a doctor. I don’t have any supplies to stitch them up myself.”

Tomioka doesn’t react to her words. She wonders if there’s another voice that’s speaking to him now, much louder than hers, urging him to give in—to dig his claws into the man’s chest and gorge on his insides like he no doubt wants to do. 

“I don’t have any fire to cauterize their wounds either,” she continues. Maybe if she talks enough, it’ll prove enough of a distraction for the two of them. “We could’ve used my sword, but maybe the blade would’ve been too thin.”

Behind her, a few shocked gasps reach her ears. She looks over her shoulder to find that the quiet street is now growing with terrified passersby. Some reach the threshold of the house, making to cross through the doorway. 

“Don’t come closer!” she orders. Tomioka is already having enough trouble restraining himself. The less people, the better. Besides, he can no longer pass as human; his veins pulsate along his forehead, and even someone who did not know of the existence of demons might take a look at his eyes and describe them as monstrous. “We need a doctor. Is anyone a doctor?”

The villagers begin shouting amongst themselves. 

“Someone go get the village doctor!” one of them calls.

“Hurry!”

A few more villagers arrive, drawn to the noise. “What the hell happened?”

But she forces herself to pretend that no one is watching. Her priority has to be the lives hanging by a thread, and the demon whose control is no more than a series of tattered strings. “You’re doing great, Tomioka-san,” Shinobu whispers. “Please hold on a little longer.”

As if her words summoned him, someone shouts, “The doctor is here!” and relief washes over her. 

Kanzaburo dives through the house and lands on Tomioka’s shoulder. This time, Tomioka is too distracted to object. 

“Kanzaburo!” Shinobu calls. “You called the doctor?”

“YES, KOCHO-SAN,” Kanzaburo says in a low voice. He recognizes the need to conceal himself from the growing crowd of concerned onlookers. 

The next moment, the village doctor bursts through the front of the crowd. His eyes digest the situation in front of him within a few seconds; in the next, he gets to work and crouches down beside Shinobu. She wastes no time in relaying the extent of their injuries. Before she’s finished, the doctor has started cleaning the woman’s wounds.

“You said you’re a doctor, yes?” he murmurs. “Please take care of the other one.”

Shinobu releases her hold once the doctor confirms that she’s free to do so and turns her attention over to the injured man. Tomioka hasn’t moved since she last took a look at him. It’s been a blessing that the doctor hasn’t studied him too closely. 

“It’s alright, Tomioka-san,” she says, bending over the body. “You’ve forgotten I’m a doctor. I’m very good at what I do, so this will be quick. I need you to hold on a little longer while I stitch the wound closed.”

The only indication that he’s heard her is that he shifts his hands to the side so that she can assess the wound properly. As she leans forward, his ragged breathing brushes against her ear. He’s unable to move away, lest the doctor notice his unusual appearance, so she’ll have to hurry. She needs to remove Tomioka from the scene as soon as possible. 

Shinobu bites the inside of her cheek, and begins.

Chapter Text

Shinobu wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand as she surveys her handiwork. For her standards, it’s a sloppy job. But she’s impressed at how well she did under pressure, especially since Tomioka was shuddering in her line of vision the entire time. His tight leash of control is wearing thin, and she can’t push him any further. This is as far as he goes. 

“You’re done?” the doctor asks. He’s still on the last few stitches. “Thank you, ojou-chan.”

“You’re welcome!” Shinobu leaps to her feet and grabs Tomioka’s hand with a tight grip. She drags him to his feet, and on his shoulder, Kanzaburo squawks at the abrupt motion. “Happy to help. We must get going now!”

Before anyone can object, she drags Tomioka along with her. He keeps his head lowered as they exit the smashed home, and she can only hope no one notices that his mouth is gagged or that he has fangs poking out instead of normal teeth. The two of them proceed at a brisk pace, but as soon as they turn the corner, she starts running, pulling Tomioka along with her. She wants to get him as far away from the scene of the crime as possible.

Their footsteps are loud against the empty streets. Kanzaburo detaches himself from Tomioka and soars into the sky to follow them from above. There is no one around to spot them sprinting or else there would be questions. It’s only once they’re a few streets down that she’s satisfied. She slows down, and Tomioka follows suit. 

Against the eerie silence, the low growls and whines in his throat are impossible to ignore. Even around the gag, his teeth have resumed their incessant chattering. It’s not enough to remove him from the scene. The hunger still eats away at him. There’s only one solution to stopping that hunger that she knows of, and she doesn’t even want to begin traveling down that road. If she stands by and allows Tomioka to feed off another human being, she’s as culpable as he is. That guilt will follow her, too. 

But he won’t be able to resist for much longer. His blue eyes have darkened, and his shoulders have resumed shaking. With a snarl, he rips the fabric out of his mouth. His fangs—have they always looked that sharp?

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu starts, but the words die in her throat. His hands claw at his throat, as if the hunger only threatens him there—as if it isn’t wired into his entire nature. She doesn’t know what to do. 

His knees buckle beneath him. His claws dig into his neck hard enough to draw blood. 

“I can’t…” he pants. “I can’t…It’s too much.”

Someone help me, Shinobu thinks. Nee-san, what do I do?

“Tomioka-san—”

A loud and sharp caw cuts her off. Two dark shapes circle overhead, but she only registers them as crows when they lower themselves to her level. 

“SHINOBU-SAMA,” En greets her. There is a basket tied to her ankle, and she gapes at the contents within. Three secure bags of blood sit inside the basket—the glimmer of hope Tamayo offers her. “SHE TOLD US TO BRING YOU THESE.”

The other crow holds a letter within their beak with Tamayo’s handwriting on the outside. But the letter can wait. Tomioka cannot.

“Thank you,” she says, grinning. “Oh, thank you, En! I owe you two sunflower seeds as soon as I can find them.”

Tomioka is still keeled over on the ground. He hasn’t noticed their arrival, too overcome with hunger to process anything else. His palms bite into the ground, his hands dried with the man’s—and his own—blood. 

There is no time to waste. Even a second’s delay could be the difference between Tomioka losing control and lunging at her.

Shinobu tears open the first bag. Immediately, Tomioka’s head snaps up, his pupils blown out. The sound of his teeth clacking is overwhelming in the silence. But beyond that hunger, that desire to feed, she can pick out something else within his gaze: desperation. 

“It’s not human flesh,” she says, “but I hope this will be enough for now.”

She tips it forward for him, half-expecting him to take it. Instead, his fangs seize the corner of the bag that she ripped with a ferocity that still catches her off guard. His arm reaches up to grip her tightly right below the elbow, keeping her frozen in place. He’s still kneeling on the ground, but that doesn’t seem to matter. His hold on her is almost bruising, but she doesn’t force him off—not when his actions are so frenzied and erratic that he’s one tick away from losing control completely. 

“Careful,” she murmurs. Her smile is back in place. “Don’t let any of it spill.”

She doubts he will. She squeezes the bag between her fingers, allowing it to trickle out from the open tear. His throat bobs as he swallows, the blood staining his fangs and lips red. She can only stare as his movements grow more frantic, drinking it down to the point of almost choking. His grip on her arm stays firm, almost as if he’s terrified she’ll take it away. But she can’t do anything. All she can do is watch as the hunger controls him. 

But what surprises her the most are his eyes. They remain on hers at all time, even as he finishes with the first bag and she’s forced to rip the second one with one hand, given he’s holding onto her other arm. At first, the blue irises are dark with desperation. They’re uncontrolled, raving. With the second bag, his movements are no less frantic, but his eyes shift. They peer up at her with something akin to gratitude, as if she isn’t the one that asked him to curb his hunger in the first place. It’s disorienting, and she almost looks away. She’s not sure she can bear Tomioka looking at her like she’s his savior. 

By the third bag, Tomioka is a lot more relaxed. He takes his time, lapping at the corner with his tongue, and even though his fingers still wrap around her arm, there isn’t that same sense of urgency. That calmness returns to his eyes, and slowly, his body loosens as well. 

Once the last droplets are gone, he peels his mouth away. 

“You alright, Tomioka-san?” Shinobu asks. His appearance has returned to normal, but she can’t speak for the turmoil he might be feeling beneath the surface. 

Instead of responding, he murmurs, “Thank you, Kocho,” and releases her arm. All of a sudden, his gaze shifts downward, even though he had been focused on maintaining eye contact only seconds before, like he can no longer bear to look at her. 

His gratitude feels undeserved, especially when she’s the one demanding that he resist the urges Muzan has instilled into his being. “I should be the one thanking you.” She needs to dispose of the leftover plastic from the bags, but for now, she holds them in her hands. “If you hadn’t stepped in to help that man, he might not have made it. He was losing blood at a rapid rate. Besides, if you’d decided to attack after all, my hard work would’ve been pointless!”

Tomioka stands up. Even though that crazed glint in his eyes has disappeared, anyone walking by would give him a second look. He’s lost most of one sleeve, his hair tie has nearly fallen out, and there’s blood covering his hands and coating his mouth and teeth. It’s a sight to behold, and no one would hesitate before running in the opposite direction once they spotted him. He certainly looks the part of an Upper Rank Kizuki.

“I don’t remember most of what happened,” he admits, lifting up his arm to showcase how disheveled he is.

“What do you remember?”

“The scent of blood…You running. I chased after you, and then…it’s fuzzy.” A furrow appears between his eyebrows. “I remember how hungry I was. It was all I could think about.”

“That’s all?”

“I heard you yelling. You sounded panicked. I’ve only ever heard you sound like that once.”

He’s right. Shinobu prides herself on maintaining her composure even in the most dire of circumstances. The only other time that facade had cracked had been when Tomioka first captured her, and she thought he’d turn her into a demon immediately. The mask she wears had definitely splintered then. 

“It gets fuzzy again after that. The smell—I think I felt like I could give in at any moment.”

They had narrowly avoided that disaster. She’d toyed with the limits of Tomioka’s control. “But you didn’t.”

“No.” Tomioka sniffs the air. “There were two distinct smells in there—the blood was one.” For the first time since he looked away, he meets her gaze. “You smell like wisteria. It was so poignant that it helped me focus.”

Oh. She supposes that wouldn’t be unusual. There is wisteria surrounding the grounds of her estate, not to mention it’s a central part to the poison she uses. But there is something in the honesty in how Tomioka admits that it helped distract him that makes her feel a tad vulnerable. 

“I see. I hope the smell is somewhat bearable, otherwise I’d feel horribly offended.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not one to talk about appearances, Tomioka-san.” She gestures towards him. “You’ll frighten anyone we run into.”

“I’m a demon.”

“Even so, you should at least clean all the blood off your mouth. We might get mistaken for criminals.” Shinobu snaps her fingers and gives him a devious smile. “I know. We should head back to the inn and take baths. Separately, of course. Muzan can surely wait another day. It would be awful if Upper Five returned to his side looking so dreadful.”

Tomioka looks bewildered, and she doesn’t blame him at all. Her intention, after all, is to delay the inevitable as long as possible until she can find a way to leave his side. Her methods of delaying their travels are flimsy at best. Even so, Tomioka seems to enjoy arguing even less as a demon. With a scowl, he mutters, “Fine. We’ll find Muzan-sama tomorrow.”

“Great!” Relief washes over her with his reply. She at least has another day. It might not mean much, but it gives her the chance to read through Tamayo’s letter, still with the other crow somewhere above. It gives her the chance to think of another escape. “Doesn’t a long, warm bath sound like the perfect end to this terrible evening?”

Tomioka nods, albeit reluctantly. She knows that demons don’t use stamina the way humans require it, but perhaps exhaustion manifests differently for them. Will Tomioka grow sluggish and clumsy the longer he goes without consuming human flesh?

“How are you feeling?” she asks as they leave the darkness of the alley side by side. “Blood isn’t a substitute for human flesh, I’m sure.”

“It’s fine,” he says, and that’s that.

Her smile twitches. “I’m trying to help, Tomioka-san. That means you should tell me how you’re feeling and whether or not you’re still hungry, so that I can look into other solutions.”

“The blood is enough.” Tomioka reaches his arms up to fix his hair. As he does so, Shinobu uses the sleeve that remains to attempt to wipe the blood off his chin. Unfortunately, it only results in smearing it more. She leaves it be. “I’m fine.”

Fine—if he wants to drop it, she will. She can move onto a more pressing issue, one that’s been sitting at the back of her mind since they first stumbled upon the scene. “I know you said you don’t remember much, but I can tell that the demon didn’t finish the job. Both of them were relatively unharmed by demon standards. Why do you think that is?”

He finishes fixing his hair tie and lets his arms swing down to his sides. “I don’t know. It wasn’t one of the Kizuki. I would’ve recognized their smell.”

She didn’t think it was. The Upper Ranks would’ve been more efficient in their killing. “It’s unusual for a demon to abandon their meal before they even got to feast.”

“Mm.”

“How strange.”

Shinobu glances upward at the moon lit against the starry sky. Even though it’s only been a day since she’s seen the sun, its absence is more noticeable than ever. Her eyes slide over to Tomioka, matching her pace as they retrace their steps back to the inn. 

There isn’t much of a difference between how he acted back at the greenhouse and how she acts now, but she can’t deny that she’s now able to walk with him without worrying for her safety. She might be his prisoner, but his intention is not to hurt her. 

But back at the greenhouse, she hadn’t known that. His aura alone struck a stake into her heart. The two demons that had been attacking her froze in terror at his first steps across the roof. This is what the presence of an Upper Rank is like. 

She might’ve grown accustomed to it, but that doesn’t mean that it’s invisible to everyone around them. 

“Ah,” Shinobu murmurs. Her mind is more relaxed now that she’s arrived at a conclusion that makes sense. “I see.”

“See what?”

“The demon ran because of you, Tomioka-san,” she announces. “It must have sensed your presence when we crossed over the bridge.”

At that, Tomioka falters. Confusion twists his features before they smooth out. “I suppose…that could be why.”

“You can be very intimidating!”

He looks sideways at her. “You’re not scared of me.”

“I suppose not.” She shakes her head, and her smile becomes sadder than she expects as she murmurs, “I’m only scared for you, that’s all.”

The exhaustion settles in once they’ve returned to the inn. Most of the guests have gone to bed, and the halls are empty as the two of them return to their shared room. It’s a blessing given that Tomioka looks like he’s come from the scene of a crime. It’s better that no one sees him. Unlike the other night, she decides not to argue when he follows her into her room. She’s realized that he has no intentions of detaching himself from her side. The more she pushes, the less he’s willing to relent. 

Shinobu does, however, want a moment to herself. She tugs Kanae’s haori from her shoulders. “Tomioka-san, you should take a bath. Clean yourself up.”

“What are you going to do?”

“The same,” she says. All that running has aggravated her ankle again. Each step causes her foot to ache, and her muscles feel tense in the aftermath of tonight’s events. A long bath is the perfect remedy to soothe the lingering pains. She’ll be able to relax away from Tomioka’s watchful gaze, and it’ll give her the chance to read the letter from Tamayo. It might be one of the only places he won’t dare to follow her. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Tomioka makes an affirmative noise before she disappears down the hall. 

At this time of night, the baths are deserted. She’s the only guest to still be awake at this abnormal hour. She allows herself the time to undress and wash herself before even considering dipping beneath the water. Even though it’s barely been a day since she’s been alone, the privacy is appreciated. She’s always cherished the time she has to herself. The time she dedicates to her private studies and solo training are what made her into the Hashira she is today. She didn’t realize how much she needed that peace until it was infringed on. 

Though, she supposes it could be a lot worse. Tomioka may have many flaws as a demon—as he did as a human—but he’s retained more of the qualities of his humanity than he should. It’s frustrating recognizing the hatred that simmers beneath the surface and finding it walks hand in hand with the familiarity of an old comrade. She’d be able to hate him more if he was crueler. 

Shoving the remaining thoughts of Tomioka far from reach, Shinobu pins her hair up and sinks beneath the warm water. Immediately, the heat bubbles up around her, her muscles loosening, and an involuntary sigh leaves her lips. 

Before she lets herself get too distracted—or worse, fall asleep—Shinobu reaches over to the window and pushes it open. There’s a loud caw that rings in answer, and she settles back just as a flutter of wings arrives through the gap. 

“SHINOBU-SAMA,” En says. Tamayo’s letter is tied to her ankle now. “IS THE DEMON ALRIGHT NOW?”

Shinobu offers a reassuring smile. “I think he’ll be okay,” she says. “He didn’t say much, but that’s in character for him. Thank you for returning so quickly.”

“YES, SHINOBU-SAMA.” En raises her foot, and Shinobu gently unties the letter from her ankle. “THIS IS FROM THE DOCTOR.”

“Yes, thank you, En. I haven’t forgotten. I owe you all sunflower seeds, Kanzaburo included.”

“THANK YOU, SHINOBU-SAMA. WE WILL KEEP WATCH.”

En flaps her wings before diving out through the open window. As soon as she leaves, Shinobu yanks it shut again. She doubts any demons will come near, especially given who she’s traveling with, but she’d rather not invite them in. Bracing her elbows on the windowsill, she unfolds Tamayo’s letter. 

Kocho,

I hope that you’ve been well, but judging by what you sent me and the words of your crow, I fear that is not the case. I sent Chachamaru to report to Ubayashiki based on what En told me. I’m guessing you haven’t been able to reach the Corps yourself to report on your status. You’d likely put yourself in more danger if you tried.

Thank you again for acquiring what I requested. I apologize that your life is now in danger because of it. And thank you for sending along the blood of Upper Five. I haven’t had the chance to study it before sending you this reply. En wishes to return to your side as soon as possible, and I don’t blame her. I hope that when we meet again in better circumstances, I will have more substantial findings to report. 

We should have everything we need to finalize the cure. It won’t take long now, and Yushiro and I will work nonstop from this point onwards. 

Regarding Upper Five, I understand that he is the former Water Hashira, Tomioka Giyuu. I imagine any member of the Kizuki would be a troublesome opponent, but it cannot be easy fighting someone you once considered a friend. En fears for your safety, but she also told me that Tomioka displayed unusual behavior during the time she observed him. I’m wondering if this is related to your request. As you know, Yushiro and I can survive on small amounts of blood. However, outside of the two of us—and Nezuko—I have never known another demon to reject the diet of human flesh. Blood may curb his hunger temporarily, which is why I’ve sent these bags along, but without genetic modification, Upper Five will likely continue to kill and consume humans to satisfy himself. I would only be able to suggest other alternatives by seeing and observing him myself, and we both know that is impossible.

But I don’t wish to dishearten you or the Corps. I believe Nezuko is able to survive as she does because her demonic side is unusually strong. For Tomioka to have risen up the ranks of the Kizuki so quickly, he must be powerful. I don’t wish to rule anything out after meeting Nezuko in person. After all, she is a demon that I never would’ve imagined could exist. If En already believes that Tomioka is unusual for a demon, then it’s possible that the transformation of a Hashira into a demon is not as easy as Muzan might’ve hoped. 

I have an idea. I will send more blood soon. Please ensure that he drinks it.

Tamayo

When Shinobu finishes the last of Tamayo’s letter, her stomach stirs with a foreign emotion. After hearing Tomioka say that his hunger was insatiable, she believed that there was no return for him. He would continue to consume and ravage the human population under Muzan’s orders, and even if she presented him with the cure, it would not change the fact that he would be undeserving of it. 

Perhaps he still is undeserving, but Tamayo’s words and Tomioka’s actions fill her with some optimism that their work is not a lost cause. He’d resisted human flesh when it was left unguarded in front of him. He’d sought a doctor for her ankle, and he’d been gentle with Kanzaburo. She can almost feel the ghost of Kanae’s hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently as she murmurs, See? There can be another way.

Does she even want to allow herself that smidge of hope? Demons are tricksters, manipulating and toying with their prey to get what they want. It isn’t beyond the realm of belief that Tomioka has been exploiting her this time in order to gain her trust. He hasn’t once claimed that his goal has been anything other than his original intent: to drag her before Muzan alive so that he can turn her into a demon. It would be inane to believe that his mind has changed.

Tomioka might have many of his human qualities, but he is still a demon, and all demons were human once. That doesn’t stop them from causing harm and suffering to others. If anything, they feel more entitled to it. 

He is still an Upper Rank. He’s still killed many innocent lives. He’ll probably take many more. She’s likely only trying to delay the inevitable.

Does she want to believe he can be saved? Does she want to believe that Kanae had been right—even on the smallest level? 

There’s only one thought that sticks out in her mind with perfect clarity: she needs to find a way to escape from him. If there is to be a chance that he and the others can be saved—no matter what she believes—that miniscule chance hinges on her returning to the Corps.

But not tonight, she thinks. Shinobu sets the letter aside and sinks deeper into the water, letting the aches and pains of the day wash away beneath the surface.

Tomioka has already bathed and changed when she returns to their room. He’s back to wearing the deep blue yukata, the one that makes his eyes even more striking than normal. His back is to her when she enters, but at the sound of her footsteps, he glances over his shoulder from where he’s seated. There are no traces of blood. No hints at what they’d stumbled upon. 

“Kocho,” he says.

“Tomioka-san,” she returns. “Don’t you feel better now?”

He shrugs before returning his gaze to the window. The moon shines through the open curtains, and she wonders if the moon brings Tomioka the same relief now that the sun once did. He draws something out of his lap and sets it down beside him. It only takes her a split second to recognize what it is.

“You should carry this,” Tomioka says.

Shinobu surges for her weapon before he can change his mind. At once, the scabbard nestles into her hand like she hasn’t missed its presence at all. When she pulls out the blade, it’s undamaged and untouched. He hasn’t done anything to it. It’s in the same condition as when she lost it. So why is he returning it now?

“While I’m glad to have my sword back,” she says, a thrill of excitement carrying in her voice, “what changed?”

“Hm?”

“You said you weren’t supposed to give me an advantage. You didn’t want to give it back in case I decided to stab you again.”

“Yeah.” His eyes slide down to where it rests in her hands. “But you ran into danger without a weapon today. You were prepared to stop me without your sword. I’m giving it back.”

Truthfully, she hadn’t been thinking back when she’d heard the first scream. It had been her gut instinct to react, to run after the sound and help whoever was in danger. Having her sword is so natural to her that she hadn’t remembered it wasn’t the case. It hadn’t been until Tomioka arrived that she realized the weight of being indefensible. 

“Careful,” she says. “You sound like you’re worried about me.”

His head whips upward to glower at her. “I’m supposed to deliver you to Muzan-sama alive. I can’t do that if you’re dead.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Shinobu sets her sword aside. “So you’ve said.”

“I follow Muzan-sama’s orders. If he changed his mind and asked me to kill you, I would.”

“Not before I kill you first!”

“Kocho.”

“Tomioka-san.”

“Kocho.” His eyebrows furrow out of apparent frustration. It is as easy to rattle him now as it had been when they’d been partners on missions. A curl of satisfaction settles inside her, but it dissipates with his next words. “I’m not a Hashira anymore. I don’t remember you. I won’t miss you if I kill you.”

Her smile turns razor-sharp. “Don’t be so cruel,” she scolds. “Surely, you’d miss me a little. I doubt the rest of the Kizuki are fun to be around. Even Iguro-san and Shinazugawa-san can be intolerable!”

Tomioka frowns. “They were mean as humans, too?”

The sudden question catches her by surprise. “Oh. Ah. I suppose they both have their rough edges. But, ah, I think they particularly disliked you when they were humans.”

“Oh.”

“Cheer up. There were plenty of people in the Corps who liked you. I suppose I was one of them.”

He shoots her a dubious look. “You don’t sound like you’re being honest.” With that, he releases a sigh, and it only makes her own curiosity grow. Iguro and Shinazugawa must be even more terrifying as demons; compared to them, Tomioka must seem harmless. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t remember anything.”

“Does that bother you?”

His eyes snap to hers, so quickly that she knows she must be onto something. The thread that grows in front of her eyes must be followed. “What? No.”

“Are you sure?” Shinobu’s expression relaxes, and she tilts her head. “I’d find it frustrating. It must be terrible to have to piece together who you were from the words of other people and to not even know who you are. You say that you know you were a Hashira, but you don’t remember why. You say that you’re better now, but you can only rely on Akaza’s judgment to determine that.”

“Don’t talk about him.”

“Fine. Do you hate me because I talk about the past? Because I remember a version of you that you can’t?”

Tomioka looks away—back towards the moon hanging in the sky’s clutches. “I don’t hate you, Kocho.”

“Oh.” She flashes him a grin. His words are once again contradictory. He wouldn’t miss her if he killed her, but he also doesn’t hate her. “You’re very confusing.”

It’s clear that Tomioka’s reached his limit. He turns away from her, not speaking even as she pokes him in the sides several times. Sighing, she decides to leave him be and prepare her futon. While she’d love to press further on his memories, it’s obvious that it’s a sore subject. If there’s one thing Tomioka’s good at, it’s refusing to speak. She’d ended many missions with him in complete silence. 

But he has a point: he’s still Muzan’s subordinate. It doesn’t matter how he feels. If Muzan ordered him to act, he would. If Muzan ordered him to kill, he would. If Muzan ordered him to die, he would. 

She can tease and prod as much as he likes, but that fact remains unconditional: Tomioka is Upper Five, her enemy. She cannot help him so long as he’s under Muzan’s control, and he cannot be trusted so long as he’s tied to that bond. In the end, they’re at a standstill. 

Shinobu climbs beneath the sheets and begins to drift off. As sleep whisks her away, she faintly registers the sound of someone coughing before everything fades away.

Chapter Text

Tomioka is eager to make up for lost time from the previous night. He hurries her out of the inn as soon as she’s eaten and dressed, and Shinobu barely has enough time to grab her sword before he drags her outside. 

As expected, the moon is the first to greet them. It shines a light along the quiet streets, lit with candles and lanterns from inside strangers’ homes. The town is silent, as is Tomioka as he surveys their surroundings, searching in the dark with his heightened senses. 

He’s been quiet since she woke up. He brought her breakfast without a fuss, but unlike yesterday, he’d been less open to conversation. Almost every attempt of hers to start a discussion was shut down with a bluntness she doesn’t recognize from him. She’s unsure if he’s even met her gaze at all today. It’s uncharacteristic of him to be so cold. Withdrawn, yes. But not cold. 

Every time she considers bringing it up, he snaps her out of her train of thought by ushering her along or moving from her side. Even now, as the question sits on the tip of her tongue, he cuts her off.

“We’re continuing east,” he says. “I can sense Muzan-sama’s presence there.”

“Can you now?”

Tomioka doesn’t bother with an answer to her sardonic response. “Are you ready to go?” he asks instead. His body faces towards the street, like he’s actively trying to avoid her. The realization causes her to grit her teeth. “We should make it to the next village before the sun rises.” Finally—finally—his face inclines towards her, but instead of meeting her eyes, he focuses on her foot. “How is your ankle?”

“Why?” Shinobu asks sweetly. “Are you concerned for me now?”

“You shouldn’t be putting your weight on it. You won’t be able to run and keep up with me.”

A vein in her forehead begins to throb. “Oh?”

Tomioka crouches to the ground, his back still facing her, and he holds out his hands at his sides. “C’mon.”

Shinobu realizes a second too late what Tomioka is suggesting. “I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself, thank you! I might not be as fast as a demon, but when we were both human, I could beat you.”

Tomioka is unfazed by the underhanded remark. He still doesn’t rise from his position. “That doesn’t surprise me. Kocho, you shouldn’t be running regardless. It’ll be faster this way.”

“No, thanks.”

“Kocho.”

“No.”

“Kocho.” Frustration coats his voice as he says her name, and this time, he glances over his shoulder at her with a scowl. “We’ll make it there in half the time.”

“I don’t care.” The faster they proceed, the quicker they’ll find Muzan. She might be offended at Tomioka’s offer, but her main priority is prolonging the time they have before they cross paths with him. She needs more time in order to figure out how to escape. “I’m not letting you carry me.”

Tomioka swivels on his heels and turns to face her fully, still crouched low to the ground. “Why not?”

When she doesn’t answer, a sigh escapes his mouth. 

“I could use my technique,” he suggests. 

For a second, her heart jolts with the fear that he’ll follow through with the threat. She wouldn’t put it past him. She’s aware she’s being difficult, and he’s offering a reasonable solution. A demon wouldn’t understand personal boundaries or why they should be adhered to. But with one look at his expression, she relaxes. 

“You don’t mean that,” Shinobu says. “Why can’t we find another ride to hitch?”

“I want to avoid meeting any other demons. I can’t move as freely as I could if we were traveling alone.”

Her lips twitch upward. “You could’ve just said you wanted to spend time alone with me,” she teases. Instantly, she receives the response she’s hoping for—Tomioka startles, his face surprisingly flushed for a demon. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“That’s not—”

“I suppose it’s not the end of the world,” she continues. She takes a step towards him, and for the first time since he gave the offer, Tomioka looks like he might rescind it. But as she nears, he remains still, and Shinobu climbs onto his back. His palms cup the backs of her knees as he hoists her up. “It would be a waste to not take advantage of your demonic strength after all.”

Tomioka makes a noncommittal sound before moving forward. He doesn’t start running immediately like she’d expected. He walks at a casual pace, which is more impressive considering he’s carrying an additional person. There’s nothing in his expression that indicates that the weight bothers him either, but that would be natural given his supernatural strength. 

There are only a few passersby on the streets that they pass, some of whom regard them with curious looks, but they pass through without further interruption.

He carries her to the edge of town right over the bridge they crossed last night. She can’t help but cast a look in search of the street that the couple lived on. She hadn’t followed up with the doctor after tearing Tomioka from the scene. Did they survive through the night? She hopes so. She hopes she did enough to save them.

If she’d been alone, she could’ve sent kakushi to check on them. Unfortunately, she can’t, and she’ll have to make do with the fact that she might never know the extent of what happened. 

With a soft sigh, Shinobu faces forward again. Her head is positioned between the nape of Tomioka’s neck and his shoulder blades. It’s an awkward spot, especially when his hair keeps tickling her nose with each step. 

“I thought you said this would be fast,” Shinobu says, somewhat petulantly. Maybe his terrible mood is rubbing off on her. Or maybe she’s annoyed that he seems to be upset with her—for some unknown reason. 

“I’d draw attention to myself if I started sprinting through the town,” Tomioka says. He walks over another bridge, the final one before they make their leave, and as soon as his foot touches the grass outside the perimeter, he breaks off in a run. 

Shinobu buries her face in his shoulders to hide her shriek. Her arms tighten around his neck against her will, and in turn, she feels his grip around her legs strengthen as he speeds ahead with the kind of pace one can only describe as inhuman. 

Tomioka splits off from the main road and darts along a downtrodden path through the mountains. He never slows even as rocks and branches block his way. He offers no warning before leaping across the difficult terrain, and Shinobu holds her breath as her stomach lurches.

Even at this altitude where it should be difficult for the average human to draw in normal breaths of air, there is no indication in his expression that this is difficult for him. If anything, she might mistake him for enjoying himself. He seems to be picking out the sharpest rocks to climb and seeking out the most uneven dips to leap over. 

“Did you ever live in the mountains, Tomioka-san?” Shinobu asks. At this pace, it’s hard to hear anything over the roar in her eardrums, and she has to strain to pick up his response.

“I don’t remember anything from when I was human,” Tomioka reminds her, rather unhelpfully. “I don’t know. Why?”

She supposes it wouldn’t be a stretch for any demon to traverse through the mountains with ease. Everything must be easier with heightened strength and power. He doesn’t have to worry about the consequences of the wrong branch collapsing or slipping from a tall cliff. It would require some time for her to make this same journey to avoid any injuries. 

But Tomioka seems to observe their surroundings with precision before each action he takes, almost like he already knows what to expect. If she remembers correctly, the former Water Hashira lives on a secluded mountainside. 

“Nothing,” she says. There’s no point in aggravating him further at the mention of his lost memories. 

Tomioka begins to make his way down from the mountain a half hour later, and Shinobu tightens her hold as he slides down stretches of loose dirt. If she isn’t careful, she could wind up falling off—though it would be a difficult feat given how careful Tomioka seems to be. Despite his insistence on taking the road less traveled, she’s felt secure on his back the entire time. 

The first hints of the next town are visible as the pair continue down the mountain. Much like the previous one, it appears to be a cozy establishment close to the ocean. There are less houses scattered between the gates than the last. A quieter place, perhaps. Maybe Muzan prefers seclusion. She can’t sense any demons from this distance, so she can’t be sure if he is here.

Tomioka lands at the foot of the mountain, and the abrupt jump almost causes her to knock her skull into his. 

“I can walk from here,” Shinobu says.

“We’re almost there.”

“Exactly. I can walk.”

Before Tomioka can argue further, En swoops down towards them. “SHINOBU-SAMA,” she calls. “DEMON SPOTTED IN THE NORTHWEST PART OF THE TOWN.”

Tomioka tenses up beneath her. Shinobu’s hand reaches for her scabbard. 

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says. “Let me go.”

Before he can react, Shinobu attempts to wriggle off of him. But his grip on her is still firm, and instead, their shared weight veers sharply to the left. She scrabbles for his neck. If he were human, she’s certain he’d complain that she’s choking him. 

“Wait, wait—” Tomioka says, his voice strangled. He tries prying her fingers off of his throat. “I’ll let you down. Kocho—”

Despite all of his agility earlier, when she untangles her legs, they fall sideways onto the grass. She lands with a grunt onto his back. He groans beneath her, but she doesn’t have the time to stick around and see if he’s okay. He’s a demon. He’ll be fine. 

She starts to stand, only for his hand to clasp at the hem of her haori and force her backwards.

“Wait—” he begins.

Shinobu attempts to rise again. “Let go, Tomioka-san—” But as soon as the order leaves her mouth, his grip on her releases, and she’s free to move again.

Shinobu scrambles to her feet and sprints ahead with the same urgency as yesterday. Above, En flies ahead to guide her path as she crosses over the first bridge, letting out short caws to make sure she’s following. 

The streets are deserted as she flies down them. No one is around to spot her bolting towards the northwest point of the town, faster than the normal eye can see. There’s a faint pain each time she lands on her right foot, but it’s easy to ignore. 

This might be the same demon that attacked the couple last night. It’s completely possible. Tomioka had been able to make the journey in a short amount of time, so it’s plausible that this demon did the same. If it is, she can avenge those two for the injuries they suffered from. She can make that demon regret ever harming them. 

The thought spurs her forward, urging her legs to move faster—faster. En’s cry from overhead is sharp before she lands on one of the houses ahead.

The house looks to be in reasonable shape. Unlike yesterday, there’s no clear evidence that someone has broken in. There isn’t even a cry to be heard from outside. It isn’t until she’s outside the front door that she picks up on the light traces of a demonic presence.

It’s faint—so faint that this demon must not be particularly strong. Shinobu doesn’t wait any longer before she bursts through the front of the home. Her eyes scan the entrance, searching for any signs of a struggle, but there aren’t any bloodstains or corpses to be found in the hall. 

She continues forward—towards the room where its presence is the strongest. As she nears the door to the dining area, she hears the first signs of life in this home. 

“No, no, please…” 

Shinobu enters through the doorway—and stalls on the threshold. 

She assumed that the quiet pleas belonged to a human, to one of the inhabitants of the home.

Someone was begging for their life, but they were far from human. Even before she fully enters, the demon’s hands cover their face, blocking her from their vision. Mindless appeals for her mercy fall from their lips even though she has yet to move or threaten their life in any way. 

“Hello!” Shinobu chirps. Her greeting doesn’t stop the stream of pleas from the demon’s mouth, but she doesn’t let that stop her. “I’d like the two of us to become friends.”

The demon doesn’t seem to have heard her. They continue begging for their life without pause. Their body itself seems to shrink with panic. One eye—a muddy orange color—peeks out from between their webbed hands.

“You…” the demon says. “You’re not… You’re not him.”

Shinobu tilts her head. “Not who?”

“Not him,” the demon says, though their hands continue to tremble. “But he’s close. Too close.”

“Will you tell me who it is you’re talking about? I’d like us to be friends. If you tell me who’s scared you this badly, I can help you!”

“No. No.” The demon’s refusal is sharp and grating against her ears. Their hands slowly lower from their face, and those bright orange eyes regard her with wariness. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

She decides to play dumb. “One of who?”

“Oh.” The demon lets out a long groan. Within a split second, they leap to their feet, rising to their full height, nearly reaching the ceiling. Tall enough to cause some trouble for a weaker slayer—but not her. “I can feel that he’s nearby! Why is he here? Why is he following me?”

“Who’s following you?”

“Him. One of his men.”

The realization sweeps over her as the pieces to the puzzle fit together in her mind. She should’ve figured that there were only a few things in this world that would scare an immortal demon—the sun, Muzan, the Hashira. Apparently, the Kizuki are part of that list. This demon has been able to sense Tomioka as soon as he is near—today, and yesterday.

“I understand!” Shinobu says. She makes a show of moving her hand away from her scabbard. The demon’s eyes follow her movements with frightening focus. “It’s one of the Kizuki, isn’t it? Upper Five, right?”

“I don’t know,” the demon wails. They cower back against the wall, as if they’re expecting Tomioka to round the corner any second now. “I don’t know who he is! Why didn’t you go after him first? Why bother with me?”

She deliberately softens her expression and offers the demon a placating smile. “I’ll take care of him for you! Since you’re so scared.”

The demon doesn’t reply, though she can tell they’re still listening. 

“I’ll go and slay the Upper Rank since we’re friends,” Shinobu says. “We are friends, aren’t we?”

“Friends?” the demon echoes. Their arms twitch upwards, halfway to hiding their face again. “We’re friends?”

“Of course! Friends look out for each other. I’ll go kill that demon that’s frightened you, so you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Really?” There’s the familiar glimmer of hope, but it never lasts long. She always ends it quickly. “You will?”

Shinobu nods rapidly. “I will. That’s what friends are for. But”—she raises a finger—“friends also have to be completely honest with each other. That’s important.”

Her words don’t seem to register completely. The demon has latched onto her promise of protection with open arms. Everything else is unimportant in their eyes. “Yes, yes, yes.” 

“That means I must ask you something before I go kill that Upper Rank for you.”

“Yes?”

Shinobu grins, a quick flash of teeth. “Did you harm that couple in the previous town last night?”

At once, the demon’s expression shutters. The hope in their eyes dissipates, and that wariness returns. They reel backwards from her deceitful smile. “…What?” 

“Did you or did you not harm an innocent family last night?” Shinobu asks, an edge to her tone. The grin she wears doesn’t shift at all, a sharp contrast to the venom in her words. “I came from the west, my dear. I found a couple with their stomachs torn in their home, their house collapsed in on itself. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“That—that—why—why would you blame me? There’s a Kizuki nearby! He’s the one at fault.”

“I’m sure.”

“He’s the one to blame!” the demon wails. Their screech is loud enough to rattle the walls of the house. “He’s the one you should kill, not me! He’s dangerous. He’s a monster! I’m weak. I don’t deserve to be killed!”

“Is that so?” Shinobu asks. “But you were able to destroy an entire home by yourself. You would’ve eaten their insides if you hadn’t decided to run. Are you really weak?”

“Yes! I’m weak. Leave me alone!”

“You’re getting upset.” Shinobu’s hand inches towards her scabbard again. “You must understand that I only ask because I’m curious. How can we be friends if you’re dishonest with me? How else can I make sure you atone for your crimes?”

“Atone?” the demon echoes. There’s the distinct sound of bones cracking, and their body begins to expand further until their skull presses against the ceiling, their shoulders broadening. “Atone?”

“Yes! I’ll slice your stomach and leave you to dry too, so you can understand how they felt as they were lying on the floor, waiting for someone to find them. That’s the only way.”

The demon screams before hurtling forward towards her. Shinobu unsheathes her sword and leaps up in the same breath. There is only empty space where her body was moments ago. The demon’s hands close around thin air, but by the time they look up, it’s too late.

Butterfly Dance: Caprice.

Shinobu dives towards them, her sword poised to make contact. The tip slices through the skull, then again through the heart, and again through the stomach for good measure. Rapid strikes that the demon cannot hope to block before she’s removing her sword and landing behind them. Her feet are light as they hit the floorboards, and Shinobu doesn’t bother turning around as the demon gasps and writhes. 

The bones crack again, a last ditch attempt to stop the inevitable, but the sound soon stops. The demon’s final breath is a harsh gasp, and their body crumples behind her.

The demon’s corpse will disappear with the first rays of sunlight, so she abandons it in favor of searching the rest of the house in case there is another demon lurking or an incapacitated human. But she finds nothing out of the ordinary. Whoever lives here must be out of town. Good fortune for them, or they would’ve wound up as dinner. 

Shinobu leaves the same way she entered, and she barely makes it two steps before someone steps off of the roof and lands beside her. The demon had a point: Tomioka’s presence is as overwhelming as it had been the first night he found her, but it’s become so familiar that his arrival doesn’t make the hairs on the back of her neck rise anymore. 

“Took you long enough,” Shinobu says. 

Tomioka is unfazed by her complaint. “Did you kill the demon?”

“Yes. Were you planning to stop me?” It would be unusual, given that the first time they crossed paths, he’d challenged her for not eliminating two bottomfeeder demons as soon as they threatened her. He’d even sliced one in half himself. 

“No.” He doesn’t elaborate further, though he does cast a backwards look at the house. “No one is injured?”

“The home was empty. I couldn’t smell any blood or find any signs of a struggle. I think the demon was looking for a place to hide.” Shinobu turns to him with a grin. “They were terrified of you. They ran all the way here from the other town to avoid you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They even wanted to make a deal with me.”

“What kind of deal?”

“They asked if I’d kill the dangerous Kizuki that keeps following them.” There’s a mischievous glint in her eye, one that Tomioka catches. He scoffs. “They said he was a monster that deserved death, not them.”

“Hm.” Tomioka’s expression turns thoughtful, and he begins walking ahead. Shinobu quickly races to catch up to him. “You don’t agree? You’ve tried to kill me already.”

He has a point. Shinobu has said from the beginning that she doesn’t wholeheartedly believe in Oyakata-sama’s and Kanae’s idea of mercy. A demon that has killed dozens—hundreds, even—has brought about too much suffering to consider sparing their life. Justice would be a swift death, not a second chance to reclaim their humanity. Tomioka would have agreed if he were still human. 

But she still passed along his blood to Tamayo for the sake of accelerating the cure’s progress. She still asked if there was another way to curb his hunger. Has her heart softened? Tomioka is lethal in all the ways an Upper Rank is expected to be: a killer through and through. Ruthless and unforgiving. 

And yet, he requested a doctor take a look at her ankle; he resisted eating from two vulnerable bodies after she begged for his help; he treated Kanzaburo with kindness despite his confusion. More than that, for some reason, he still hasn’t brought her to Muzan. 

Tomioka insists that they’re traveling towards his master’s location, but Shinobu’s come to notice how relaxed their route has been. Each night, they’ve barely made any progress, and yet, Tomioka is relatively unbothered by their slow pace. He even relented yesterday when she’d asked to return to the inn. 

She doubts Muzan is a patient man, which makes Tomioka’s decisions all the more perplexing. If he wants her alive to turn her into a demon as soon as possible, she would think that Tomioka would knock her unconscious and run to his master’s side without allowing her to protest. But he’s been all too content to humor her attempts to delay their journey. She’s thought this before, but Tomioka acts rather unusually for a demon who’s meant to be unwaveringly loyal to Muzan. 

She doesn’t understand him. Even when she tries to predict his next move, he somehow surprises her. It would be easier to hate him with her entire being if he only knew cruelty. But the ghosts of his humanity that shine through manage to shock her instead. 

Shinobu can almost hear Kanae’s laughter in her ears, teasing her for assuming that everything would be black-and-white. Tomioka might not deserve the cure, but convincing herself that his soul is completely lost is becoming harder by the day. 

“You’re right,” she says. “I should’ve accepted.”

Tomioka frowns. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’re absolutely right. I lost a chance to make a new friend. What a shame.”

His eyes shut out of exasperation. “Kocho.”

“What’s the plan?” Shinobu changes the subject, even though it’s fun to watch Tomioka brood. “Are we moving on?”

Tomioka opens his eyes again and continues down the street. “We’ll rest here tonight. The sun will rise soon.”

Sunrise is still a few hours away. The threat is far enough that there shouldn’t be any problems proceeding, especially if Tomioka is willing to carry her again. His speed allows them to travel in half the time. But she’s not going to test her good luck. If Tomioka wants to rest another night, she accepts. 

“Very well!” she says. “Let’s find an inn.”

It’s early enough in the evening that the innkeeper hovers to speak to them and guide them to their shared room. She introduces herself as Minato with a gentle smile. She’s in her seventies at least, with graying hair to match the crow’s feet in her eyes, and she seems to take particular curiosity in the fact that the two of them are traveling alone.

“We don’t get too many young people around here,” Minato says, almost wistfully. “But you two have arrived at the right time. There’s a festival tomorrow—it’s one of the only times we’ll see people your age come to enjoy what we have to offer.”

Shinobu’s ears perk up. “A festival?”

Minato hums as she opens the door to their room. “Are you not here for that?”

“Er, no. We’re passing through.”

“That’s a shame. You ought to spend another day here so that you can take part. It really is one of the best parts of our summers.”

She can’t remember the last time she went to something as mundane as a festival. It might’ve been years ago—with Kanae. 

The recollection falls apart as soon as her sister’s name comes to mind. It isn’t worth dwelling on the past. Her sister is gone, and a festival is the last thing she should be thinking about. 

“Maybe next time,” Shinobu says.

“Do you want to go?” Tomioka interrupts, right before Minato can offer a response. The question sends her brain to a screeching halt. 

Shinobu turns to look at him, still standing on the threshold of the doorway. He hasn’t shifted away the markings on his face, but his eyes have lost the kanji that announce his ranking. It’s easier to meet his gaze like this when she can pretend that the shade of blue in his irises is natural and that it’s just another mission Oyakata-sama has sent them on together. He stares straight at her, waiting for her response.

She stammers, lost for words for once. She’s the prisoner. Tomioka is meant to make these decisions without checking with her.

“What?” Shinobu blurts out. “Is that—allowed?”

Tomioka picks up on the unspoken question without her having to verbalize it. “It’s one more day.”

“Oh. Well…”

“You two should go,” Minato interjects. “Why not spend another day?”

It’s one more day, but it’s another day that might draw Muzan’s ire further. Why isn’t Tomioka more concerned about that? Surely, they’re testing the limits of his patience now. He should already sense that they’re together through the bond. 

“I don’t have a yukata,” Shinobu says, a halfhearted excuse. 

“My granddaughter is about your size.” Minato takes a step back to assess her build, but after a moment, she nods in confirmation. “I have a few boxes of her clothes upstairs. You’re free to borrow anything you’d like.”

“I couldn’t do that—”

“Nonsense.” Minato waves her off with a flap of the hand. She turns away before Shinobu can protest further, and she removes the futons from the closet. “It’s no problem at all. It’s better than letting them sit and collect dust.”

Since Minato insists—and since Tomioka seems to be encouraging this—Shinobu decides to let it go and give in. “Alright. Only if you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” Minato sets the two futons down and seemingly does a double take, like she’s noticed that their intent is to share a room together. But in the end, she says nothing, and she exits the room with a closemouthed smile. “You can come search through her clothing in the morning. Have a good evening, you two.”

“Good night, Minato-san,” Shinobu says before shutting the door behind her. She gives Tomioka a sideways glance. “Are you sure this is okay?”

Tomioka coughs into his fist. “It’s fine, Kocho.”

“I’m surprised you’d even want to. I thought crowds weren’t your thing.”

“They’re not.”

“Then why are we going?”

Tomioka crouches down to roll out his futon, as if he plans to use it for once. “Would you rather us continue towards Muzan-sama?”

“No, but—”

He stares back at her. There’s no hint of deceit in his expression—nothing that alarms her at first glance. This must be some trick. It doesn’t make sense. But his expression is no different than normal, and she can’t pin it down.

“I thought you were angry at me this morning,” Shinobu says instead. 

“Huh?”

“You were. You didn’t even want to look at me.”

“That’s not true.”

Her eyes narrow. He barely spoke to her all morning and went to the additional effort of avoiding eye contact. She’d done something to irritate him—at least more than usual. “I didn’t even think you could be angry with me, Tomioka-san,” she says. “You’re not the type.”

“I wasn’t angry with you,” Tomioka insists. He takes a seat at the head of his futon, his legs crossed beneath him. “I had a lot on my mind.”

“That’s a surprise. So you were distracted.”

“Yes.”

Shinobu takes a seat on her futon, positioned right beside his. It’s the closest they’ve sat together since he’s become a demon. “What’s on your mind?”

Tomioka visibly hesitates. He stares straight at the floor instead of meeting her eye. 

“Take your time,” Shinobu says. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

A sigh escapes from his lips, and he turns on the spot to face her, his hands braced on his kneecaps. The severity of his gaze is enough to sober her up immediately. Whatever is bothering him, it’s serious enough that he wants her full attention. She twists towards him.

“Last night…” Tomioka pauses, like the effort of speaking is too much to bear. When he continues, it’s like the words are being clawed out of him. “Last night you said I don’t remember why I became a Hashira. I only know that I was one.”

Shinobu nods, though she’s not sure where he’s going with this. “Yes.”

“Do you know?” Tomioka asks. “Why?”

The question makes her ears ring until all that she can hear is white noise, drowning out all coherent thought. It’s a harmless question: why? But how can she even begin to answer?

The truth is that she doesn’t know Tomioka’s reason for joining the Corps more than any other Hashira, excluding a select few. She doesn’t know how Shinazugawa received his scars or why Iguro covers the lower half of his face. She doesn’t know why Himejima cries so often or how Tokito lost his memories. 

But the reality is that even if she doesn’t know the exact reasons, she knows the root cause: demons. Most of the slayers that join the Corps do so because they’ve lost someone or nearly died to a demon themselves. They want to protect others from the same pain that they feel, so they pick up swords and risk their lives for humanity’s sake. The demons have ruined the lives of many people she cares about, stealing away their loved ones without an ounce of regret, turning more innocents into monsters in the process.

She doesn’t know why Tomioka became a Hashira, but she can guess. Despite his attempts to close himself off from the other Pillars, grief recognizes itself in the eyes of another. Much like she wears Kanae’s haori to salvage some pieces of the sister she once loved, she knows there must have been a reason for the two sections of his own haori—before it was shredded by Akaza on the night Tomioka disappeared.

She doesn’t know who Tomioka lost. But their absence must have left behind a gaping hole, one that has only been filled by his duty as a Hashira. 

“I’m sorry,” Shinobu says. “The Hashira aren’t very open about our pasts. Most of us suffered a great deal to reach our positions, and it’s not something pleasant to bring up.”

“Ah.”

“But,” she continues, knowing that it would be a disservice to Tomioka to pretend like he didn’t have a reason, “you must have had a very important reason.” A pause. “I think you lost someone.”

His eyebrows scrunch. He reaches a hand towards his forehead, almost as if willing the memories to return. This must be frustrating, and she’s not entirely sure her words are helping. 

“I’m not sure who,” she says with a sad smile. “But I think they were very important to you. When we experience loss like that, we want to protect others from that pain. We want to protect their happiness.”

Tomioka’s lips press into a tight line. “I can’t remember them. Are you sure? Shouldn’t I remember them a little?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure how well you’re meant to retain your human memories.”

“How do you know?” Tomioka presses. His eyes are shut, like he’s experiencing a headache, but his voice is firm. Insistent. “How can you be sure?”

“I can’t.” Shinobu removes Kanae’s haori from around her shoulders and folds it in her lap. When Tomioka opens his eyes, he watches her run her fingers along the sleeves, almost wistfully. “I can only guess. Judging by the person you were, that seems likely. Besides…” Her hand clasps tightly around the hem for the briefest of moments. “Most of us have lost someone.”

Tomioka seems to understand the unspoken implications. “Kocho—”

“Akaza ripped up your haori the night you were taken, but…I think you wore it to honor someone. Just as I do.”

He falls silent, and she lets him digest without cutting through his thoughts. It’s promising that he wonders at all. She hadn’t expected her tirade yesterday to impact him, but if it makes him question his purpose, that can only be a good thing. Questions lead to doubt, and the more Tomioka doubts Muzan’s intentions, the easier it’ll be to save him. 

Shinobu reaches up to tug her butterfly clip from her hair, but it gets stuck halfway. She attempts to yank it out again. Instead, it feels as though it’s tangling itself further. She’s used to tying her hair up perfectly, but a few unexpected days out on the road make it difficult to adhere to her regular routine. 

“Damn it,” she mutters.

Before Shinobu can try again, Tomioka reaches forward and eases it out from the tangled strands. Her hair comes tumbling down, landing on her shoulders. The action itself is so gentle that she can only watch, transfixed as he pinches the clip between his fingers and holds it out to her. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Shinobu says, stunned, “Tomioka-san.”

Tomioka bows his head slightly. “Thank you for your answer,” he murmurs. “Good night, Kocho.”

The moon is still high in the sky when Shinobu slips beneath the covers. Why? he’d asked. Why was I a Hashira? A question tinged with doubt. Confusion. He’d been the one to tell her years ago not to forget their roles as Pillars, yet he’s lost all of his honor as one.

Why? she thinks. Because if we suffer more, perhaps others will suffer less. Maybe I can preserve the happiness of those still untouched by loss. I can save one person, and maybe, that’ll be enough.

One person—and yet, saving Tomioka from Muzan’s clutches feels more impossible day by day.

Chapter Text

It’s the first night in some time that she’s left Kanae’s haori behind. 

Although Shinobu doesn’t like the thought of being without it, she’s not in uniform, and Minato’s yukata clashes with the pattern. She still fits her sword at her hip and pins her hair up with her butterfly clip, but tonight, she looks closer to an average human than a demon slayer. 

“Kocho,” Tomioka calls out to her. He’s been waiting outside the inn since the sun set in spite of the crowds of people trailing past, but he must sense her the second she steps outside. Even so, he does give her an owlish blink as she approaches. “Hi.”

Tomioka’s changed into a green yukata himself, the same shade as the original pattern of his haori. The kanji in his eyes is nowhere to be found, but his demon markings remain etched into his skin. She wonders whether he could shift those away before; they attract a lot of unnecessary attention, but she has a feeling that if he hasn’t done it yet, he can’t. His shoulders are slightly hunched, like the pandemonium of the crowd has already radiated towards him.

“Hello, Tomioka-san,” Shinobu greets him. Her smile is warm as she looks up at him. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.” He pauses, then adds, “You look—nice.”

“Are you trying to flatter me?” 

Tomioka’s eyes slide away from her. “No.”

She wants to laugh. It would be so easy to, pretending that they’ve merely made a stop after one of their missions to unwind. To pretend that they’re both still Hashira who’ve remembered what it’s like to be human for a night, and that this is an ordinary day. It would be easy to forget that their goals clash and that they’re as good as enemies now. If she could forget, she could tease him forever. 

But there’s a sense of finality that reaches over her as she joins his side. There is only so long this stretch of peace can last. Sooner or later, the illusion will shatter, and the night will end. She can only hope it doesn’t wind up in bloodshed.

The two of them merge into the crowd that leads down to the docks. The moon winks down at them, and for once, there’s enough light in the town that she can almost mistake the time for a few hours earlier. Lanterns line the paths, and children push past them with sparklers in hand. The lamplights dance along the surface of the water, highlighting the sea’s gentle ripples, providing the perfect backdrop for the selection of vendors that line the route towards the water. They call out to the passerby, selling their wares and advertising their food. She feels warm all of a sudden. It’s heartwarming to see people alive and happy. 

She wishes this could be normal. Maybe it can be in a world where Muzan is dead.

Her legs guide her past a yakitori vendor, catching her interest. “I’m hungry,” she says. “Is it alright—”

Shinobu twists around, but the spot Tomioka had occupied at her side is vacant. He was there a second ago. She’s sure of it. She straightens and searches for his face in the crowd, but the surrounding strangers block her view. She can’t even catch a glimpse of him. 

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu calls. She moves through the crowd, mumbling apologies as she does so. A few elbows jam into her side, but she ignores them. “Tomioka-san! Where did you go?”

A split in the flood of people in front of her appears, and she surges forward to break apart from the crowd. She scans the surrounding area, only for her eyes to catch on a lone figure on the docks staring up at the sky almost absentmindedly.

“Tomioka-san,” she calls as she nears. When she reaches him, she pokes his side. “To-mi-o-ka-san.”

Tomioka whirls towards her. “Kocho,” he says, his eyes wide. 

“You’re an airhead. How did you get lost?”

Instead of answering her question, he asks one of his own. “Did you come looking for me?”

Shinobu stills. She had. But there’s an underlying implication to the question, one that had slipped her mind the second she noticed Tomioka wasn’t with her. She’s been searching for the right moment to escape from him all this time. It’s been difficult since he’s insistent on staying near her constantly. But the first time he vanished, instead of running, she went looking for him. 

He’s right. She’s been foolish. 

Shinobu tsks. “It’s rude to abandon your companion. You left me all alone in the crowd.”

At that, Tomioka has the sense to look ashamed. “Sorry.”

“I’m hungry. I want yakitori.”

“Okay.”

“Stay close to me,” she orders, partly out of spite now. “Don’t go wandering off on your own again.”

“Okay.”

Shinobu sidles close to him, and she loops her arm through his. At the first touch of her fingers on his arm, Tomioka flinches. He tries drawing his arm back, but after a second, he relaxes enough to allow her to tug him close to her. The side of his body is warm, almost feverish, as he presses against her side. 

There is no iciness to his skin. No monstrous features on his arms. If she closes her eyes, she would mistake him for being human from his warmth alone.

“Shall we walk like this?” she asks. The muscle of his forearm tenses. “So you don’t get lost.”

If he wanted to, he could extract himself—twist her arm and shatter the bones. There is no denying how dangerous he is. She can’t let herself forget: he’s an Upper Rank responsible for the deaths of many. Yet, he’s gentle as he allows her to tug him along.

“Okay, Kocho,” he says. His hair hides his expression from her sight, much to her chagrin. She can’t help but wonder what kind of face he’s making.

She feels a bit airheaded herself tonight. First, she went searching for Tomioka when it would have been the perfect chance to escape. Now, she’s forcing him to stay close to her side when there’s no reason to. It’s unwarranted to allow herself to make fool hearted decisions like these. The festival atmosphere might make her feel normal and alive, but no amount of time spent beneath the fireworks will turn Tomioka human again.

But—she likes that he seems as absent minded as her tonight, like he’s forgotten who they are and the fate that awaits them. 

Shinobu doesn’t allow him to detach himself, even as she reaches the yakitori vendor.

“Hello!” she chirps. The vendor offers her a weary smile, like the night has already been long in his eyes, and listens as she puts in her order. She turns back toward Tomioka. “Would you like some, Tomioka-san?”

Tomioka rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Suit yourself.”

The vendor hands over a few skewers, and almost immediately, Shinobu realizes she ordered far too many to hold easily. Before she can say anything, Tomioka grabs two from the vendor’s hands.

“I can hold these so your hands aren’t full,” Tomioka says.

“How polite!” Shinobu flashes him a smile, but as usual, his expression doesn’t change. 

He waits for her to hand over the money required before letting her drag him back down the dock. Most of the villagers hover near the vendors, eager to eat before it gets fully dark, and the oceanside is the perfect place to step out from the crowd.

“What do you think?” Shinobu asks as she takes her first bite: warm and delicious. She might cry tears of joy. “Are you having fun?”

Tomioka’s gaze drops towards their interlocked arms for the briefest of moments. If she blinked, she would have missed it. “Yes,” he murmurs. 

“But the fireworks haven’t started yet. All we’ve done is get food.”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“Sounds like the Kizuki don’t know how to enjoy themselves.”

“They’re not the best company.”

“Are you saying I am?” Her lip twitches upward, right at the same time he sighs. “I’m honored.”

“Kocho,” Tomioka says with a huff. Before she can say anything else, he stuffs one of the skewers he holds into her mouth until she’s forced to eat and stay quiet. 

It’s so—strange. Her face feels warm. “Bossy, Tomioka-san,” she complains once she’s chewed enough to speak. “Rude—even though you’re a demon.”

Tomioka says nothing, continuing to hold the skewer by his fingertips towards her. 

This is why no one likes you, she thinks, though she still bites from the skewer. 

The sky has darkened considerably in the hours the festival has lasted. It’s almost pitch-black, if not for the lanterns that light the way, and the crowd has migrated closer to the water’s edge. The fireworks are due to begin any moment now, and there’s a hum of anticipation amongst the villagers. The children in particular watch with excited grins on their faces. 

The two of them wait further back, closer to the string of houses. Her left arm is still looped in Tomioka’s, but she finishes off a skewer in her right hand, the very last of the lot that she bought. 

“Delicious,” Shinobu says, licking her lips. Tomioka takes the wooden stick from her. “Are you enjoying the festival, Tomioka-san?”

“I’ve been to one before.”

“When you were human?”

“I don’t remember. I’ve been to one since becoming a demon. That’s what I meant.” Tomioka stares up at the night sky. His eyes appear cloudy as he loses himself in the memory. “Akaza took me.”

“Really?” She can only imagine disaster wherever Upper Three wanders. The festival must have ended in a massacre. Her right hand clenches into a fist. “To do what?”

Tomioka points up, right as the first whistle begins. The trail of smoke soars up, and everyone in the crowd holds their breath at once. With a pop that’s loud enough to reverberate through her eardrums, the firework lights up, and it blinks out of existence to a chorus of oohs and aahs.

“He likes to watch the fireworks,” Tomioka says. 

How—mundane. Upper Rank Three. She can only imagine his appearance based on the words of Tanjiro and Inosuke in the aftermath of the Mugen Train incident. Somehow, the image of a vicious Kizuki seeking out a fireworks display doesn’t mesh well in her mind. She can’t get her head around it. Akaza must have had another reason.

“Why?” she asks.

Tomioka’s lips press together, and immediately, she can tell she’s hit a wall. He’s secretive about Akaza, whether out of loyalty or duty or blood. “I don’t know. He just does.”

She ought to change the subject. “Do you like them?”

Another firework goes off, and the crowd’s cheers grow in turn. The brief flash illuminates the color of Tomioka’s eyes. “They’re a little loud,” he admits.

This time, Shinobu can’t hold back her laughter. “They are. A little.”

“But they’re nice to look at.” The flash of another firework. “I don’t mind.”

“Well, thank you for bearing with it. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a festival. I forgot how nice they are.”

“Why?” That is the question—why? There are a multitude of answers: they bring up painful memories of Kanae, there’s not enough time in a day and those hours should be allocated for more important duties, and she rarely lets herself relax these days to begin with. Dwelling on the reasons won’t do her any good. 

“I’m busy, Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says. “I’m a Hashira.”

Tomioka considers that, then says in a quiet voice, “You could have all the time you wanted if you were a demon.”

Her head snaps towards him so quickly that her neck cracks. Her eyes narrow, and Tomioka shrinks back at the warning they convey. “Don’t suggest that to me again,” she commands, her smile bright. “Alright, Tomioka-san? I have no desire to become a demon. Even if that is your goal, I will never accept it.”

“Okay,” Tomioka whispers. His voice is audible even over the whistles of the fireworks and the murmurs from the crowd. For the briefest of moments, the bright colors make him look uncertain. “I won’t bring it up again.”

“Thank you.” Her entire body relaxes. Her arm loosens in Tomioka’s grasp. She hadn’t noticed she tensed up so much. “I’m sorry for being so blunt about it. You would understand more if you were still human.”

He nods, as if considering it. “Maybe.” His expression twists, and he raises his left arm to cough into his fist. “Sorry.”

He coughed again. This isn’t the first time she’s heard him cough. She brushed it off before with the knowledge that demons don’t get sick. They are too invulnerable to fall at the hands of a common cold. But it hasn’t stopped since they started traveling together, and even though logic urges her to move past it, her gut instinct demands that she notice it. It doesn’t make sense, and her brain always latches onto the incomprehensible like a challenge.

“Are you alright?” Shinobu asks. “Why are you coughing?”

“It’s nothing.” But Tomioka coughs again. The sound is wet, like he’s recovering from the toughest of flus. Given that should be impossible, she doesn’t know what to make of it. “I’m fine.”

“Are you hungry? Is that it?”

“No.” This time, the pop of another firework drowns out the coughing fit, but a few people nearby cast curious looks in their direction. “Shit.”

“Tomioka-san.”

“I’m okay.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Shinobu grips Tomioka’s hand, and without another word, she drags him from the pier and away from the festival grounds. She can feel his claws against her palm, but she’s able to tamp down the initial urge to flinch in order to tug him along. The fireworks continue on behind them, bursting in the sky with continuous pops. As they move further and further away from the water, closer towards the village’s center, the cheers of the crowds grow more distant. 

Despite the fact that they’ve only been in the village for a day, the lanterns lining the streets provide enough light for her to retrace their steps back towards the inn. The paths are empty with most of the villagers down by the water to enjoy the festivities, and no one is around to witness Tomioka’s hacking. Her steps become more and more hurried; he hasn’t been able to stop, and alarm sweeps through her at each rasp he makes. This isn’t normal. This isn’t right.

At the first sight of the inn in the distance, Shinobu has to resist the urge to burst into a sprint. Instead, she urges Tomioka along. Her grip on him is firm, but his hand is clammy in hers.

Her mind blanks as they enter the inn. She isn’t sure if someone is there to greet them or not. Her ears only register a loud ringing. Her legs move of their own volition, and she pulls Tomioka the last few steps to their shared room. 

As soon as the door is shut behind them, Tomioka bends over at the waist to cough again. This time, the sound is far more guttural, and blood leaks out of his mouth and onto the floor. 

This is definitely not normal. Demons are meant to be above sickness. It should leave them untouched. 

Instead, purple splotches cover the side of his face around his mouth, looking frightening similar to—

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says, her voice far more urgent now than before. “Are you alright?”

His only answer is another series of coughs, and Tomioka presses his hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to stop the blood from splattering onto the tatami mats. Each strangled noise that leaves his throat causes the hairs on her neck to rise. She doesn’t know what to make of this. How can she treat someone who’s meant to be able to heal himself? 

“Tomioka-san,” she repeats. “What’s going on?”

She’s a doctor, and yet, she can’t hear herself think enough to process next actions. Her brain runs at a lightning pace, cycling through all of the possible explanations for why this might be happening. Her mouth is dry. Her hands might be clammy now too, and an iciness spreads across the surface of her skin. She hates this. Tomioka coughs with increased frequency now, and all she can do is gape.

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says. Her hands reach for his shoulders as they tremble. “What do I do? How can I help? What’s happening?”

He reaches into his pocket as he continues to dry heave. He pulls out a familiar box and thrusts it into her hands. It takes a split second for her to recognize what it is.

Back when she first met Tomioka as a demon, he confiscated her sword and her poison. He’d returned the sword eventually, but never the wisteria. She had assumed he’d disposed of it somewhere. She believed she’d never retrieve it. But she recognizes this wooden box, and she knows what it had held—the wisteria poison she ingests on a daily basis. 

Does Tomioka already know what she’s doing to herself?

No, she thinks, banishing the thought before it can even formulate. It would be an outlandish conclusion to jump to. He likely thought it was meant for poisoning and killing demons. That was why he’d taken it from her. He never would’ve imagined the poison had been intended for a more personal purpose. 

Shinobu opens the box. Inside, there are five empty vials meant to last her five days. But the poison is gone.

Her gaze rises towards Tomioka once again. The poison is gone, but he kept the box. He wouldn’t do that if he’d simply disposed of it once. He didn’t get rid of it. 

The realization hits her at once. There’s only one thing known to elicit these sickly symptoms from demons. 

“You’re poisoned,” Shinobu blurts out. Even saying it out loud leaves her numb. “But I didn’t—I didn’t wound you. You’re not hurt. So…why—”

More blood trickles down his chin. All this time, he hasn’t been able to stand straight, but she can see the purple patches along his skin without him meeting her eye. 

“I didn’t hurt you,” she says. “But you’ve—you’ve been ingesting this—”

The next cough is particularly strong, and Tomioka crumples to the floor. Shinobu kneels in front of him, her body reacting before her mind can process. She grips his chin with her hand and forces him to look up at her. 

His pupils are dark, and the remnants of the blood he’s coughed up stick to his teeth and lips. Half of his face has turned a bruised purple. She’s seen this exact aftermath in countless demons right after she strikes them with her sword. But she hasn’t removed her weapon once tonight. This isn’t because of her—at least, not directly.

The wisteria she swallows every day is a calculated dosage based on months of trials and tests. Each day she woke up with a fever, she lowered the amount. Each day she woke up with no symptoms, she increased it slightly. For a human, the effects of the wisteria are manageable. For a demon, even her small doses can be lethal.

“Why?” Shinobu demands. Tomioka tries to free himself, but she tightens her hold on his jaw. “Why have you been poisoning yourself?”

His eyes are steely, but he still refuses to answer.

“Fine.” She releases him and reaches for the box. She can make an antidote; she’s never made one for a demon before but it shouldn’t be impossible. The only worrying factor is that she’s on a time constraint. “Let me try something—”

But before she can undo the clasp of metal holding the container shut, Tomioka’s fingers snake around her wrist to stop her. “No,” he says firmly. “You can’t. You’ll put yourself in danger.”

His words make her still. “Danger from who?” she asks, though she already knows the answer. 

Tomioka swallows before answering, “Muzan-sama.”

Her heart rate speeds up exponentially. If she felt confused before, it’s nothing compared to how she feels now. A storm of questions spring to the front of her mind, but she can barely make sense of any of them. There are a million things to ask, but no matter what she does, she doubts she’ll receive a coherent answer from Tomioka. 

And—no matter how she looks at it—Tomioka’s cryptic answer is at the bottom of her priority list. He still coughs every few seconds, and the blood that lands on the floor is darker than it should be.

Shinobu pries his fingers off one by one. “Alright,” she assures him. “I won’t. But you have to break down the poison yourself. At this rate, you will die from it.”

A wheeze escapes his lungs. “I’m”—he gasps, and he sounds pained—“working on it.”

“There has to be another way.”

“I can do it, Kocho. Just—” 

“Tomioka-san.”

Each breath he draws is raspier than the last. Whether he’s able to break down the poison himself no longer matters. He might run out of time to do that. Though that prospect should bring her some relief, as it means another Upper Rank will be defeated, it doesn’t. If anything, it frustrates her more. 

Then, a soft mewl interrupts her stream of consciousness. Shinobu spins around in time to see Chachamaru appear out of thin air, the product of Yushiro’s technique, almost like he’s been waiting for her. The backpack he wears is filled to the brim, its contents nearly spilling over, and her eyes pop at the sight of the blood bags within. 

Of course. Tamayo said she would send more. Perhaps Tomioka’s inability to break down the poison is because he’s weaker than usual. He hasn’t eaten human flesh for several days. 

She doesn’t waste any time. She pops open the backpack and retrieves the bags. Chachamaru stays remarkably still the entire time.

Shinobu returns her attention to Tomioka, oblivious to the newcomer as he covers his mouth to stifle the blood threatening to fall. “Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says. “Drink these. Now.”

A feral gleam fills Tomioka’s eyes as he recognizes what she holds in her hands. Somehow, he manages to resist tearing the bags from her and waits for her to hand them over, but his eagerness is obvious when he uses his fangs to open the first one and drains its contents.

Slowly, with each bag he consumes, the evidence of the poison fades. The purple blotches recede, his skin returning to its normal color, and his breathing returns to normal. By the time he’s finished the last, it would be impossible to assume he had been on the edge of death only moments ago. She breathes a sigh of relief.

Her mind is still an endless buzz of questions even after Tomioka finishes drinking the last of the blood Tamayo provided. Shinobu hoped that the peace and quiet in the time he took to recover would help her gather her thoughts. She changed out of the yukata, returning to her uniform and haori in the meantime. Unfortunately, with each second, a new question formulated instead, and once Tomioka raises his head to meet her gaze again, she knows in her heart that she isn’t letting him weasel his way out of this. 

“Better?” Shinobu asks.

His appearance has returned to normal, including the kanji in his eyes. It was concerning for a moment. She thought his face was seconds away from melting off. 

“Yeah,” he says, setting the last bag down. Chachamaru pokes at the discarded plastic with their nose. “Thank you.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “Tomioka-san.”

There must be an edge to her voice, even despite her attempts to sound easygoing, because Tomioka winces. “Yes?”

Shinobu’s mulled over the right question to ask first—debated how to best ease him into this conversation. But she feels like their time is limited, and she needs to know as much as possible. There is no easy way to ask what’s going on. She can only barrel ahead and see how far she gets.

“You have some explaining to do,” she says. “I don’t understand you.” A pause. She’s thought this for a few days now, but Tomioka practically admitted it earlier, confirming her assumptions. “Why are you stalling?”

Tomioka must understand what she is implying. But he still says, “Stalling?”

“I’ve thought about this for a few days now. I don’t know Muzan at all, but I highly doubt that the progenitor of demons is a patient man. Yet you seem perfectly content to take your time. You say that we’re moving closer to Muzan, but you don’t complain about how slow we’re going and you even suggested that we stay for the festival tonight.”

His shoulders hunch ever so slightly. “I thought you liked the festival.”

“I did. That’s not the point.” She shakes her head, ridding herself of the image of Tomioka from earlier that evening with the blast of the fireworks illuminated in his eyes. “You insist that you’re taking me to Muzan so that he can turn me into a demon. But I don’t think that’s the truth. I think you could’ve taken me to him as soon as you caught me.”

“What makes you say that?” he asks.

Shinobu holds up one of the empty vials. “Answer me first. Why did you swallow the wisteria poison I had?”

Tomioka’s jaw clenches. His gaze is hard, but Shinobu can sense that she’s so, so close to the truth. 

“You said it yourself: demons have a special bond with Muzan. I think you could’ve summoned him that first night. But you didn’t. You even mentioned to me that the Kizuki can turn humans into demons with their blood. It’s what Akaza did to you, isn’t it?”

Almost imperceptibly, Tomioka’s hands clench into fists at his sides. She’s almost got him. She can sense it. 

“You could’ve turned me into a demon yourself, right?” Shinobu sets the vial back down. “But you didn’t. Just like you didn’t call for Muzan. You’ve been wasting time.”

Several beats of silence pass between them. The fireworks have long since ended, and the only sound to be heard outside are the chirps of the crickets. When Tomioka speaks, his voice is hollow. “I thought you didn’t want to become a demon.”

Shinobu frowns. “I don’t.”

“Then what is there to be angry about?”

“I’m not angry,” she insists. She might be—if he continues dancing around her questions and avoiding the explanations she’s painted for him. “I just want to understand. I want…” 

Her sentence trails off. What does she want—to understand why? To know if he’s worth saving? Does that matter? She’s been instructed to create the cure no matter what. Why does Tomioka need to prove he’s deserving when he’s already shown that he’s not? 

“Why do you care,” she asks, “about what I want?”

Tomioka blinks. He looks—exhausted. Breaking down the wisteria must have cost more than she realized. She didn’t know it was possible for a demon to be tired at all. “Wouldn’t I have cared,” he asks in return, “if I were human?”

“You keep saying that you’re not—that you don’t remember anything.”

He turns away then, but not before she catches the frustration in his expression. “I don’t,” Tomioka insists. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I serve Muzan-sama. That should be all that matters.”

“Is that all that matters?”

“Stop,” he orders, his voice rough, “throwing my questions back at me. You’re confusing me. You’ve already confused me enough.”

Has she? She hasn’t done anything different as far as she’s aware. All she’s tried is speaking with him honestly, as she did when they were both Hashira. But Tomioka makes it sound like her very existence has thrown him off-kilter.

“I’m Upper Rank Five,” Tomioka says. She doesn’t need the reminder. It’s in his eyes already. “I serve Muzan-sama. I’m one of his loyal soldiers. I’m meant to turn you into a demon.”

Shinobu moves into Tomioka’s line of vision where he can’t avoid her anymore. “Then why haven’t you? Tell me, Tomioka-san. Do you want to turn me into a demon?”

His nostrils flare. His eyelids flutter shut. “You could live forever,” he says, though it’s not an answer.

“Would you like me to live forever? Constantly at your side.”

His cheeks redden, and she reels back in surprise. Tomioka’s blushing. She’s never seen a demon blush before. 

“Shut up,” Tomioka says. “Stop that.”

“I’m not doing anything, Tomioka-san! Are the rest of the Kizuki really that bad? You’d prefer my company to theirs?”

“Stop,” he repeats. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Talking.”

“That makes having a conversation difficult,” Shinobu says, sitting up straight. Her face feels a tad warm. That’s not good. “I need to know. Why were you poisoning yourself?” 

Tomioka opens his eyes to glower at her. “Don’t you already know?” he asks. “You’re smart. You know about the bond.”

The bond that connects all demons to the one who began it all. All demons that are created are linked to his emotions, his will, his desires. Few ever manage to break it—or in Yushiro’s case, are lucky to never be tied to it in the first place. According to Tamayo, this bond keeps all of his creations on a tight leash. Through it, Muzan can influence their actions, access their memories, summon them at will.

Kill them if he chooses. 

The Kizukis’ bond with Muzan must be even stronger than the one that links Muzan to the weaker demons. He must inhabit their minds constantly, infiltrating their senses, and for the briefest of moments, she feels a pang of sympathy. It must be difficult sharing your head with someone who despises you. 

“I do,” Shinobu says. “What of it?”

“You said that I’m stalling. That would be impossible. Muzan-sama would know if I were avoiding him.”

“I suppose…” But Muzan also once believed that there were only two things in this world capable of killing him: a nichirin blade and the sunlight. Poison is an unknown factor. An unknown factor that can kill demons, as she’s proven countless times. With her concoctions, she’s challenged the limits of death for demons. “I suppose you’re right.”

“He’d know everything,” Tomioka says. His fingers unclench themselves. “He’d turn you into a demon, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.”

Yes. Tomioka’s right. But from the way he speaks, she can tell there’s something more. He’s daring her to figure it out. Damn him. 

Muzan should know that they’re together and where they are. If he hasn’t come, then he doesn’t. Because the bond isn’t functioning as it should.

There should be no reason for Tomioka to take doses of wisteria poison. Unless—

Her next words are on the tip of her tongue—You’ve been using my poison to weaken the bond—when Tomioka claps a hand over her mouth. Indignation rises within her at his audacity, which Tomioka must sense, but she relaxes as the pieces fall into place in her mind. She should’ve realized that Tomioka has acted peculiar from the beginning. 

“I have no more,” Tomioka says, in lieu of an answer. “He’ll know soon enough that you’re with me.”

Right. The vials are all empty. Tomioka has gone through them at a rapid rate, but then again, they have spent an unusually long time together. 

Shinobu pries his hand from her mouth. She has half a mind to tell him off for silencing her. But the rest of Tomioka’s words hit her like cold water to the face. He will know.

“Why?” Shinobu asks. “Why did you do it—all of it?”

Why weaken the bond? Why avoid Muzan in the first place? Why would you disobey him at all?

Tomioka sits back, his expression unreadable, and she can tell from his posture that their time is nearly up. “If I took you to him,” he says, “you would’ve forgotten everything too.”

Her eyes bulge. Is Tomioka—frustrated? Regretful? 

She doesn’t get the chance to ask. 

The wall behind her explodes in a cacophony of blue light.

Chapter Text

The force of the explosion slams her into the floor. Her lungs feel tight, like all of the air in the room has been removed. Her ears are ringing, ringing, ringing. She can still see the blue light from behind her eyelids, but she can’t move to react. Her weight feels like it’s sinking through the floor, and for a second, she wonders if this is the product of Tomioka’s technique.

But no, she remembers what that had felt like. She’s had the breath knocked out of her from the impact, but she can still move. She wiggles her fingers just to be sure, and instant relief washes over her. She’s fine. Despite the surprise, she’s unscathed.

Shinobu pushes herself into a sitting position by bracing her palms on the floorboards beneath her. Each small movement causes her chest to seize, and the ringing in her eardrums hasn’t stopped. But she can’t afford to lie still. They’re under attack.

She forces her eyes to open. Clouds of dust swirl around her, making the scene in front of her difficult to make out. Now, she can hear screaming over the ringing. The rest of the inn’s inhabitants are panicking. Rightfully so. In the back of her mind, she wonders how many injuries there are. How many casualties.

“Don’t move,” a familiar voice orders.

It takes her eyes a second to register the person crouched ahead. Tomioka’s positioned in front of her, his right arm extended to keep her from inching forward. He holds his sword out in his left hand, aimed at the silhouette that flits through the dust. She doesn’t remember seeing him take it out. He must have reacted quickly—within a second. 

“Tomioka-san,” she rasps, her voice cracking.

Tomioka glances at her from over his shoulder, and a gasp escapes her mouth against her will. She’s unscathed. Tomioka, however, must have taken the brunt of the explosion. 

Blood completely coats the right side of his face, gushing from his skull onto his neck. His yukata is dark with more bloodstains, and as he twists himself around, she can see that the physical damage is even worse. Large chunks of his body look like they’ve been torn off, to the point that she can see his spine through the skin. His shoulders shake with the effort of holding himself together. It’s a stark difference from how she appears: unhurt and untouched.

Did he move in front of her intentionally? He must have had only a split second to react; she hadn’t noticed another presence outside of their room until the explosion first happened. His reaction time is incredible, and even then, he endured a blow that would’ve killed her on impact.

“Tomioka-san,” she repeats. For once, she’s at a loss for words. Why, why, why?  

Ignoring her, Tomioka turns to address the other person standing in the room with them. “I thought you didn’t hurt women,” he says, raising his voice. The dust has started to settle, and a pair of owlish yellow eyes peer out from within the cloud. “You could’ve killed her. Muzan-sama wants her back alive.”

The kanji etched onto their eyes become clear: Upper Rank Three. Her chest seizes at once. This must be Akaza—the demon that killed Rengoku, the demon that turned Tomioka into an Upper Rank. She still can’t see him fully, but as he straightens, she notices the outline of a muscular figure. 

“I knew you wouldn’t let that happen,” Akaza drawls. His voice is decidedly cheerful, like he’s proud. “Your reflexes are incredible. You managed to take out your weapon and throw her behind you without letting a fraction of my technique touch her. As always, I’m impressed.”

Akaza takes a step forward, and the remaining dust parts around him like a split in the sea. 

The first thing that comes to mind is that he looks surprisingly young. She’s not sure why that catches her by surprise. She’s seen demons that must have been turned as children. Nezuko is the prime example. But this is a Kizuki, one of Muzan’s trusted subordinates, and he looks like he might be her age. 

Once her initial shock subsides, she scans the other parts of his features that she overlooked—the markings that line the surface of his skin, including his face, the webbed patterns of his sclera, the prayer beads wrapped around his ankles. She’s seen enough to know that the transformation can push these creatures far, creating them into something more animalistic. But Akaza can almost be mistaken for human at a quick glance.

That is—until you notice his fangs and the feral gleam in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have taken that chance,” Tomioka says. There’s the faint sound of cracking bones, and he draws in a full breath as his body stitches itself back together, fixing the damage Akaza had done. “That was dangerous.”

Akaza’s only answer is a closemouthed smile. He has no weapon, but from what Shinobu remembers from the mission reports, that doesn’t matter. This demon fancies fighting with his fists and bearing the brunt of the oncoming attacks with his flesh. She’s unsure if her poison will work on him. It didn’t work perfectly on Tomioka, but she wasn’t truly trying then. Against him—the demon who took Rengoku from the Corps—she won’t hold back.

“You’re no fun,” Akaza complains. “No one got hurt.”

Tomioka’s eye twitches.

“You’ll heal. Relax.”

“Akaza.”

“Giyuu,” Akaza says, and Shinobu jolts at the sound of Tomioka’s given name in his mouth. He knows his name—uses his given name. “I’ve been looking for you for days. Muzan-sama hasn’t heard from you since he sent you to retrieve the Hashira.” His eyes slide over to Shinobu, hidden behind Tomioka’s arm. “It looks like you found her.”

His throat jumps. “Yes,” he says slowly.

“You were supposed to call Nakime immediately.”

“I know,” Tomioka says. Akaza takes another step forward, and Tomioka shuffles back, his arm bumping into her. Shinobu follows his lead. “I remember.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Akaza points a thin finger at Shinobu. “Muzan-sama wants to turn her into a demon right away. But instead, you’ve ignored his summons.”

“I haven’t ignored him,” Tomioka says gruffly.

“You have. You ignored him, and you ignored me.” He frowns a bit at that, lowering his arm. “What are you thinking, Giyuu?”

Tomioka is silent, assessing. If there was any doubt in her mind that Tomioka is trying to spare her from the same fate he and the rest of the Hashira suffered, it’s long gone. He protected her—is still protecting her. He said she would’ve forgotten everything. Is there something he wants to remember? 

She can’t imagine it’s easy. When average humans are turned into demons, they grasp onto their strongest desires and carry them out to extremes. For a Hashira, being turned into a demon means they lose the will they swore to carry out, the one that pushes them forward even in the wake of loss and grief: a duty to protect mankind from the demons. What does Tomioka desire then? What does he have left as a demon?

Shinobu might not get the chance to find out. 

Tomioka is quiet, and a distant memory resurfaces in her mind. She was in Akaza’s shoes once, when Tomioka had stopped her from killing Nezuko on Mt. Natagumo, and then proceeded to ward her off when she tried chasing the Kamado siblings down. She was similarly confused by his actions, much like Akaza now. Tomioka’s not the best at communicating, but she doubts it would’ve mattered then. His noncommittal answers wouldn’t have swayed her. It was her duty to kill Nezuko. Just as it is Akaza’s to bring her to Muzan. The only thing that stood in their paths is Tomioka himself. 

Why would you get in my way? she asked. Who would’ve thought a Hashira would ever defend a demon?

Who would’ve thought, she thinks now, that an Upper Rank would ever defend a Hashira?

Akaza’s lip twitches upward. “Your fighting spirit is flaring. Like the wildest waves at sea. I haven’t seen it like this in months.”

“Kocho,” Tomioka says, his voice low, ignoring Akaza. “Can you move?”

“Yes,” she answers, though her eyes never leave Akaza. A split second can be the difference between life or death. She can’t let herself be surprised again. Tomioka took the hit once. She’s a Hashira, damn it. She won’t let him save her again.

Shinobu’s feet touch the floorboards, but she stays crouched. Coiled like a spring, ready to move the second she can. She wraps a hand around the hilt of her sword.

“Giyuu,” Akaza says with a frown. He looks between them, and for the first time, he must see the unchanging resolve in Tomioka’s gaze. “You know I can’t let you leave. Muzan-sama will not let your disobedience go unpunished.” At that, Tomioka flinches, but Akaza continues. “Give me the Hashira, and he might be lenient.”

“Lenient,” Tomioka echoes.

“She’ll be stronger once she’s a demon,” Akaza insists. “If you’re attached, that’s fine. But let her become a demon. Let her be strong.” His eyes flicker over to Shinobu’s, but it’s like he’s seeing something else beyond her. “Her fighting spirit is impressive, too. Like the coldest winter.”

Fighting spirit—what does that entail? 

“She can only fight with poison now,” Akaza continues, and at the mention of poison, his lips curl. The slight shift in his expression is momentary, and then his face relaxes once again. “But imagine how strong she’ll be with Muzan-sama’s blood.” He takes another step forward. Shinobu’s back presses against the wall. “Don’t fight it, Giyuu. Don’t you understand how brilliant you have become since turning into a demon?”

“Are you sure?” Tomioka asks. “You told me last week that my fighting spirit was almost nonexistent.”

Akaza’s lips pull into a tight line. He mentioned something similar at the beginning of their conversation, too. That Tomioka’s spirit was the most impressive it’s looked in months. 

“But it’s back,” Akaza says, his voice like a gentle caress, almost in wonder. “I can see it perfectly.” He holds out a hand. “Don’t be foolish, Giyuu. Come back with the Hashira. There’s no reason to disobey Muzan-sama.”

Tomioka stares at the outstretched hand, and for a moment, Shinobu worries he’ll take it. Her death warrant will be signed. 

“Giyuu,” Akaza repeats, more forcefully, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say that Akaza is pleading with him now. “Please.”

The atmosphere of the room shifts within the blink of an eye. Tomioka rises up to his full height, his wounds now healed, and his sword arm swings towards Akaza. In the same instant, Akaza withdraws his arm and slams his heel against the floor. A detailed snowflake grows out from his foot, almost resembling a compass. Right as Tomioka’s sword should make contact with his neck, Akaza twists backwards. The blade barely skims his Adam’s apple; a line of red stretches along his throat. 

Shinobu straightens, poised to draw her sword. She stops suddenly and moves out of the way just as the back wall to the inn erupts behind her. The wind that comes rushing in hits her like a punch to the gut. Her vision darkens while her body is launched backwards. 

Someone is yelling, she thinks. She can’t hear what they’re saying, but her stomach drops with the free fall, and the voices fade further from reach. Her body careens towards the ground—but she never reaches it. 

When her eyes fly open, the last she sees of the inn is the sight of it caved inward. Smoke rises in thick columns around it, but even that isn’t enough to hide Akaza’s piercing gaze from where he breaks out of the debris. She’s still moving; someone’s carrying her, and Akaza’s figure becomes smaller and smaller in the distance, though likely not for long.

Shinobu whips her head around. Tomioka has his arm slung around her waist as she’s propped on his shoulder like a bag of flour. His arm is the only thing keeping her limp body from sliding off, especially as he sprints toward with a speed she’s rarely seen any demon achieve. Each step is a knock to her ribcage, and she can’t hold back her grunts as Tomioka continues running. Her hair has almost completely fallen out of her knot. She’s finding it hard to maintain Total Concentration as her lungs squeeze with panic.

“Tomioka-san,” she says, raising her voice. “Let me down! I can run!”

He either doesn’t hear her—or he chooses to ignore her. His gaze is focused ahead, and there’s almost a manic determination in his eyes. He doesn’t slow. If anything, he speeds up. 

Shinobu doesn’t realize why until the first blast hits the tree to her right.

The tree splinters, careening forward with a groan, and Tomioka leaps over it as the trunk crashes down with a boom.

She looks back. Her legs hang over Tomioka’s chest, meaning that her front hangs over his shoulders and his back. It’s the perfect angle to watch behind them, and she sees Akaza launch another punch in their direction just before it strikes the ground behind them, sending dirt flying.

He’s caught up with them. There’s no use in running. He’s fast—much faster than she thought. He’s going to stop them, then take her to Muzan’s feet like the spoils of war, and there’s nothing she can do.

Her nails dig into Tomioka’s shoulder blades. “Tomioka-san,” she says. She doesn’t know what to say—put her down? Don’t stop running? Does either matter? 

Somehow, he seems to hear her over the continuous shockwaves Akaza aims at them. His grip on her waist tightens.

Her chest seizes as she feels another attack flit towards them. She doesn’t feel the impact, but she feels how Tomioka stumbles beneath her. She looks down—and almost wishes she hadn’t.

His left leg has been blown off. A strangled noise gets caught in her throat, but before it can leave her mouth, the leg grows back before her eyes, and within the next step, Tomioka recovers. 

The blasts increase in frequency. Each one strikes closer than she’d like, sending her heart into her throat each time. Dirt billows around them, and she’s secretly glad for Tomioka’s heightened senses. He’s able to navigate through the chaos without faltering even as Akaza shoots another shockwave at his legs. 

Again, Tomioka’s legs buckle, but he regenerates in a heartbeat. If anything, he’s healing faster now, spurred forward by desperation. 

Akaza is deliberately avoiding striking her. He’s only trying to knock Tomioka down. 

Tomioka winds through a series of attacks through the air, each landing right where they stood a moment ago, and he jumps right as Akaza uses the opportunity to dive towards them. Tomioka spins them around, deliberately putting himself between her and Akaza, and he shoves a leg between them.

It’s no use. Akaza punches through Tomioka’s foot like it’s nothing but paper. Her teeth clench. This is what an original Upper Rank is like. But then again, Tomioka isn’t fighting back. He’s only trying to escape. 

“It’s bold of you to try and use what I taught you against me!” Akaza says, cackling. A current of glee carries through his voice, like each hit he lands on Tomioka is something to cherish. This man is carnage. “Come on, Giyuu! You can do better than that.”

Tomioka keeps his leg extended long enough for his foot to regenerate. The relief is short-lived, though, as Akaza launches himself at them again. His fist slams into Tomioka’s chest, and Tomioka grunts at the same time the reverberations course through his body. Each punch is a testament to Akaza’s strength, and even though she isn’t on the receiving end, she’s well aware that each one would lead to broken bones against a frail human body.

Tomioka whips his arm up to block Akaza’s next swing. The split second of hesitation from Akaza is enough for Tomioka to seize the upper hand. He uses his foot to toss Akaza backwards a few feet, enough to give them both a chance to catch their breath.

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says. 

A human would have required a few minutes to recover from Tomioka’s kick. Akaza only needs two seconds. He leaps to his feet, his eyes alight with a dangerous gleam, and his grin is blinding as he moves forward to collide with them again.

This time, the force is too much to bear, and Tomioka’s grip on her loosens as he’s knocked back. Shinobu grapples for his neck, but Akaza is there too. A scream lodges in her throat as he uses his fist to punch Tomioka’s head clean off.

“Tomioka-san!” 

Tomioka’s hold on her falls apart completely, and Shinobu drops to the ground in time for Akaza’s hand to close around empty air. The fall makes her stomach twist, but there’s no time to focus on the pain. There’s an Upper Rank in front of her, driven by the sole purpose of taking her to Muzan to turn her into a demon. There is no room to breathe or recover; she needs to grab her sword. Tomioka has done enough. 

“Don’t worry,” Akaza says, a little breathless. Beside him, Tomioka staggers a step. The sight of him—headless and bloody—is enough to haunt anyone’s nightmares. “He’ll regenerate in a second. You don’t have to sound so shocked.”

She needs to pull herself together. It’s her responsibility to protect others. It’s no longer Tomioka’s. 

“Did I sound shocked?” Shinobu asks as she rolls along the dirt. She moves into a crouch, unsheathing her sword. “Oh, don’t worry! I know Tomioka-san will recover. He’s too hard headed for his own good.”

Akaza’s gaze flickers down to her sword. An emotion akin to disgust twists his features. For all that talk about her fighting spirit, she has the sense that Akaza doesn’t like her very much. Good—she doesn’t like him either. He killed Rengoku. Turned Tomioka. She has enough room in her heart for more vengeance. 

“Akaza, was it?” Shinobu calls out to him. She pulls herself to her full height. “I’d offer to be your friend, but you’ve hurt too many of mine.” She holds out her sword. “Tomioka-san will regenerate easily, but I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you.”

A large dose of poison. That might be enough to slow him down. Besides, it’ll give her a chance to see how her poison fares against Upper Two. 

Shinobu darts forward, ignoring the dull ache in her ankle. For a second, Akaza’s eyes widen, and she knows then that her speed is considerable enough for an Upper Rank to take notice. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to kill too. 

Akaza throws a punch forward, but it lacks the same venom he used against Tomioka. The air doesn’t vibrate as it had before. No shockwaves then. He’d aimed at Tomioka before, deliberately avoiding putting her directly in harm’s way, and even now, he restrains himself. Is keeping her alive really so important?

There’s no time to dwell on that now. She has only a second to spare. 

Shinobu ducks beneath his arm. His fingers skim the crown of her skull, and he draws back a step, almost flinching. 

Dance of the Dragonfly: Compound Eye Hexagon.

Her arms move at a dizzying speed, thrusting her sword in numerous places at once, faster than her eye can see. Kanae had particularly loved this technique. She claimed it made Shinobu look like she had a dragonfly’s wings. It relies on the user’s ability to quickly stab multiple places in a short time frame to inject the most amount of poison. She strikes the vitals—the neck, the heart, the torso—and as each one is punctured, she savors the sound of Akaza choking on his blood.

“You—” Akaza reaches out with a closed fist, and somehow, it doesn’t feel like he’ll hold back this time. 

Shinobu jams her sword into his eye, the final puncture. Akaza storms forward so fast that she almost doesn’t have enough time to spin away. At the final second, his claws scrape her throat—and he freezes.

The look of betrayal is so poignant in his expression. But he can do nothing else before his body topples sideways, revealing Tomioka behind him. 

Tomioka’s skull is painted with blood. He looks almost as he did that night—when he nearly devoured that couple over his own hunger. His veins jut out from his forehead. His fangs clench together with a force that must be painful. His eyes follow Akaza the entire time, even as Akaza rolls onto his side.

“Giyuu,” Akaza moans. His eyes start to turn purple. “What have you done?”

Tomioka’s knees crumple beneath him, and he drops to the ground. 

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says, but he holds up a hand to stop her. 

“Kocho,” Tomioka says, never looking at her. His gaze remains on Akaza, and she half-wonders if it’s part of his technique—if the subject must be in his line of vision at all times. “Run.”

“What—”

Her heart drops. In the distance, she sees a small glowing lantern. It’s not enough to alarm her at first. But the lantern grows swiftly in size and moves with distance, and suddenly, it sits within a large room, and then that room is surrounded by other rooms, enclosed in doors that appear endless and change constantly before her eyes. It must be some sort of an illusion. A trick.

But this infinite dimension of stairs and doors and rooms approaches her at a speed that isn’t normal. Every hair on the back of her neck rises. Her gut is screaming at her to move—to follow Tomioka’s instructions and run.

This shouldn’t be possible. But it exists, and it’s headed straight for them, winding mindlessly around the trees and shrubbery that should be slowing its movement. If she listens, she hears the precise strum of a biwa. Each time it plays, another door shuts in front of her. A Blood Demon Art, perhaps.

“Kocho.”

Shinobu’s eyes flit back towards Tomioka. His eyes harden, and without looking behind him, he must know what is headed their way. “Go,” he urges. “Run.”

There’s nothing she can do to help him. Even if she drags him along, Muzan will find them through the bond. As long as they’re tied by blood, Tomioka will always be out of reach, one of her enemies. She can’t afford to feel sorry for him. And yet, her legs feel heavy as she begins to turn away.

That alternate dimension stretches towards them, speeding up more to close the distance. Tomioka saved her, and even so, there’s nothing she can do before a room opens up and swallows both him and Akaza whole, slamming a door in her face.

Shinobu runs.

The biwa strings grate on his eardrums. Each strum means another shut door, another open room, another shift in location. Somewhere along the way, he’s lost Akaza. He’s left alone, until Nakime plays the string in a conclusive note, and the vastness of the Infinity Castle stretches out before him. 

Giyuu is still kneeling when he spots Nakime seated on a platform a few stories above him. As usual, she doesn’t regard him with even a cursory glance. Each tick of her instrument is calculated. She strums four more times—each one for a different person—and his limbs lock in place as he recognizes the final presence she’s brought.

He doesn’t dare lift his head. He lowers himself to the floor, as reverent as Akaza instructed him the first time. He doubts it’ll matter much now. What’s done is done, and he’ll reap the punishment he’s sewn for himself. Muzan will see to that at the very least. 

Vaguely, he senses three familiar spirits positioned around him. No one stands on the same platform as him, but he recognizes them by aura alone despite the distance. Iguro is on the floor beneath him, slightly to his left. Shinazugawa is up higher towards his right. Akaza—Akaza is somewhere behind him, soft wheezes squeezing his lungs. 

Muzan stands above, dressed in his pin-striped suit, impeccable as always. He hasn’t resorted to any disguise tonight. The weight of his usual gaze is enough to keep Giyuu in place.

Empty your mind, Akaza said once. Don’t give him a reason to question your loyalty. 

It’s a little late for that, but Giyuu adheres to the instructions anyway. Any wayward thoughts of Kocho—whether she escaped, whether she’s alive—empty out of his head. It isn’t hard. With Muzan towering above, it’s difficult to focus on anything else to begin with. He’s aware of every twitch of his fingers, every shift of his stance. Anything might rub Muzan the wrong way. If he does anything to summon his ire, the punishment that awaits him will be so much worse.

There’s a long stretch of silence. Giyuu can hear Muzan shuffling around, but he doesn’t dare to look. If he glances around, the other Kizuki would be in the same position. 

As the quiet begins to become unbearable, Muzan’s low voice cuts to his core. “Giyuu,” Muzan murmurs. Giyuu stays completely still. He’s only said his name, and even that word alone carries an incredible amount of venom. “I told you I wanted to turn that Hashira into a demon. I told you to turn her, or if that was too much for your simple mind to comprehend, you ought to have brought her to someone who would do it happily.”

Giyuu doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe.

“It appears even the most basic of orders are too much for you to follow,” he continues. “I had hoped a former Hashira would surpass my expectations, but you haven’t even begun to try and reach them. Is there something wrong with you?”

His throat tightens. There would be no point in voicing the truth: that he’s always been keenly aware of a sense of wrongness within himself—that he wonders if he is worthy of being a Kizuki. If he should exist at all. Every time he mentions that he doesn’t feel like he matches up with the other Kizuki, Akaza shuts him down.

“You’re brilliant,” Akaza says every time. “One of the most incredible fighting spirits I’ve ever seen! In a few months, you’ll be able to beat Upper Four, then we’ll be strong enough to challenge Douma. You’ll see.”

He thinks Muzan’s question is meant to be rhetorical, so he can avoid answering this one.

“Giyuu.” Muzan’s voice thunders, almost as if he’s on the other side of the castle and not directly above. “Do you understand what you’ve done? I should strip you of your rank and give it back to Obanai. I should kill you where you stand.”

He sounds like he might. Muzan’s voice never shakes with anger, but the eerie calmness to it is no better. He might die. He considered this when he first swallowed Kocho’s poison—that his disobedience would cost his life. But when he thought it over, there was only emptiness where fear should have been, and he decided he didn’t care. At the time, Kocho’s pleas seemed more important. 

“Okay,” Giyuu says, because if this pleases Muzan, then it’s fine.

Muzan’s answer is to slice off his arm, right at the elbow. Giyuu raises it and waits, feeling his arm start to heal already. If Muzan wanted to kill him, he would’ve cut off his head, but there’s always a chance he still will. 

“Your apathy will be your downfall,” Muzan warns. “But then again, it’s only your life that you’re unconcerned about.”

Giyuu’s eyes widen at the same time Muzan points a finger. 

There’s no pain. He feels nothing. But he hears the suppressed pants from the demons around him. The metallic scents of their blood rise upwards, rotting his nostrils. When he looks over his shoulder at Akaza, he’s still kneeling, but the veins along his body pop along his skin. He’s choking on his own blood, like Muzan is crushing his insides. 

The word stop is on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it. Even if he asked, Muzan would never listen. This should be a mercy for him. He isn’t suffering at all. But his stomach twists knowing that the punishment that should be reserved for him is doled out to the three Kizuki that are here instead. Their insides are crushed in his stead, and all he can do is listen as their bones crack and heal at the same time. They’re in pain because of Giyuu’s actions, because they’re all connected to him, and Muzan forces them to take the blame for his mistakes.

Giyuu can do nothing but wait as Muzan continues to tear apart their organs and break their bones. They’re all silent as they endure his wrath, but the smell of their blood is becoming impossible to ignore. He grits his teeth.

“Do you understand, Giyuu?” Muzan asks. Behind him, Akaza lets out a rasp. “They suffer because of you. If you were better, stronger, then you wouldn’t disappoint me.” He lowers his finger, and at once, all of them—Giyuu included—start to breathe again. “Your failure in turning the Hashira is what has led to this.”

“I’m sorry, Muzan-sama.”

Muzan’s eyes bulge. Giyuu gets the sense that the last thing he wants is an apology. He hates meaningless words. Actions speak louder, and his choices over the past couple of days have spoken of his carelessness. “Do not apologize,” Muzan orders. “Fix this.”

“Yes, Muzan-sama.”

Nakime strums the biwa again, and suddenly, all four demons are on the same platform within the castle. Muzan still hovers above them, but he’s now visible from where he kneels. Iguro and Shinazugawa wait on either side of him, expressions tight, their frustration coming off them in waves. 

“Obanai. Sanemi.”

“Yes, Muzan-sama,” the two of them chorus. 

In the deep recesses of his mind, he can almost recall the first time all three of them were in a row bowing to Muzan, foreheads pressed to the floor, right after becoming demons. He felt a sense of pride then, a stark change from how he thinks about Muzan now. It is an accomplishment to be deemed one of the twelve Kizuki.

No, he realizes. That’s not right. They hadn’t been bowing to Muzan. It had been—someone else. But as he tries to summon their face from his memory, their profile vanishes like wisps of dandelions in the wind. 

“Since Giyuu cannot be trusted to carry out this simple task, I’m relying on you two,” Muzan says. “You can take him with you. I’m sure he knows what this Hashira looks like by now.” He starts to turn away. “Turn the girl. Bring her to me as a demon. Don’t fail me again.”

This time, Giyuu joins them as they murmur in response. “Yes, Muzan-sama.”

“And Akaza,” Muzan says, “control your demon, will you? Since you’re so keen on taking responsibility for him, the least you could do is make sure he’s worth keeping alive.”

Akaza’s voice is low. “Yes, Muzan-sama.”

The strum of the biwa marks Muzan’s exit. He vanishes where he stands, leaving the rest of them staring in his wake. 

Then, Nakime strikes her biwa again, and Giyuu’s stomach lurches as the floor falls from under him. The slams of closing doors follow him out of the Infinity Castle. He lands in a heap in the middle of nowhere. He doesn’t even get the chance to recover before the doors to the castle open again, and Iguro and Shinazugawa drop on top of him. There’s only a second to breathe before Shinazugawa impales his stomach with his foot.

Chapter Text

The alternate dimension follows after her for what feels like hours. Shinobu’s legs throb by the time the sun pokes its head over the clouds. That alone stops the ceaseless chase, and she turns to watch the endless chasm of empty rooms retreat. The final door slams shut before it disappears from her view.

Once she’s sure she isn’t being followed any longer, she makes her way down the mountains towards the main road. With the sunlight looking down on her, she lets herself slow down. Her ankle aches with newfound pain, as if she hadn’t rested at all. She needs to take a second to look at it, but she can’t stop moving. She doesn’t know what else to do. If she keeps moving forward, at least that’s something. If she stops, the gravity of all that’s happened over the past week will crash over her, knocking into her senses, and she won’t be able to think, much less find her way back home.

Shinobu’s seen better days. Her hair has completely shaken loose from her clip, and her haori and uniform are soaked with Tomioka’s blood. The harsh scent of wisteria poison infects her senses. Anyone that takes a second look at her will notice how she drags her leg, trying to avoid putting weight on her foot. 

Everything is awful, and yet, somehow, nothing is as terrible as the truth that she watched Tomioka disappear into that alternate dimension and did nothing. Though she continues to reason with herself that there’s nothing that she could’ve done, guilt follows her like a dark cloud. 

She might’ve been able to grab him, but there’s the chance she would’ve fallen in that abyss herself. She might’ve been able to drag him further, but there’s the chance Akaza would’ve caught up to them again. She might’ve been able to save him, but there’s the chance his bond with Muzan would betray them anyway, and their lives would be void when Muzan sent more Upper Ranks after them. The logical side of her brain understands that, in the moment, she did all she could. She followed his order—she ran. But her stomach feels as though it’s festering from the inside out. 

She wishes they had more time. She still has an endless stream of questions for him that she’ll now never know the answers to. By the time she meets Tomioka again, he might not have any mercy left to spare. 

There was hesitation in his expression. Even uncertainty. She never imagined a demon like Nezuko would exist, but it seems even more farfetched to consider an Upper Rank might harbor some doubt. For some reason, Tomioka was bothered by his memory loss, and that meant he was willing to protect a Hashira in order to preserve the chance to learn what he had lost. Whether that in itself made him act irrationally, she can’t be sure. She doesn’t know what to make of any of it. 

The main road is empty as far as her eyes can see. A farmer passes her by, but she speeds up before he can notice her appearance or ask questions. She doesn’t wander past another living soul until the familiar noise of a cart rolling behind her interrupts her reverie.

Shinobu steps to the side, intending to let the traveler move on ahead. Instead, the cart deliberately slows down next to her and matches her pace.

“It’s a bit early for a long walk, isn’t it?” That voice. 

Her head snaps towards the cart, and shock sweeps over her. It lasts a mere second before she lets her usual smile return to its place, having been absent since last night. 

The man seated at the front of the cart, the mule’s reins gathered in his single hand, is no stranger. His appearance has changed: a near-death experience with an Upper Rank has a tendency to do that. The sunlight glints off the stones that cover his eyepatch, almost as bright as the grin he aims in her direction. 

“Uzui-san,” Shinobu says, a little more shrill than intended. She didn’t expect to see anyone else out here. She was convinced that they had traveled too far east for her to stumble across another slayer. She can’t help her relief at the sight of him. 

Some time ago, she wouldn’t have thought that was possible. She thought Uzui was honorable and strong, so she respected him as a Hashira, but his penchant for flamboyance meant that he found himself in unfavorable situations. Her opinion of him turned for the worse when she found out he tried kidnapping Aoi and the others, only stopped because of Tanjiro. Her anger towards him ceased when she found out that he helped kill Upper Six—and nearly died in the battle—but she never imagined how comforted she would feel to find him here. 

“What are you doing here?” Shinobu asks.

“You need a lift?” Uzui pats the spot beside him at the front of the cart. “Hop on.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. She climbs up and plops herself down, taking the time to elevate her foot. All of the tightness in her muscles dissipates as soon as she lets herself relax in her seat. Even though she hasn’t been running for a while, her body hasn’t had the chance to relax completely. With Uzui here, she can. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” Uzui comments. He scans her from head to toe while trying to be discreet. “What happened?”

“You first. What’s happened since I’ve been gone? What are you even doing here?”

“Not happy to see me, Kocho?”

“I am,” she says, and she means it. Uzui must sense the sincerity in her voice, because he softens. “I’m just confused. It’s been a long couple of days.”

Uzui snaps the reins, and the mule resumes pulling the cart along. The road is slightly bumpy, but not nearly as discomforting as the last ride she took. She couldn’t even sit up straight then. “It’s as you’d expect,” Uzui says. “You didn’t return when you were expected to, and neither did the crows that were following you. Everyone assumed the worst.”

Shinobu winces. She doesn’t want to imagine how devastated everyone at the Butterfly Estate must have been when she never appeared. While she was off gallivanting with Tomioka, they were mourning her. 

“They sent a few rookies to track you from the last location you’d been to, but I heard they were unsuccessful. Your tsuguko wanted to look for you herself. Then, a few days ago, Oyakata-sama had a visit from that little cat—belongs to that demon, right? She said that she had heard from you recently, but that you were currently traveling with an Upper Rank, and she believed you were in danger.”

Her heart pangs for the effort everyone had gone to for her sake. She’s only one Hashira. As much as any loss would wound the Corps, she never believed that her loss would faze them. They could continue without her. Even the girls at the estate would move on eventually. But then again, she had been there when the others didn’t return. Their absences created gashes that never quite healed either. 

“That would be correct!” Shinobu decides to answer his unspoken question. “I’m sure you already know who the Upper Rank was. Tamayo-san was aware.”

“Tomioka,” Uzui murmurs. “I always thought that guy was too serious for his own good. Too broody, you know? But…” His grip tightens on the reins for the briefest of moments. “I never wanted him to become a demon either. I never would’ve wished that on anyone.”

Neither would she. It’s the cruelest fate she can imagine. Being with Tomioka cemented that: the fact that he could be so similar and still so different from his human self unnerves her. 

“That’s about all I know,” Uzui continues. “Your turn. Why do you look like you narrowly avoided being a demon’s feast?”

Her lip twitches. “Can’t we talk about this once we get back to Headquarters? I won’t skimp on the details, but I’d rather not have to tell everything twice. It’s a long story.”

Uzui looks displeased at that, but he acquiesces. “Fine, fine. Please tell me the other guy looks worse at least.”

Shinobu recalls Akaza limp on the ground, the poison tainting his face. Tomioka—as bloody as if he had survived a massacre. In comparison, she did get off easy, thanks to him. “I suppose so!”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“You never answered my question earlier. What are you doing here?”

“Ah.” He can’t afford to let go of the reins as he only has one hand to spare; he scratches his forehead with his elbow instead. “Well, Oyakata-sama didn’t want to send any of the Hashira after you because it could be a trap. Which makes sense. But as soon as we heard that you were still alive—and human—everyone wanted to do something.” He flashes a toothy grin at her. “And, well, I’m technically retired, so the demons shouldn’t care too much about me. Oyakata-sama didn’t object.”

Shinobu can only gape at him like a fish out of water. He says it so nonchalantly, like he hasn’t been on a wild chase to find her. He could have stumbled across anything. If he found her last night, he would’ve found himself in the middle of a fight between two Upper Rank demons. And despite that, he still came on the slim chance that she might be alive at a very high risk to his own life. 

She had never believed the two of them were close. At least, not close enough to warrant him coming after her. Gratitude swells inside her, and with everything she’s endured this past week, she might consider letting the tears flow. 

“Uzui-san… Thank you.”

He waves her off. “Oyakata-sama said it himself. We’re not losing anyone else.” A beat passes. “Not again.”

The foot currently impaling his stomach makes it hard to breathe. Each time Giyuu tries, more of his skin tears, and his cells continue their futile attempt to heal the wound. It never works completely when Shinazugawa refuses to remove his leg and exacerbates the injury instead. They’ve been stuck like this for the past couple minutes; both of the former Hashira glare at him like he’s no better than dirt, and he fails to come up with a reason as to why they should show him mercy. He can’t blame them either. They were punished because of him, after all. 

Nakime deposited the three of them in the middle of a forest. He hasn’t picked up on the scents of any nearby humans in the time they’ve arrived. They must be far enough from any neighboring villages that there’s no chance of anyone stumbling upon them—human or slayer.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Tomioka?” Shinazugawa’s voice is rough like gravel. His black eyes—dark even within the sclera—bore into him with unconcealed fury. The white kanji stares back at him: Upper Rank Four. He used to think that becoming a demon made Shinazugawa like this. But according to Kocho, he’s been like this since he was human: hotheaded and aggressive and perpetually angry with the world. “Muzan-sama gave you one fucking order, and you couldn’t even do that right.”

Iguro appears at Shinazugawa’s shoulder. The white snake permanently glued to his neck—Kaburamaru, he thinks—lets his tongue flick out as Iguro appraises him. He doesn’t look pleased with Giyuu either. The veins on his forehead pulse. “Was the Hashira that strong that you couldn’t take care of her?”

Giyuu wheezes as Shinazugawa shifts his leg. It’s not that Kocho was too strong, though her use of poison had been surprising the first time he faced it. With each day and each conversation, there was an invisible tug around his midsection every time he thought about summoning Muzan or about slicing his palm and forcing her to swallow each droplet of blood. It was insistent, coaxing him to wait one more day, whispering not yet. As time went on, the restraint was no longer needed: he lost all desire to force Kocho to become a demon, especially when she responded with such vitriol. 

Shinazugawa bends forward to peer at his face. “You need to tell us everything about her—how she fights, her technique.”

Giyuu decides to play dumb. “Why?”

“Why? I’m going to—”

“Shinazugawa.” Iguro’s voice draws Shinazugawa to a halt. Despite Iguro’s rank being lower than theirs—Upper Rank Six—those two never clash and always agree. It’s not the first time Shinazugawa has deferred to Iguro for his opinion. “The Hashira won’t stand a chance against three Upper Ranks. It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s all dependent on whether Tomioka is going to get in our way.” Without warning, he rips his leg from Tomioka’s stomach. The sound of tearing flesh overwhelms his senses. Giyuu can’t help his sigh as he feels his cells finish stitching himself back together. “Muzan-sama said we should take you with us, but I’m not a fan of carrying dead weight.”

That’s right. Muzan ordered Iguro and Shinazugawa to take Giyuu with them. He’s not in the position to refuse another direct order. 

“If we fail again, we’ll all be punished,” Iguro says. “You understand, Tomioka?”

Giyuu nods. He understands. He forgot when he first decided to delay his return in favor of spending time with Kocho that the consequences didn’t fall only on his head. His decisions reflect on all of his comrades, and Muzan has shown time and time again that he has no qualms about harming the other Kizuki to prove a point. 

“Whatever reservations you have about turning the Hashira into a demon,” Iguro says, jabbing at him with a finger, “forget them. You don’t have to be the one to do it, but you need to back off.”

“I’m sorry,” Giyuu says.

Both of their faces contort with disgust. “Don’t apologize, fuckwad,” Shinazugawa snaps. “Next time, don’t fucking screw up.”

Iguro murmurs his agreement. His voice comes out muffled from behind the bandages that wrap around the lower half of his face. “You should know better, Upper Five.”

Upper Five—the rank he stole from Iguro after being coerced into challenging him in battle by Akaza. That day is one he’d do anything to forget. He hates remembering the blows they traded back and forth, the flares in Iguro’s fighting spirit, the blood that collected underneath his claws after the fact. Most of all, he hates the guilt he experiences whenever he spots the reflection of the number in his eyes and the knowledge that Iguro still resents him for usurping his rank in the first place. 

If it weren’t for Akaza—who practically goaded Iguro to the challenge to begin with—Giyuu would have never done it. He would have been satisfied with the ranking of Upper Six. He’s always believed that Iguro is far more powerful than he is. If it were his choice, he wouldn’t be part of the Kizuki at all. The difference in strength between him and the others is the difference between night and day. He’s not worthy to stand among them. 

Iguro calling him Upper Five is equal parts a reprimand and a challenge. A true Kizuki would have never broken Muzan’s trust or failed orders. Someone as formidable and steadfast as Iguro would have turned Kocho into a demon without a shred of regret, and Muzan would have commemorated him for it. That’s how he should have acted. Instead, he let guilt become his master. 

“I know,” Giyuu says. Now that Shinazugawa has stepped back, he has enough room to sit up. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry.”

Shinazugawa snarls and shuts his eyes, almost as if summoning all the patience he can muster. “Are you capable of tracking her down?”

Kocho’s fighting spirit is memorable—like Akaza said, it’s akin to the sharpest ice in the midst of the coldest winter, flaring with unconditional rage, even when she smiles. But Giyuu always thinks of it more like a swarm of butterflies with equal potential to be gentle or ruthless. He’s spent the last few days memorizing its shape and basking in how it surges.

Akaza first showed him how to recognize a person’s fighting spirit, and then, once he mastered that, Akaza taught him how to track one. If he finds himself in a busy crowd, he should still be able to pick her out. As long as she’s close, he can find her. 

The question is whether he should. If he leads Iguro and Shinazugawa to her, they won’t hesitate as he did. They’ll turn her into a demon without regret, and he remembers clear as day how fearful she looked at the prospect. She’d begged him not to do it. She doesn’t seem like the type of person to plead for anything. 

But if he refuses, Muzan will know. There’s no wisteria to dull the bond anymore. His thoughts and memories are all at Muzan’s disposal. He will know if he’s delaying the inevitable, and this time, he might not let them all off so easily. If the punishment is reserved solely for him, he can endure it. But that’s exactly the problem—and exactly the reason why Muzan hurts the others instead. 

He can’t let other people get hurt because of him again. 

Again?

“Maybe,” Giyuu says. 

“That’s not a good fucking answer—”

Another presence enters the forest, and at once, the three of them still. Giyuu is the only one to let himself relax after a moment. The aura of the person approaching them is fierce, but familiar. 

Akaza appears between two tree trunks, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flickers momentarily towards Giyuu, still on the ground while the other two loom over him. “Can I talk to Giyuu for a moment?” Akaza asks. 

Shinazugawa’s eyes narrow. “We don’t care what you do.”

Iguro tugs at the sleeve of Shinazugawa’s haori. “Leave them. Upper Three can do what he likes.” He glances over at Giyuu. “We’re going to feed. Whenever you two are finished, catch up, Tomioka—if you can.” 

The two of them snicker, but their laughter is short-lived. Kaburamaru bites Iguro’s cheek, drawing two thin lines of blood.

“Ow!” Iguro cries out. Despite the shock, he still pries Kaburamaru off his skin with a gentleness that’s unbecoming of a demon. “Stop that.” He unwinds Kaburamaru from around his neck. “Keep Kaburamaru with you.” To his surprise, Iguro sets his snake down around Giyuu’s shoulders. “He’s frustratingly annoying when we go hunting.”

It’s the first time Giyuu’s touched the snake, much less be put in charge of his well being. He doesn’t know what he’s meant to do—should he help the snake get comfortable? Hold up his head? In the end, Kaburamaru winds himself around Giyuu’s neck with ease, and Giyuu decides to leave him be.

“If you do anything to hurt him, I will torch you in the sun,” Iguro warns, and Giyuu knows the threat is completely genuine. He doesn’t know where the snake came from, but as long as he’s known Iguro, Kaburamaru has been part of him as a matching set. Even with Kaburamaru’s tendency to nip at Iguro, Iguro would never abandon him. 

“I’ll be careful,” Giyuu says, getting to his feet.

“Don’t take too long,” Shinazugawa warns. 

With that, the two of them disappear into the thicket of the forest, but not without Iguro casting a final warning look over at Giyuu.

“I won’t keep you long,” Akaza says. He steps out from between the trees now that the others are gone and approaches Giyuu. “If you’re going after the Hashira, you need to feed too.”

Ah. Right. Without Kocho around, he’s lost his source of blood. There’s no way he can avoid killing and consuming human flesh now. It had been a long shot to begin with, and he’s sure Kocho would agree. He nearly succumbed to that hunger while they were together; he can still taste the blood in the air from those two injured humans—can still recall how close he had been to giving in.

Even with the blood she offered him, it’s only a temporary solution. It doesn’t curb his hunger completely. It merely takes the edge off of its ferocity. He might not need to eat tonight, but there’s a faint tickle at the back of his throat, almost in warning. 

There’s no point in resisting. He’s a demon. It’s in his nature to kill and consume and destroy. She’ll forever hate him for it. The glimpses he saw towards the end of their time together where that anger seemed to subside were fleeting. The next time he sees her, he’ll be helping his fellow Upper Ranks turn her into a demon, and so, she will never forgive him. There will be no end to the depths of her hatred for him.

I won’t stop trying to kill you if you take more human lives. If you attack them, I will never forgive you. Her words swim to the forefront of his memory, almost as if she’s right beside him saying them for the first time, and guilt presses down on his shoulders. He can picture her disappointment so clearly. 

It meant a lot to her whether he tried to control the lives he took. Maybe, when he was human, it would’ve meant a lot to him too. 

He can resist a little longer.

“It’s fine,” Giyuu says. “What did you want to talk about?”

It takes him a second to realize that Akaza is studying him, his eyes squinted. 

“What?” Giyuu demands.

“Your fighting spirit,” Akaza says, disappointment dripping from his words. “It’s faded again.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t look any different from how it did before.”

“But you said it looked…better. For a moment.”

Akaza tries to reassure him with a smile. “Don’t worry about it.” He waves him off. “I’m sure it’ll return in due time.”

He’s not sure he agrees, but it’s not his main concern at the moment. “Was that all?”

“No,” Akaza says, and this time, he looks serious. Akaza is rarely ever grim and severe. It isn’t in his nature. The only times he ever composes himself in such a manner is when they’re in front of Muzan—when their lives hang in their master’s hands. “What’s going on with you, Giyuu?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was the one sent after you. I saw how you looked when I arrived. You were—annoyed? You ran from me. I don’t think you ever had any intentions of turning that Hashira into a demon. I don’t understand. Why would you disobey Muzan-sama?”

That’s the age-old question, one that he’s been turning over and over in his head every time Kocho’s asleep and he’s left with his own perplexing thoughts. Why does it matter that Kocho stays a human? Is it simply because of what he told her—that he doesn’t want her to lose her memories as well? He didn’t think that loss mattered to him, but after spending time with her and realizing how much he didn’t know about himself and his past, he learned to detest the uneasiness that came with not knowing. Does he want to remember?

Or, perhaps, keeping Kocho alive gave him purpose. He’s spent most of his days as a demon trying to pass the time without a care. He only felt true urgency and desperation when her life was threatened. He once put his life on the line to protect human lives as a Hashira. Had he been chasing that same will?

Regardless of how he responds, Akaza will not like the answer. 

“I’m sorry,” he says instead.

“I don’t care.” Akaza raises a hand over his chest, as if showcasing how unharmed he is. “The punishments Muzan-sama deals out will heal, as they always do. I just don’t understand why you’re so resistant to the thought of that woman being a demon. As a human, she cannot behead a demon. She’s weak. She has to resort to using poison. If she were a demon herself, she’d have all the strength she desires. I don’t know why you’d keep that from her.”

There’s an edge in his voice as he throws back, “You’re wrong.”

Akaza drops his arm. “What?”

“Kocho’s not weak. She’s strong.” Truly—trying to contain the poison created by her in his system led to nights full of agony. Every time she tried to kill him, she held herself back. He fears to know what she would be like if she wanted to ensure that he died. He doubts he would survive her. “Why do you think Muzan-sama wants to turn her into a demon, Akaza?”

Akaza’s lips pull into a taut line.

“For hundreds of years, the only things capable of killing demons were nichirin blades or sunlight. But Kocho’s poison is lethal to us. Muzan-sama hates that a Hashira created another means to—” He breaks off, but Akaza knows how the rest of his sentence ends: Kill him. In response, his blood boils beneath his skin, the hot surge of Muzan’s anger, even though Giyuu doubts he’s listening. “Don’t say that Kocho is weak. She’s strong.”

A beat passes. “Hm. I’m surprised you came to that conclusion.”

“It was obvious once I spent some time with her.” Kaburamaru’s tongue flits out and touches Giyuu’s neck, and he suppresses the urge to squirm. “Muzan-sama thinks Kocho is dangerous.”

Akaza tilts his head. “Do you disagree? You said she’s strong.”

“You saw her fighting spirit, Akaza. Of course she’s dangerous.”

“Even more reason to turn her into a demon,” Akaza says, a note of finality in his tone. He appraises Giyuu once again, and Giyuu knows immediately that Akaza is studying his fighting spirit again. “Don’t you agree?” Akaza slams his foot on the forest floor, and his compass arises from the center of his heel. “Come on, Giyuu. Let’s fight. Your fighting spirit looked so brilliant earlier. Let’s see if we can bring it back to light.”

Giyuu suppresses the urge to sigh. All of his conversations with Akaza end up like this. No matter how serious their discussions start, it always concludes with Akaza convincing him to spar. Sometimes, Giyuu wonders if Akaza only turned him so that he could have an eternal partner to fight with. There is a certain joy Akaza derives from battle that he’s never experienced himself, so he winds up being a sore excuse for an opponent, but at the very least, he can hold his own.

“Kaburamaru,” Giyuu murmurs, falling back a step, “do you think you can hold on?”

Kaburamaru tightens his hold around Giyuu’s neck, a silent yes.

“Since you were so insistent on using my techniques earlier, give me your all, Giyuu,” Akaza calls, laughter in his voice. “And show me if you’ve improved since we fought last.”

Giyuu holds out his palm, allowing his sword to grow from his flesh, and as Akaza moves forward, he surges to meet him halfway.

The sun follows them the entire way back to Headquarters. Uzui suggests stopping by the Butterfly Estate to see how they’re holding up, but Shinobu insists on visiting the Ubuyashiki family first. If she visits her girls now, she won’t want to leave their side, and her duty as a Hashira has to come first. She encountered two Upper Ranks and survived. She needs to rehash everything that’s happened over the past week before anything else. Their future plans depend on it. 

With that, Uzui guides them towards the Ubuyashiki Estate. Several crows fly overhead, chattering amongst themselves, announcing their arrival. By the time the cart pulls to a stop in front of the garden, the rest of the Hashira are assembled inside. 

Shinobu lands gently from the seat, though she doesn’t miss how Uzui’s focus falls on her ankle. Before he can ask questions, she strides inside. 

Himejima, Tokito, and Kanroji all sit within a line, waiting for the master—or Amane in his place—to come greet them. But at the sight of her, alive and safe and well, they startle. Kanroji leaps to her feet, tears brimming in her eyes, and she nearly barrels into Shinobu.

“Shinobu-chan!” Kanroji exclaims. Her lip wobbles as she assesses her, no doubt searching for any damage beyond what she can see. “You’re alright! You’re alive. When you went missing, we all thought—” She’s incapable of completing the thought, cutting herself off with a broken sob. “It’s good to see that you’re alright!”

Himejima cries too, but his actions are far more subdued. “Shinobu, I’m glad to see you’ve returned. We were all worried.”

Tokito nods in agreement. “Welcome back, Kocho-san.”

Her heart twinges. She knew that her absence would be felt in the Corps. After all, she’s been keenly aware of the three missing seats at meetings—and the two that are no longer with them. But she hadn’t expected that her loss would be tangible amongst the Hashira. Among those that are left, she is easily the weakest. Her inability to behead demons has always barred her from their extraordinary strength. She doesn’t expect to survive facing Muzan. She’s always planned on dying before then, so to hear her comrades sound so relieved that she’s returned makes her stomach twist. 

“It’s good to be back,” Shinobu says genuinely. She and Kanroji move to take their seats. “I’m sorry that I made you worry.”

“What happened?” Kanroji asks. “Tell us everything.”

“You might want to wait for Oyakata-sama,” Uzui says from his position on the engawa. “She won’t tell you yet anyway.”

“It’s a long story. I’d rather not tell it twice.”

“Oyakata-sama should be here soon,” Himejima says. 

Almost as if on cue, Kanata and Kiriya appear in the doorway. Their eyes widen slightly upon noticing Shinobu’s presence, but they mask it swiftly as they both chorus, “Oyakata-sama has arrived.”

Oyakata-sama has to be brought in with the help of his other children and Amane’s combined efforts. Himejima stands to assist, but they wave him off. Shinobu can only watch on, wide-eyed, as Oyakata-sama is laid in front of them on a futon that Kiriya rolls out for him, as if sitting up has become too much for his body to bear. No one speaks until Himejima retakes his seat, and then, all of the remaining Hashira bow their heads, Uzui included. 

Shinobu is the one to speak first. “Oyakata-sama,” she begins. “I’m glad that you are well enough to attend this meeting. We wish for your continued health as we grow closer and closer to our goal of defeating Kibutsuji Muzan.”

“Thank you, Shinobu.” Oyakata-sama’s voice is strained. Kuina disappears into the other room, likely to fetch him some water. “It brings me so much joy to see that you have returned to us.”

Guilt courses through her, even though there was nothing she could have done to escape any sooner. She hates that she caused anyone any concern in her absence. The last thing she wants is to inconvenience the Corps further. Everyone has enough to worry about without concerning themselves with her wellbeing. 

“Yes. I apologize that my return took so long.”

“Oyakata-sama,” Uzui says, stepping inside. “I know I am no longer an active Hashira, but would it be alright if I sat in on this meeting? I’d like to hear everything Kocho learned while she was gone. It sounds like it’ll be a flashy tale.”

Oyakata-sama’s mouth quirks up. “That would be alright, Tengen. Please take a seat.”

Uzui kneels beside Tokito, and at once, everyone’s eyes turn to her. The sudden attention prickles her nerves, but Shinobu composes herself in an instant. She survived an attack between two Upper Ranks last night. This is nothing compared to that. 

“Shinobu,” Oyakata-sama murmurs. “Will you tell us everything that happened in the past week?”

Shinobu nods. There is a lot to tell, and though it’ll be difficult to remember each detail, she might as well start from the beginning—at the point her plan fell through. 

“As you all know by now, I went to an abandoned greenhouse to fetch ingredients that Tamayo-san and I believed were necessary in our tests for the cure. This all went according to plan. But—” She still remembers how terrifying it had been when the two demons crashed through the ceiling. As a Hashira, she hasn’t been afraid of weak demons like those in ages, but Muzan took everything from the Corps—even their unshakeable confidence. “Two demons found me, and shortly after, an Upper Rank did too.”

Everyone holds their breath. It must be common knowledge by now who the Kizuki was, but there are still sharp gasps when she announces, “It was Tomioka-san.”

“Giyuu,” Oyakata-sama murmurs. “Do you know what rank he is among the Kizuki?”

“Upper Five.”

“I see. What happened next?”

“I killed both of those demons, and Tomioka-san was happy to let me do it. He said they were weak and had disobeyed orders. Muzan had ordered all of his demons to not harm any female Hashira.”

“What?” This question comes from Kanroji. “Why?”

She feels something thick in her throat as she answers, “Because he was looking for me—a female Hashira who uses poison. He wanted to turn me into a demon too.”

“Why would he single you out?” Uzui asks, one eyebrow raised. “Seems weird.”

“I don’t know. But Tomioka-san never fought me back with his full strength because he was meant to deliver me to Muzan alive. I’m not sure why Muzan wanted to turn me, but…”

Oyakata-sama’s lips are pressed into a tight line, like he might have some suspicions, but he nods for Shinobu to continue.

“Tomioka-san is strong,” Shinobu says with a sigh. “He never reached his full potential in any of our fights because he didn’t need to. He was able to stop me with his technique alone.”

“What is his technique?” Tokito leans forward. 

“He may have more than one.” Actually, she’s almost certain he does. Akaza did. “The one he used was called ‘Dead Calm.’” Oyakata-sama draws in a sharp breath. “It was—frightening. I think he has to be looking at his opponent, but he’s able to release a wave in the air. When it hits the target, that person will be unable to move until he releases them. It…takes your breath away. Literally. I couldn’t do anything.”

Kanroji whimpers. “That’s scary.”

“It would make sense that our comrades have developed techniques as powerful as the former Upper Ranks,” Himejima reasons, though he still sounds displeased about it. “They are not lower-ranked demons.”

“Using that technique, he managed to capture me.” She hesitates for a brief moment. It feels oddly invasive to discuss every intense conversation that the two of them had. She’s not sure she wants everyone to bear witness to how ruthless she was or judge how lenient she had been. It would be enough to sum up their discussions in a few words, she thinks. “Tomioka-san…is a very strange demon. Instead of taking me to Muzan so that I could be turned into a demon, he instead brought me to an inn and called a doctor to inspect my ankle.”

“What’s wrong with your ankle, Shinobu-chan?”

“Nothing, really!” Shinobu waves her off. “I’m fine now. Anyway, Tomioka-san is—not so different from how he was as a human.” It had been too easy to forget when she wasn’t reminding herself constantly. “He has none of his human memories, but his personality is unchanged. He’s still honest and blunt and a bit awkward, to be frank.”

Uzui snorts.

“He was…unusual,” she says, because it sounds better than saying kind. A demon would never be called the latter. “He brought me breakfast and carried me. He was considerate for a demon. He’s killed humans, but he also seemed to express guilt about it. When I asked him to abstain from eating humans, he did. I can at least attest to that for the time we spent together. We traveled by night and slept by day, so he couldn’t have eaten anyone without me knowing.”

The rest of the Hashira look skeptical, and she can’t blame them. If she hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, she’d have her own doubts. But Oyakata-sama nods, as if he’s expected this. “Tamayo-san said that you asked her for help regarding this.”

“Yes,” Shinobu says. “I gave him blood that Tamayo-san sent, and that seemed to help. But it’s not a permanent solution.”

“No kidding,” Uzui says. “I’m sure he probably ran off and ate a whole village as soon as you two separated.”

The logical part of her brain knows this, and she understands that Uzui is not pointing this out to be cruel. It’s in a demon’s nature to kill and feed. Nezuko is the exception, not the rule, and there’s no reason for Tomioka to be an exception as well—except for the fleeting sliver of hope she’s had since she saw him resist two vulnerable bodies in front of him. 

“You may be right,” Shinobu says. If she does outright disagrees, this conversation will run in circles much like Tanjiro and Nezuko’s trial. “But at the moment, we don’t know where he is. I’m only telling you what I witnessed.”

Uzui raises his hands in surrender.

“As the days went on,” Shinobu says, “I realized that Tomioka-san was wasting time. He lacked any sense of urgency, which I found strange. I didn’t know why he was avoiding orders. I didn’t think a Kizuki could—due to their bond with Muzan.”

“As far as we know, that bond is absolute,” Oyakata-sama says. “Muzan gives orders through it, and if they’re not followed, that demon will die. Tanjiro has seen this curse firsthand.”

Tamayo has confirmed this previously as well, which is why she brushed off Tomioka’s easygoing behavior at first. It wasn’t until time went on that she grew suspicious. How can an Upper Rank defy Muzan’s orders so blatantly?

“Yes,” Shinobu agrees. “That bond is absolute. If Muzan had known that Tomioka-san had already made contact with me, he would’ve summoned us immediately. But he didn’t.” Her eyebrows scrunch, remembering how much wisteria Tomioka had been consuming simply to ward him off. It was enough that it spurred him into coughing up blood. “Tomioka-san was weakening the bond without my knowledge.”

“Weakening it?” Himejima asks. “How so?”

“I believe this is the first time we’ve ever heard of a demon attempting this. I suppose not many want to even try! But I had vials of wisteria poison on my person that Tomioka-san confiscated after knocking me unconscious the first night. He never returned them, so I assumed he disposed of it. It wasn’t until the final night that I realized he was consuming the wisteria himself.”

“For what purpose?” Tokito tilts his head.

“To weaken the bond. To prevent Muzan and the other Upper Ranks from knowing where we were.”

“Why would Tomioka do that?” Traces of doubt linger within Uzui’s question. Everyone else’s confusion is unvoiced, but they all must wonder the same thing. “For a demon, Muzan is the most powerful creature that exists. Defying him would be suicide.”

She can’t deny that—especially when it might have become reality. She has no idea what has become of Tomioka. He might very well be dead by now. Though the thought should bring her some relief, it does the exact opposite. If he’s dead, it’s because of her and his choice to spare her. 

“I’m not sure.” Shinobu shakes her head, a bit sadly. “Tomioka-san would ask about his human past sometimes. He wanted to know why he became a Hashira and if he ever got along with Shinazugawa-san and Iguro-san. When I asked him why he would ingest the poison willingly, he said it was because if I became a demon, I’d forget everything too. His memories—or lack thereof—seemed to be important to him even if he didn’t always admit it.”

“Usually demons want to forget their human pasts,” Oyakata-sama remarks. “They’d rather not dwell on them. It’s interesting that he showed interest at all.”

“Yes.” There’s so much more that she could say—that she believed Tomioka was lonely, that his distress over not remembering bothered him because of her, that he was anguished over the thought that he lost someone and could no longer recall their face. But none of those speculations would be relevant to anyone else, even if they are important to her. “It is.”

“Then what?” Oyakata-sama urges. He raises his head to sip from the cup that Kuina’s brought before resting against the pillow again. 

“Tomioka-san ran out of wisteria,” Shinobu says. “I think he was trying to figure out what he should do, but by then, the bond between him and the rest of the Kizuki was as strong as it should have been. Upper Three found us quickly.”

Kanroji lets out a loud gasp and claps a hand over her mouth. “Upper Three—the one who killed…?” She can’t bear to say it.

“Rengoku-san.” Shinobu nods. “That’s him. He turned Tomioka-san into a demon, and he treated him with familiarity when he saw him. I believe the two of them are close—as close as demons can be anyhow. But that didn’t mean that Upper Three was lenient with him. He was ruthless.” Each shockwave was lethal, meant to crush through bone and flesh, and Tomioka bore the weight of each attack. “Tomioka-san fought back as much as he could, but Upper Three—Akaza—blasted his head off. I had to poison Akaza to get away, and even then, Tomioka-san used his technique to give me the chance to run. It was dangerous.”

“Oh, Shinobu-chan!” Kanroji drops her arms back to her sides, though she still clenches her fists. “It was lucky that you got away!”

“I don’t want to admit it, but the reason I’m alive is because of Tomioka-san. His hesitation in turning me over is the only reason I’m not a demon now.” Shinobu rubs at her elbow, wondering how many times he almost did it. How many times did he consider breaking down the poison and calling Muzan to their side? Did he sit at night and contemplate cutting his palm and forcing her mouth open while she was defenseless, urging her to consume every last drop? “I don’t know if he’s still alive, and it’s possible he’ll try and kill me if we cross paths again. He might not be the same as I saw him. But this time, he defended me.”

Her final words are met with silence. The expressions of everyone around her are contemplative as her recollection sinks in. It’s a lot to take in, and it’s even harder to imagine that an Upper Rank could have acted the way Tomioka did. It’s possible no one will believe her. 

Even then, she’s not sure what she makes of Tomioka herself. Part of her wants to see him, if only to reassure herself that he’s alive, and the other part of her wishes that he was dead. He’s suffering as a demon, trying to make sense of the emptiness in his mind when it comes to his human past, and his nature clashes with the ideals he once held dear. 

Tomioka has killed. She knows this firsthand, and whenever she remembers Aikawa and his friend he’ll never get to reunite with, her vision fills with pure red. She’s still angry with him—angry that he’s a demon, angry that he still retains some of his human kindness, as it would be much easier to kill him if he were cruel to the bone. 

You met Tomioka-san today? Kanae asked once after the Water Hashira had been brought to their estate by the kakushi, eyes wild and thrashing from the effects of a troublesome poison. Did you give him an antidote?

Yes, after I had to pin him down myself and force it down his throat, Shinobu snapped. She had been impatient, and the kakushi couldn’t compete with the strength of a Hashira, so she climbed on top of him, shoved her fingers in his mouth, and made sure he drank enough to stop the tremors. Once he recovered, the first thing he said was “Are all of the doctors here scary?” and then passed out again. Is he really a Hashira?

Kanae laughed, the sweet sound of windchimes, and Shinobu only understood later that that was how Tomioka was and that was something she had to accept.

Is this, too, something she has to accept: that Tomioka’s taken many lives, and this is the cost of saving him? Is this what she has to live with?

“Giyuu,” Oyakata-sama murmurs, “suffered a great deal as a human, and it sounds like he suffers as a demon, too. My heart breaks for him.”

“Oyakata-sama,” Himejima says. “Does this change anything?”

“My intention has always been to offer the defected Hashira the chance to be human again. I understand that this may not sit well with you, but it is my wish that they can right their wrongs and learn to live in spite of the tragedy of being demons.” A sigh escapes him, and Amane crouches by his side. “Giyuu once took a chance on a pair of siblings because he thought they might be different. That decision has been the catalyst for everything that has changed since. I don’t want to let this go. If what Shinobu says is right, then it’s possible that something is happening to Giyuu—something that Muzan didn’t anticipate. I ask you all to take a chance on this hope that Giyuu and Shinobu have provided us.”

Silence follows this request. Shinobu’s eyes drift towards the floor, unable to meet the eyes of any of her fellow Hashira. If she were in their position, she’s unsure what she would say or believe. She doesn’t want to influence their decisions either way, and she’s certain that if she makes eye contact with any of them, they might speak differently. She wants to hear their true and honest thoughts—if only to help make sense of her own.

After a long while, Kanroji is the first to break the quiet that’s settled over them. “Is it possible that the others might also have doubts about Muzan?” Her voice is small, and Shinobu knows immediately where Kanroji’s main concern lies. “If Tomioka-san does, then…” She turns to Shinobu, hope blooming in her expression.

“I’m not sure,” Shinobu says. “Tomioka-san said they endured similar transformations, but he didn’t speak about them much.” It wouldn’t help to add that they seemed to harbor the same dislike for Tomioka as demons as they did when they were humans. “It’s possible…”

“We shouldn’t focus on what ifs,” Uzui says. He raises his arm over his broad chest. “That’s not the point. Hell, Kocho even said that Tomioka might act differently when we run into him again.”

“I agree with Uzui.” Himejima’s eyes are once again brimming with tears, and he raises his hands in prayer. “The question should be if we’re ready to consider their rescue a focus in our mission to rid the world of all demons.”

Tokito nods. “Are we going to grant them the same mercy we extended towards Kamado Nezuko—even though they’ve killed?”

“I say yes.” Kanroji straightens and raises her hand. “It might be unfair. I’m sure there are many demons that have not chosen to be turned, and we’ve never offered them this choice, but if Tomioka-san hesitated that much, then I think they must retain some elements of their humanity. If Oyakata-sama agrees that their lives should be a priority, I agree with him.”

“We could be risking our lives,” Tokito points out. “They don’t remember us. They won’t hold back.”

“Tokito has a good point.” Uzui drops his arm back to his side. “Are their lives as demons worth more than the human slayers?”

“If our lives are in danger,” Shinobu says, “it would be foolish to hold back. They would agree if they were still human. If Tomioka-san wanted me dead, my hesitation would’ve gotten me killed.”

Tears stream down Himejima’s face at full force. “If Oyakata-sama’s wish is for them to be spared, then I will honor his wish,” he says, his voice low. “But if our mercy comes at the cost of human lives, then I believe it would be better to put them out of their misery.”

“I can agree with that,” Tokito says. 

“That puts a lot of pressure on Kocho.” Uzui snaps a finger at her. “How’s the cure coming along?”

“I sent Tamayo-san a sample of Tomioka-san’s blood. If we’re lucky, his cells will be the answer.” 

Oyakata-sama heaves a breath, and that spurs Amane into action. She grips his shoulders and hoists him into a seated position. Even then, her grip is tight and unrelenting. If she loosens it at all, Oyakata-sama might collapse. Like this, he faces all of his remaining Hashira—active and retired—and he offers a weary smile. 

“I do not want to let this go,” Oyakata-sama repeats. “If we are in agreement, then we will continue to prioritize the cure—for the former Hashiras’ sake as well as Nezuko’s.”

“Yes, Oyakata-sama,” they all chorus at once, bowing their heads.

Amane assists Oyakata-sama in standing, and like before, their children swarm to help him leave the room. Before he crosses the threshold, he glances back over his shoulder, and his eyes find Shinobu’s from across the room.

“Shinobu,” he says, his voice soft, and she straightens. “If you do see Giyuu again—on pleasant terms, I hope—please do give him my regards.”

There’s no time for the cryptic message to sink in before the Ubuyashiki family make their leave, and the Hashira are left on their own, caught between staring at the space their master vacated and the spots of the Hashira unable to join them.

Chapter Text

The sun casts a warm glow across the horizon of their headquarters as the remaining Hashira leave the Ubayashiki estate. No one wanted to linger long after hearing Oyakata-sama’s final verdict. Everyone walks out with their heads held high, with a renewed sense of purpose that they haven’t felt since Oyakata-sama first gave the order that the Hashira would no longer be permitted to leave the boundaries of their estates. Although that hasn’t changed, their new assignment provides some hope, a promise that they’ll once again be useful. They’ll have to help administer the cure. The task of saving the former Hashira cannot be left to anyone but them.

Shinobu wishes that the weight on her shoulders didn’t feel so heavy. There are countless things to do: she needs to reach out to Tamayo, see how the cure is coming along, offer her assistance, and that’s on top of everything else she’s missed in the days she’s been gone. She doesn’t even want to consider how many injured slayers have been deposited at her estate in her absence. 

The demands are never ending, but first, she needs to see her girls.

“Shinobu.”

There are few people who call her by name, but this voice is especially familiar, as he once had to differentiate Kanae and Shinobu and couldn’t get away with calling them both Kocho. Shinobu halts and twists halfway to greet Himejima, who’s only a few steps behind her. 

“Himejima-san,” Shinobu says. Over his shoulder, she watches Kanroji offer a wave before she departs in the other direction. Tokito trails after her. “Can I help you with anything?”

His face is no longer tear-stained, though there is a sadness that etches itself permanently into his features. “I am sorry to bother you,” he murmurs. “I know that the past week must have been exhausting. I’m sure you want to rest back at your estate. I only wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

Her eyebrows twitch for the briefest of moments before she regains control of her features. “Of course! I’m quite alright. Thank you for worrying, Himejima-san.”

“I’m…glad.” Himejima raises his hands. “I don’t know what we would have done if we had lost another Hashira.” He pauses, and his next sentence comes like a punch to the gut. “And I don’t know what I would have done if it had been you.”

“Himejima-san.” Shinobu turns to face him fully. “As you can see, I’m fine. Nothing to worry about. There’s no point in fretting about what could have happened. I’m alive.”

Himejima nods. “Yes, thanks to Tomioka.”

“Yes.” Unknowingly, Tomioka has absolved himself and the others. Even if they don’t deserve or desire a second chance, Oyakata-sama has given the order, and they’ve all agreed to follow it. Her personal opinions don’t matter, and to be frank, she doesn’t trust herself to give the final verdict when it comes to Tomioka anyway. “He might be a bloodthirsty monster when we meet him again, but I will give him credit. He did save my life this time.”

Tengen rolls past on his cart, gesturing over his shoulder as he goes past. Shinobu continues walking, and to her surprise, Himejima matches her pace. 

“You’re going to continue working on the cure.”

“Yes. I sent some of Tomioka-san’s blood to Tamayo, so that’s helped. I’m going to contact her immediately.”

Himejima nods. “Yes, but you should rest tonight.”

“Himejima-san, your concern is stifling. I’ve been able to sleep just fine! Except for last night, I suppose.” It is difficult to get a good night’s rest while running from Akaza and a dimension of infinite rooms and doors, after all. “I promise I’m alright.”

“You look exhausted.”

Maybe she isn’t doing a perfect job of holding up her smile. There is a weariness that’s settled deep in her bones with knowing what awaits her in the morning. Perhaps her composure has cracked. “Then I’ll get some sleep tonight!”

Himejima is silent the rest of the way to her estate. She contemplates telling him that he doesn’t have to walk her home, but she knows well enough he won’t listen regardless. He dotes on her with the air of an older brother that hovers too much and worries far too often. If he wants to walk her home, he will. 

It’s only when the walls of her estate become visible in the distance that he speaks up again. “I visited a few times to make sure they had everything they needed.” To make sure they were okay. “Your tsuguko wasn’t around often, but she looked worried every time I saw her. So did the rest of the girls.”

Akaza might not have killed her, but the guilt might. “Thank you, Himejima-san.”

He stops at the gate. By now, the sun has set, and the skies begin to darken. It’s almost the demon’s hour, and a year ago, she would have been headed out on a mission, not headed home while others risk their lives instead. 

“Thank you for walking me home,” Shinobu says. “I appreciated the company.”

Himejima nods. “It was the least I could do.”

Shinobu half-expects him to leave, but Himejima, for once, seems to hesitate. He turns toward the estate, almost as if waiting for something. It takes her a second too long to realize what it is.

“Himejima-san,” she says, her voice a little too prickly, a little too reminiscent of the teenager she used to be. “Oyakata-sama wasn’t being serious. Tomioka-san isn’t going to make a house call tonight. Besides, Muzan might have killed him.”

“I—” He sighs. “I know that. But you said it yourself. He protected you this time. He might not do it again.”

“I will be careful.”

His lips curve upwards. “I know.” He pats her head, almost as if she were a young child. “I am very glad you’re alive, Shinobu.” 

Without another word, Himejima is gone, his words leaving a gentle ache in their wake, and she turns to let herself through the gate, knowing that Himejima’s tears are only the beginning. 

As soon as Shinobu makes contact with the front door, a flurry of footsteps barrel through the estate. She’s only made it across the threshold when Sumi, Naho, and Kiyo slam into her with a surprising amount of force. 

“Shinobu-sama!” they all cry out at once. Even though their faces are buried from view, she knows they’re crying. Their tears seep into the front of her uniform. “You’re okay!”

Her throat feels thick. She can’t remember the last time she cried, but she’s getting close to it. The aftermath of these tumultuous days are catching up to her; she was convinced she was a second away from death itself at any given point, and the nerves that she strived to fight now bubble at the surface. All she can do to suppress them is to hold her girls tighter.

“I’m okay,” she says, painting on a brilliant smile. “I’m sorry that it took so long for me to return. You all must have been worried.”

“We were so scared, Shinobu-sama! We thought the demons took you too.”

They certainly tried to. Instead of answering, Shinobu tightens her grip.

Two more pairs of footsteps thunder towards them, and she lifts her head to find both Aoi and Kanao running in her direction. Unlike the younger ones, who’d thrown themselves onto her without hesitation, Aoi and Kanao slow down before they reach her, their eyes wide and glassy. It’s even more disorienting to see how red Kanao appears, like it’s required all of her effort to hold back her tears. 

“Shinobu-sama,” Aoi says, her voice cracking. Unlike Kanao, she has no reservations about crying. Tears shine in the corners of her eyes. “I’m so glad to see you. We assumed the worst.”

“You don’t know how happy I am to see you all.” Shinobu reaches out a hand, and with only a small amount of hesitation, Aoi allows her to draw her into the embrace. “Kanao, come closer. I’ve missed you too.”

“Master,” Kanao says, taking a step forward. If she squints, she can spot the droplets of sweat that cling to her forehead. Was she on a mission earlier? “You’re back.”

“I’m back,” Shinobu confirms, and she tugs Kanao forward too, until all of the habitants of the Butterfly Estate are intertwined near the front door.

Twenty minutes pass before Shinobu has the heart to untangle herself from them. She lets Aoi fuss over her ankle for as long as she can bear, and she sits down with them at dinner for once, forcing herself to eat everything they shove in front of her. Normally, she would take her meal with her to her office before shutting the door and hiding away for hours at a time. But given how their eyes follow her around the room, they’re still drinking in the fact that she’s alive, and she doesn’t want to disappear from their sights before they’re reassured that she’s not going anywhere. 

The quiet only returns once she urges the younger ones to bed. Aoi makes herself busy by checking in on the current patients of the estate, and Shinobu wastes no time in gesturing for Kanao to follow her into her office.

“Where are Tanjiro-kun and the others?” she asks.

“Tanjiro and Nezuko left for a mission yesterday. Zenitsu and Inosuke left this morning on another. They might return tomorrow.”

That’s likely for the best. Shinobu doesn’t want to break the Kamados’ hearts by telling them what has become of Tomioka. While she’s partly curious about whether Tanjiro might know more about Tomioka’s past than her, she’s not sure she’s ready to travel down that road. If he’s not around, she doesn’t have to.

“I see!” Shinobu ushers Kanao in. “Take a seat, Kanao. I’m sure you have questions, so I’ll do my best to answer them.”

Kanao nods and drags over a chair for herself. Meanwhile, Shinobu marches over to her desk, opens the top drawer, and retrieves an unopened packet of sunflower seeds. She heads over to the window and holds out her open palm.

“En. Kanzaburo. I know you’re there.” Shinobu sprinkles a handful into her palm. “I owe you both.”

At her call, both crows descend towards the windowsill in a hurry. Kanzaburo latches onto the wood, but En perches herself on Shinobu’s shoulder.

“THANK YOU, SHINOBU-SAMA,” En murmurs before diving into the feast.

Kanzaburo seemingly hesitates, his eyes searching Shinobu’s, and a pang of guilt hits her. He doesn’t have to speak for her to hear his question: WHERE’S GIYUU?

“He’s not here,” Shinobu whispers. “Eat, Kanzaburo.”

With a low caw, Kanzaburo lowers his head and begins to nibble at the seeds. Shinobu helps En join Kanzaburo’s side so that they can eat in peace before returning her attention to Kanao.

“Is that…” Kanao’s eyes are trained on Kanzaburo. “Tomioka-sama’s crow?”

“Yes,” Shinobu says while taking her seat opposite Kanao. “I should explain.”

She waits for Kanao to return her attention before she retells the story of what happened while she was gone. It’s almost the exact recollection she gave at the Hashira meeting, though with a few details withheld. As her tsuguko, Kanao deserves to know everything, and she would rather mention the reality of how difficult it is for a single Hashira to face an Upper Rank sooner instead of later. 

Once she’s done, Kanao’s mouth is pursed, like she’s holding back several questions. Her hand twitches towards her pocket—towards the coin Shinobu hasn’t seen her use in some time. In the end, Kanao curls her hand into a fist and says, “Does that mean your poison won’t work on an Upper Rank?”

“That remains to be seen.” After all, she isn’t going to give up hope when she didn’t get to see the aftermath of what she did to Akaza. She held back against Tomioka, never fully committing to killing him. “That’s not for you to worry about, anyway, Kanao.”

Kanao frowns.

“Tamayo-san and Yushiro-san are hard at work on the cure now that we have Tomioka-san’s blood. For the foreseeable future, it will be my main priority given Oyakata-sama’s orders.” She offers an encouraging smile—one that is never a lie. “I trust you to continue to excel on your missions, and I trust Aoi to keep up the good work as well. I really am proud of all of you.”

A flush dusts Kanao’s cheeks. “What’s the…next step?”

“Hm.” Shinobu holds out her hand, and En flies easily to latch onto her fingers. “En, my dear. I know you’ve had a long day. Do you think you can make one more trip?”

“OF COURSE, SHINOBU-SAMA.” En puffs out her chest. 

“Please report to Tamayo that I’m alive and safe. Tell her everything. I’d like to know how I can help and if there’s been any progress.”

“UNDERSTOOD.” En nods. “I’LL LEAVE NOW.”

“Thank you, En.”

En detaches herself from Shinobu and soars out the open window. She becomes a black dot against the backdrop of the moon before she vanishes from view. 

“I’ll plan based on whatever Tamayo-san needs.” Shinobu rises from her seat. As much as she would love to resume working on the cure, she needs to reconvene with Tamayo before anything else. Besides, the exhaustion is becoming impossible to ignore now. Her bed beckons. “I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

“Of course, Master.” Kanao stands and moves towards the door. “Have a good night’s sleep.”

Shinobu smiles after her. “Sweet dreams, Kanao.”

As soon as the door’s shut, Shinobu opens her desk drawer and retrieves a box similar to the one Tomioka returned to her. She plucks out a vial from inside. This time, it’s not empty. The poison almost shines in the moonlight, and as she brings the rim to her mouth, her heart beats wildly in her chest.

How many times had Tomioka done the same without realizing her true intentions? There’s no way he could have known. A poison user would keep extra vials in case it was necessary to kill. How cruel, she thinks, that he tried to save her using the same method she’s using to prepare to die.

Her heart tightens in her chest, and she can’t tell if it’s only the poison’s fault anymore. Even as she drags herself to her bed, it still hammers in her chest, as if it’s ready to burst.

I’ve heard sleeping makes demons stronger, Kocho said.

Liar, Giyuu wants to tell her.

He never slept until she suggested it. But there was only so much he could do while waiting for the sun to disappear, and out of a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, he forced himself to use the futon for its intended purpose. He shut his eyes against the warmth of the sun’s glow beyond the curtain, and he matched his breathing with Kocho’s snores.

The first night, there was only pitch black. He remembered nothing when he woke, and that was that.

The second night, when he slept, he dreamed—a dream that made him want to claw out his eyes. It was impossible to not recognize Kocho’s form in his arms. She was so still that she could’ve been sleeping, if not for the blood staining his mouth and her neck. Her eyes lacked any warmth as they stared up at him, flat and dull and so full of vicious anger and rage that he wanted to drown in it. In that dream, he killed her, and it was worse than he imagined.

He didn’t want to sleep after that. He didn’t want to risk another dream where he went back on his promise and invited that hatred from her. He couldn’t stand it.

But it was as though he opened a door that could no longer be shut. 

A few nights later, he dreamt again against his own will, and he found he liked this dream better. He was knelt on the floor, and Kocho—Kocho was alive and well, and that blazing fury in her eyes was welcome this time. She stood over him, her sword thrust into his neck, and he felt her poison eating him alive.

Finally, he thought, before he realized that was an odd reaction to have. 

He didn’t fight back, didn’t break down the poison. He did nothing except sigh as it coursed through him, and as he felt the last of his insides wither, he smiled. 

“Tomioka-san,” Kocho said, her voice cracking, and his vision was almost too dark to see how her eyes watered. 

She was angry at him in this dream too, but it was different. He didn’t mind dying. This dream became his favorite.

Tonight, he dreamt again. A pile of human bodies were strewn in front of him. He didn’t need to listen to know that their hearts no longer beat. Somehow, he knew right away that these humans weren’t dead because of him.

His body turned on its own, and he realized a beat too late that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t recognize her at first. If he thought her eyes were lifeless in his first dream, it was nothing compared to how they were now. Blood stained her sharp fangs, and small butterflies—a technique, perhaps—fluttered around her throat. 

“Tomioka-san,” Kocho said again, in the same pained voice she used when speaking of grief and loss. “Does the hunger ever end?”

He didn’t kill those humans, but he did this. He held out his arm, almost whispering, Take this. Eat this too. Kill me too. But Kocho Shinobu surprised him again when she bit into his throat instead, just as he had in the first dream to her, and he sighed as he let her rip him to shreds, knowing well that this was his fault.

“Tomioka-san,” she whispered, almost in apology, and he decided then that he hated this dream too. 

Her morning starts with an abrupt wakeup call. 

A loud knock on her door startles her out of her dream, and the wisps of it dissipate with the sun as she sits up, her sheets pooling around her waist. She presses a hand to her teeth, and for some unknown reason, she feels relief at the lack of fangs. She can’t remember why this confirmation feels so pressing, and there’s no time to dwell on it either. Another knock comes against her bedroom door, louder this time.

“Shinobu-sama,” Aoi calls, an apologetic note in her voice. “Kanroji-sama is here to see you.”

“Aoi.” Kanroji’s voice is audible through the door. “I told you not to wake her. I don’t want to bother her if she’s still sleeping.”

She blinks her eyes against the light, but it doesn’t take her long to adjust. The sun is more of an orange glow, and to her shock, as she peeks out her window, it’s starting to set. How long did she sleep?

“It’s alright!” Shinobu kicks off her sheets. “Come in, Kanroji-san.”

The door slides open. Aoi gestures for Kanroji to enter; the latter wears a sheepish expression. 

“Sorry, Shinobu-chan,” Kanroji murmurs. Aoi shuts the door behind her until they’re left alone, and Kanjori approaches and perches herself on the edge of Shinobu’s bed. “I didn’t know you would still be asleep.”

“It’s fine. I slept for too long. Aoi should’ve woken me up earlier.”

“I thought you didn’t sleep at all the night before! You should be getting lots of rest. I was an idiot to not think about that before coming here. I only wanted to see if you were okay!”

Shinobu offers her the best smile she can muster moments after waking up. It is always nice to see Kanroji, especially when it’s outside of the tense atmosphere of Hashira meetings. Those haven’t been optimistic and hopeful for some time. “I said it’s okay. I’m fine. See?”

Instead of agreeing, Kanroji frowns. “I think you could use more sleep.”

“No time to sleep, I’m afraid! I’m waiting to hear back from Tamayo-san. If we’re going to save the former Hashira, we need the cure sooner rather than later.”

Kanroji becomes silent at that, and Shinobu knows where her thoughts must lead. She’s confided in Shinobu previously about the letters she exchanges with Iguro. Given Iguro doesn’t go to those lengths for just anyone, it’s safe to assume that the two of them are close. Whether their feelings have blossomed into something beyond friendship, Shinobu can’t say. Kanroji has asked her what being in love must feel like, but that’s uncharted territory for someone like her, who’s shunned every hint of it. All she knows with complete certainty is that Kanroji cares deeply for Iguro, perhaps more than she does any other Hashira, though she would never admit it. 

Whether she meant to or not, Shinobu unwittingly gave Kanroji hope that Iguro might not be completely lost.

“Do you really think Tomioka-san will kill you if he sees you again?” Kanroji asks.

“Possibly.” Without her wisteria poison, Tomioka might be powerless to resist an order from Muzan, even if he doesn’t want to follow through with it. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“But he protected you! He saved you! He saved Nezuko-chan.” She frowns. Much like Kanae and Tomioka, Kanroji is a merciful person. Her kindness is infinite, and that kindness can even be extended towards demons. If she had been the one to encounter Tomioka, it might have broken her heart. “I hate this.”

Shinobu reaches out to squeeze Kanroji’s shoulder. “I know you’re worried, but I’ll do everything in my power to fix this.”

“I’m worried about you, Shinobu-chan! If you’re right and he tries to kill you—or worse, turn you into a demon—what will we do? The Corps won’t survive without you.”

Her breath freezes in her lungs. She knows what she wants to say: that the Corps will survive, because they always have. That would be the truth, but there’s another that springs to the forefront of her mind at the same time. The Corps will survive, but the former Hashira will not.

“Good thing I have no plans to become a demon,” Shinobu says, standing up. “And I won’t lie still waiting for an Upper Rank to come kill me either.”

Kanroji’s frown deepens with worry, but Shinobu tries her best to wave off her concerns with a smile. “Would you like something to eat, Kanroji-san?”

The two Hashira take a full plate of onigiri outside to the engawa. The sun has set, and the outside of the estate is empty for once without a single slayer practicing or training in her yard. The evening breeze is starting to pick up, but it brings welcome relief as the two of them take a seat and begin to eat. She asked Aoi to make more, knowing full well that Kanroji eats plenty, and behind them, she can hear Sumi, Naho, and Kiyo giggle as they rebraid each other’s hair. 

Her stomach pinches with hunger, and Shinobu feels ravenous even as she takes her first hearty bites. When was the last time she ate? Was it the takoyaki she bought at the festival? 

“Where’s Kanao-chan?” Kanroji asks while chomping down her fifth onigiri.

“Aoi said she left on a mission about an hour before I woke up,” Shinobu says, somewhat bitterly. She would have liked to say goodbye, but Kanao wouldn’t have woken her up from her deep sleep even if she had been ordered to. “Slayers like Kanao and Tanjiro-kun are constantly on missions now. Given their experience, they’re the most capable slayers we have while the Hashira hang back.”

“Mm.” Kanroji hums. “I’ll make Kanao-chan something sweet as a thank you for all of her hard work. It’s the least I could do.” Her lips turn downward. “I wish we could be out there to help.”

So does she. But after what happened this past week, she doubts any Hashira will be allowed out on solo missions—especially her. “I know. I don’t like feeling helpless.”

“But you’re not. You’re helping Tamayo with the cure.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” It simply doesn’t feel like enough.

In the distance, there’s a loud caw, an ordinary sound at Headquarters, but before she can mistake the noise for anyone else, En’s blurry form appears. She moves slower than usual, and it takes Shinobu a second to realize that she’s waiting for someone to catch up before speeding ahead. 

Amane walks beneath En with graceful steps. She stops to murmur to En before the crow swoops toward Shinobu on her own.

“En,” Shinobu says in lieu of a greeting. “How are you? Did you find Tamayo-san?”

“YES, SHINOBU-SAMA.” En lands on the edge of the engawa. Kanroji reaches into her pocket and draws out a handful of seeds, likely meant for her own crow. She spreads them out in front of En, who takes a second to peck at them gratefully. “I FOUND TAMAYO-SAN. SHE WISHES TO SEE YOU RIGHT AWAY.”

“See me?” Her eyes widen. She would like to see Tamayo too. There’s only so much that can be sent by crow and cat, but the risk seems too great. “How—”

“Oyakata-sama will allow it,” Amane says, now close enough to join the conversation. “Apologies for the intrusion, Kocho-san.” She bows deeply. “En came to see us first in order to get our permission.”

“Don’t apologize.” Shinobu waves her off and jams the rest of the onigiri she’s holding into her mouth. “Thank you for coming.”

Amane straightens and wrings her hands. “En said that Tamayo wants to see you as soon as possible.”

“But…” The risks are no longer hypothetical. Even if Tomioka doesn’t come after her himself, Muzan has no shortage of Kizuki at his disposal to retrieve her. It might be Akaza or Shinazugawa or Iguro sent after her next.

“This is entirely your choice,” Amane says, her expression softening. “We will not force you either way. But my husband and I believe it’s time for Tamayo and Yushiro to join us at Headquarters. If the cure is going to be our priority, we need to ensure their safety and give you the space you need to collaborate efficiently.”

Two more demons at the Corps’ Headquarters. She can’t say she didn’t expect this to happen eventually. Her relationship with Tamayo and Yushiro has been restricted to short meetings and even shorter letters exchanged by either of their familiars. It would be helpful to have constant access to their insight and expertise. 

She has plenty to ask Tamayo—especially concerning Tomioka—but those questions aren’t essential to their victory. If Tamayo was around, she’d feel less guilty about asking them.

Those two are essential in their fight against Muzan. Shinobu understands that better than anyone—except maybe Oyakata-sama and Tanjiro. Without them, the progress on the cure wouldn’t be so far along. While she’s been researching how best to kill Upper Ranks, Tamayo has been researching how to use their cells to reverse the demonic transformation. It is through both of their combined knowledge that they’ve made it so far. It is how they’ll win against Muzan. 

“Of course I’ll go,” Shinobu says. “I wasn’t sure Oyakata-sama would agree given the risk.”

“We won’t be sending you alone. You’re right. It is a risk, and at the moment, you’re Muzan’s main target.” Amane slides a meaningful glance in Kanroji’s direction. “Kanroji-san.”

Kanroji sits up ramrod straight at the sound of her name. “Yes!”

“Would you accompany Kocho-san?”

“Yes, yes!” She nods enthusiastically without a second of hesitation. The excited gleam in her eyes might be reflected in Shinobu’s. Being assigned dangerous missions, assisting the rest of the Corps—this is why they were considered Hashira in the first place. They’ve all been restless while watching their juniors die to demon attacks and being helpless to stop it. “I’ll gladly help Shinobu-chan!”

Amane’s smile is gentle and relieved all at once. It must not be easy. Oyakata-sama might have the task of leading the Corps, but as his health has worsened, those duties have fallen onto Amane’s shoulders in addition to having to care for her spouse. If there’s anything Shinobu can do to lessen that weight, she’ll do it. “En should be able to guide you both. From my understanding, Tamayo and Yushiro have circled back to Asakusa. There should be enough people around to allow you to move through undetected.”

“Understood,” Shinobu says with a nod. “Shall we leave at sunrise?”

“Shinobu-chan!” Kanroji’s eyes bulge. “You’ve barely rested. You’re exhausted. We can wait, can’t we?”

She shakes her head. “We can’t,” she insists. “We don’t know if Tomioka-san is still alive, but if by some mercy Muzan has spared him, his life will be in constant danger. He doesn’t have time, and neither do we.” She returns her gaze to Amane, steely resolution in her eyes. “We will leave by sunrise if that’s alright.”

Amane’s expression tightens for the briefest of moments before relaxing again. “If you’re sure, Kocho-san.”

“We’ll be fine. I will let Aoi know.”

“Are you sure we’ll be fine with only two Hashira?” Kanroji asks.

“It’ll be easier,” Shinobu says. “Himejima-san attracts too much attention, and I think we should leave Muichiro-kun out of this one.”

Kanroji frowns. “You’re probably right.”

“Then it’s settled!” Shinobu claps her hands. “Thank you, Amane-san. I apologize that you had to come all this way.”

“It was no problem at all. Best of luck to you both.”

She turns to face Kanroji. “I’ll see you at sunrise, Kanroji-san.” She stands, the rest of her meal forgotten. There are many things she needs to prepare in the meantime.  “There’s much to do until then, and the night is short.”

Giyuu opens his eyes. He can see them—the butterflies.

There’s a crunch of a branch, and he turns in time to see Iguro marching towards him. “Did you find her?” he asks. “Is she on the move?”

He wants to stay quiet—to keep the secret of Shinobu’s flaring fighting spirit all to himself. If he says nothing, they won’t find her. She’ll stay human. 

But Iguro’s gaze is hard and resolute, and all Giyuu can think about is how much his eyes watered as he endured the punishment meant for him. He doesn’t want anyone to suffer on his behalf. It’s not worth it. He isn’t worth that.

He doesn’t know what to do. If he were a Hashira, maybe he’d be able to save everyone—to spare Kocho and protect Iguro and Shinazugawa and Akaza. But he’s not. All he can do is nod before focusing on Kocho’s fighting spirit again, and he decides to follow the butterflies.

Chapter Text

It was a long night. Shinobu woke sometime around midnight with an unforgivable headache, her entire body warm. She took some medication, then promptly passed out all over again, and nearly missed Aoi’s wakeup call. 

She still feels a little hot, like the collar of her uniform is more stifling than usual, but the heat is no longer unbearable. The headache that had haunted her dreams has subsided, and even though she knows she must have bags beneath her eyes, she’s still able to smile at Kanroji from a distance.

“Kanroji-san,” she greets, her voice chipper as ever. “Thank you for accompanying me today.”

“Of course, Shinobu-chan.” Kanroji frowns, and for a second, Shinobu worries she’ll point out her worse-for-wear appearance. But the remark never comes. “I’m so happy you trust me to help protect you.”

“You’re a Hashira. You’re incredibly strong. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know.” Kanroji grins, a quick flash of teeth. “It just feels nice to be needed again, you know? So I’m ready to help out any way I can!”

“You’re being extremely helpful today. We need to move quickly. I don’t know how easily the Kizuki might be able to track us.”

Kanroji nods enthusiastically. “Whatever you need.”

Shinobu looks back over her shoulder. She said her goodbyes to Sumi, Naho, and Kiyo last night. The girls looked apprehensive at the thought of her leaving the estate so soon, and she doesn’t blame them. They found out that her life is in particular danger from Muzan, and still, she plans to go out in the open where it’s unsafe. She wondered if they might ask her to stay. But they understand that this is her duty as a Hashira, just as she understood that she could not keep Kanao or Kanae from doing the same. In the end, they wished her well, hiding the tears that welled in their eyes.

Aoi is the only one up at this hour. She made Shinobu breakfast in complete and utter silence, only ever speaking to ask if everything was to her liking. Even now, she’s quiet as she watches Shinobu sheathe her sword and tug on her haori. 

“Aoi,” Shinobu calls.

Aoi jolts at the sound of her name before her features settle again. Her fierce personality reminds Shinobu a lot of how she used to act—before Kanae died, and she learned to hide her anger behind the smile her sister cherished. Aoi worries, and to hide that, she acts harsh, just as Shinobu often did to temper Kanae’s naivete. “Yes, Shinobu-sama.”

“I won’t be gone long,” Shinobu says. “I leave the estate in your care in the meantime.”

“Alright.”

“Aoi.”

Aoi exhales loudly through her nostrils. “Yes?”

“You’re doing great.” She offers her an encouraging smile. “Thank you.”

Aoi stammers while gritting her teeth. “Shinobu-sama…”

“Don’t worry, Aoi-chan.” Kanroji offers a wave, and Shinobu begins to follow after her. The sun is beginning to rise, and their clock is ticking. Unlike demons, they don’t have the luxury of time. They need to travel as far as they can while the sun offers its protection. “I will take care of her. She’ll be safe.”

“I’m not worried,” Aoi insists. “Goodbye.” She disappears back inside the estate, but not before Shinobu catches the sheen of a tear gliding down her cheek. 

It does little to assuage the guilt weighing her down. Of course, she’d love to stay longer—to ward off the worries everyone feels. She hates that her disappearance caused them any anguish, and she’s only adding onto it by leaving so soon. But she doesn’t see what else can be done. This is how she can help the Corps.

This is how she can save one person—or a few, if she’s lucky.

“Let’s go,” Shinobu says, catching up with Kanroji. “I don’t want to be gone long.”

With that, the two of them head off, the fences of the estate shrinking with distance. 

Asakusa has always been a district bustling with foot traffic. Although the sun is still out by the time they arrive, enough people crowd the streets and make it difficult to move anywhere. A few cars wind past as they walk, following En from where she soars above, and the enticing smell of fish almost draws her into the various shops that line them on either side. 

Shinobu prefers the quiet solace of a countryside town. She likes being able to sit outside at night and not hear anything at all. But the energy of Asakusa is almost electric, and it doesn’t surprise her that Tamayo and Yushiro would have circled back here. With so many people traveling in and out each day, it’s easy to lose yourself in the crowd, and they have many reasons to want to remain hidden. 

The constant movement makes this spot a prime location for demon activity. She hasn’t spotted anything out of the ordinary yet, but if any demon catches a whiff of their presence, they’ll be in immediate danger. It only takes a glance for their location to be communicated through the bond. She severely underestimated how unmanageable that connection could be. It makes sense why Tomioka would go to such lengths to stifle it—except for the fact that she doesn’t understand why he’d go to such lengths for her.

Shinobu shakes her head, willing any thoughts of Tomioka away. She needs her complete focus today. She can’t afford to wonder about anything that isn’t pertinent to their task. 

They need to find Tamayo. Any questions about Tomioka can be withheld until a later time.

“How are you doing, Kanroji-san?” Shinobu asks over her shoulder.

“Fine,” Kanroji replies. “Do you think we’re close?”

She steps to the side as a tall man nearly tumbles into the street. “I do hope so.”

En has slowed down overhead, trying to spot any signs of Yushiro’s technique. Without En’s help, it’ll be difficult to pull apart any glamor that Tamayo and Yushiro used to keep themselves hidden from the demons. It shouldn’t be far now. It won’t be long until sunset. 

They continue down the busy street until En diverts from the main path. She flies forward with urgency, likely recognizing their surroundings, and the two Hashira race to catch up with the Kasugai crow. 

The crowds become more scattered, and they run without running into anyone, though they still earn a few odd looks from passersby. The sun has dipped below the skyline. En flies until she reaches a stone fence. All of a sudden, she dives downward and lands on top of it, ruffling her feathers.

“En,” Shinobu calls as she nears. “Is this it?”

“YES, SHINOBU-SAMA.”

Shinobu squints at the fence En’s perched on. At first glance, the stone looks perfectly normal. Kanroji reaches her and studies the fence with the same intensity as Shinobu.

“Are you sure, En?” Kanroji asks. She’s never seen Yushiro’s technique at work, so Shinobu doesn’t blame her for her confusion. 

But after a moment, the fence shimmers, like the illusion is preparing to fall away, and a pair of lavender eyes stare back at her.

Shinobu puts on a placating smile. “Hello, Yushiro-san.”

“Eek!” Kanroji claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her surprise. “Er, hello there. I’m sorry!”

“You’re late,” is all Yushiro says before turning around and walking further beyond the fence. There is no greeting—no “glad that you’re alive”—but his curtness is something Shinobu has come to expect from him. It might be partially her fault, anyway. The first time she met Tamayo, she had done a poor job at concealing her hatred for the two of them, and Yushiro, of course, would never let any ill will towards Tamayo slide. She doubts he’ll ever forgive her for that. At most, he’s a reluctant collaborator, but he won’t care either way if she lives or dies.

Shinobu follows after him. “Kanroji-san, this is Yushiro.”

“Hello, Yushiro-san!”

Yushiro only harrumphs in response, and Kanroji’s face falls. 

“Don’t worry,” Shinobu reassures her. “Yushiro is like this with everyone except Tamayo-san. Don’t take it personally.”

She hears the flap of En’s wings, her crow taking to the skies again to trail them. Yushiro leads them forward through the thorny bushes. The branches poke at her exposed skin, but she tries her best to ignore them and focus on keeping pace with Yushiro. Behind her, Kanroji fights a similar battle—and is losing. There’s a whoosh sound, and most of the surrounding branches lose their edge as Kanroji slices through them with surprising precision. She didn’t chop off enough to kill the plants, but enough to clear their path.

There’s a small house up ahead, a two-story home. The lights are on in one of the rooms on the bottom floor. It must be Tamayo’s office. To her surprise, most of the windows are open, and the curtains are thrown wide, letting the fresh air in. She supposes not everyone shares her same superstitions about inviting demons in. 

A lone figure waits for them by the front door, and Shinobu doesn’t need to take another step forward to recognize her. It’s been some time, but Shinobu has read each letter in her voice and hoped they would be able to reunite soon. 

Before Yushiro can announce their return, Shinobu cuts him off. “Tamayo-san,” she greets. “It’s good to see you again.” She pointedly ignores Yushiro’s glare. 

“Kocho-san,” Tamayo says, inclining her head. Although her expression is calm and polite as always, there’s an almost imperceptible tremor in her voice—worry. She must have been anxious over whether they would arrive safe and sound. “And Kanroji-san. Thank you both for coming.”

“Of course.” Kanroji gives Tamayo a deep bow. “I’m so honored to meet you in person. Shinobu-chan and Oyakata-sama speak so highly of you.” When she raises her head, a blush dusts her cheeks. “I wanted to thank you personally for everything you’ve done for Tanjiro-kun and Nezuko-chan, and everything you’re going to do! We wouldn’t be able to do anything without you and Shinobu-chan. And Yushiro-san, of course!”

Tamayo looks surprised at Kanroji’s fervent enthusiasm. She must have wondered what kind of person Kanroji would be like—if she would greet her with apprehension, fear, or hatred. If Shinobu had known, she would’ve assured Tamayo from the start that she had nothing to be afraid of; Kanroji has enough love to spare for all, including demons. 

“Thank you, Kanroji-san,” Tamayo says. “I’m happy to be of help. We all want the same thing.”

“Yes.”

“Should we go inside? I don’t like being out longer than necessary.”

Shinobu nods, but when she moves forward, Kanroji hangs back. 

“I think it’s best for me to stand guard beyond the fence,” Kanroji says. “The sun has set, and I don’t want to get in your way.”

“If you’re sure,” Shinobu says. This is the reason she didn’t come alone, after all. But she doesn’t like the thought of Kanroji being the first line of defense either. “Send En if anything happens.”

“Mhm. Scream if you need me.”

She offers a final thumbs-up before entering the house after Tamayo and Yushiro. Kanroji darts back the direction they came, her hand on her sword. 

Tamayo’s office is normally spacious with several diagrams of human and demon anatomy alike hanging from the walls, surrounding a singular desk in the middle of the room. There are often microscopes and other equipment nearby, but there is an organization to the clutter. In this house, the framework for the office is the same as the previous house Shinobu visited Tamayo at, but any sense of order is long gone. 

Several open journals rest on the desk, vials of blood and other liquids line up on the edge of the bottom bookshelf, and another desk has been haphazardly shoved beside the first, similarly covered in clutter. Sheets of paper cover the floor, and Shinobu has to step over them to avoid slipping and face planting. 

She’s never seen Tamayo’s office like this. She’s been prone to letting her own space become disorderly after back to back missions, but she can’t stand the mess for long. She’s always known Tamayo’s working space to be spotless. If she’s allowed it to fall to such disarray, she and Yushiro must have been working nonstop from the moment she sent them Tomioka’s blood.

“Dear me,” she says in mock horror. “Were you attacked?”

Yushiro scoffs while Tamayo smiles at her attempt to lighten the mood.

“We’ve been busy,” Tamayo says. “Yushiro, can you get Kocho a chair?”

Yushiro looks like he’d rather do anything else, but in the end, he gives in and vanishes into the next room in search of a spare seat. He returns a second later, and the three of them sit down in front of the two desks. 

“Kocho-san,” Tamayo begins. “First, how are you? Are you alright?”

Shinobu grins in return. “I’m perfectly fine! Everyone does seem to be worried for me, but as you can see, I don’t even have a single scratch.”

“I can see that.”

“It’s weird.” Yushiro crosses his arms over his chest. “How do you manage to be caught by an Upper Rank and survive with no injuries?”

“Tomioka-san is harmless.” Shinobu waves Yushiro off, before her expression turns grave. As much as she’d like to joke that it’s natural she would have survived unscathed, she knows that was almost not the case. She owes her current condition to Tomioka—and his foolish mercy. “I’m not sure how much you’d like me to go into it.”

“En told us as much as she knew,” Tamayo says. “You’re right, though. We don’t have much time, and I have a few things I need to discuss. Tomioka-san sounds like a curious case for a demon.” As a fellow doctor, she can’t judge Tamayo’s interest. She can’t deny that Tomioka’s actions and mindset intrigue her too. “He spared you because he didn’t want you to lose your memories, or so he claims. But if that’s all he wanted, he could have abandoned you or turned the other way. Instead, he went to great lengths to protect you and was clever enough to use poison to weaken his link to Muzan.” She scratches at her chin. “This is not something a normal demon does. Even if they wanted to break free from Muzan—out of fear or hatred—they wouldn’t be willing to suffer the effects of poison to do so, especially knowing that it isn’t a permanent solution. For demons, survival is their priority, as it is for Muzan. They uphold that connection with Muzan above all else. Yet, Tomioka-san spared you and protected you knowing that it might kill him.”

Shinobu is aware. She knows that Tomioka went to great lengths to save her life. What she doesn’t understand is why . He claims that her memories are important, but he cared so little for those he lost. He only seemed to gain interest when she pushed him on it. “I’m surprised too,” she says. “I never considered that poison could be used that way. I’m shocked he was willing to test it.”

Tamayo lowers her hand. “Yes. I suppose it’s not far-fetched. Decapitation and sunlight destroys demonic cells and prevents regeneration. The bond severs at the point at which each occurs. I’d imagine that your wisteria poison functions the same way, but unlike the first two methods, poison can be more versatile.” She pauses. “A demon could survive being poisoned, but I’ve only known Muzan to be able to survive decapitation.”

“Technically,” Shinobu corrects, “only Upper Ranks have been known to survive my poison so far. Even the Lower Ranks can die from it. Tomioka-san being Upper Five puts him in a unique position. He can survive the poison—unlike most demons—and keep it in his system. The idea that the bond could be weakened would have never come up before because most demons die to it.”

“He has to continuously break it down to avoid accidentally dying to it,” Tamayo adds. “Though, I believe this is why he would cough or vomit blood. These had to have been points where he would forget or not be focused on breaking it down as he needed to.”

Yes. That makes sense. This might be why the blood he consumed helped in the end. “I agree.”

“I do think that the doses he was consuming might have been excessive. Wisteria is far more toxic to demons than it is to humans.” Tamayo reaches back behind her for a pill bottle. Instead of opening it, she holds it out to Shinobu. “Here.”

“Huh?” She takes it from her and holds the bottle up to the light. It’s unlabeled. “What is this?”

“I needed a break from working on the cure,” Tamayo says. “Admittedly, I’m a little curious about how far Tomioka-san is willing to go.” She frowns. “It’s possible Muzan might’ve killed him for his disobedience or he’s given Tomioka-san more blood to override any resistance he might have.” 

Shinobu doesn’t like the sound of that. The thought of Tomioka as a mindless puppet bothers her more than it should.

“But…” Tamayo continues. “If you do happen to find yourself in a situation where you need the bond to be weakened again, you can give him these instead. They’re normal pills. Well, normal except for the fact that they contain wisteria poison.” Shinobu’s eyebrows rise. “He can swallow these instead of drinking from your vials. He should be able to tell when he needs another dose. The amount of wisteria is smaller, so he shouldn’t have to worry about breaking this down for the same effect.”

“Oh.” She wants to tell Tamayo that this won’t be needed—that Tomioka won’t be seeking out her company again. But the words die on her tongue, and all she can do is tuck the bottle into her pocket. “Thank you, Tamayo-san.”

“Show more gratitude,” Yushiro snaps.

“Yushiro.”

“Sorry, Tamayo-sama!”

“He’s right.” Shinobu’s smile is genuine. This wasn’t necessary. If anything, Tamayo should be focused on the cure and not spending her time on meaningless expenditures. But she can’t deny that she’s pleased Tamayo went to the trouble for Tomioka’s sake. She was there when he nearly overturned his stomach with blood. She didn’t like knowing that she did that to him. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s alright,” Tamayo says with a gentle smile. “It’s in my nature to want to help any demon that wants to resist that man. Besides, he’s your friend.”

Shinobu should correct her—he was a fellow Hashira. Not a current friend. She doesn’t have the heart to do so, though. 

“Besides his willingness to consume wisteria to disobey Muzan’s orders, Tomioka-san is an unusual demon in…other ways,” Tamayo says. She gestures at the diagrams splayed out across the surface of the desk. “I would love it if we could extract blood properly from him. But from what we observed, his cells are—interesting, to say the least.”

Interesting. She would describe Nezuko’s rapid cell growth as interesting. If Tamayo has noticed something extraordinary about Tomioka’s, it must be significant. “Tell me.”

“The blood of Upper Six didn’t achieve significant change over time,” Yushiro says. “While the cells developed as demonic cells tend to, they remained mostly the same. However, Nezuko’s blood has always developed and changed at a rapid rate for someone who doesn’t consume human flesh. It means she’s always getting stronger, always healing faster.”

“Yes.” Tamayo nods her head. “If I had to, I’d say Tomioka-san’s blood cells put him somewhere between the former Upper Six and Nezuko-san’s.”

“Really?” Shinobu can’t help her exclamation. Everything she’s learning about Tomioka makes her tiny seed of hope more tangible. 

“You can see for yourself.” Tamayo pulls the microscope closer to the table’s edge. “His cells are still beneath the lens. It’s intriguing.”

She stands and leans over to peer through the eyepiece. Almost immediately, she understands what Tamayo and Yushiro mean. She’s spent countless hours studying Nezuko’s blood cells as well as the blood from other lower-ranked demons. When comparing the two, Nezuko’s blood has always stood out. It is never the same sight across days, always changing. They don’t know for what purpose—what Nezuko is trying to achieve. Tamayo has theorized previously that her cells might be preparing to withstand sunlight, but neither of them have wanted to test it, so they’ve let it go. But she’s never seen a demon’s blood react similarly to Nezuko’s.

Until now. The cells shine between the light, shifting, breaking apart, melding together. They change at such an intense speed that it’s almost dizzying. It’s mesmerizing—until all of a sudden, they stop.

“Huh?” Shinobu says, drawing back. “They—”

“Have they stopped moving?” Tamayo asks. “Don’t worry. That’s what they’ve been doing. Most of the time, they mimic the growth of Nezuko’s cells at a rate that challenges hers. And then…they don’t.”

“It’s like they hit a wall,” Yushiro says. He sighs, and she sees how this might be a point of intrigue as much as it is a point of frustration. “They stagnate. This demon is a weird one.”

“If it weren’t for these periods where the growth reaches a standstill, I’d say his blood would look quite similar to Nezuko-san’s.” 

Shinobu returns to her seat, the revelation sinking in. “Do you think it’s because he’s still tied to the bond?”

“Possibly,” Tamayo confirms. “He could be forgetting why he feels the need to adapt—or Muzan could be reminding him not to.”

She grits her teeth. She’s known the importance of breaking the bond, but somehow, it seems more crucial than turning Tomioka back to a human. If he’s able to act on his own will, it would ensure his own safety, as well as everyone else’s around him. While he’s tied to Muzan’s control, there will always be the risk that he snaps. 

“Has his blood been helpful then?” Shinobu asks, thinking, Please say yes.

Tamayo nods. “Very much so. Because it’s so different from Nezuko-san’s and closer to how an Upper Rank’s would be, it’s easier to test against.” She holds up three fingers. “As we discussed previously, we should develop three versions of the cure.”

They’ve discussed this before. Much like she needs several formulas of poison against the demons, there is the possibility that Muzan will learn how to reverse the cure and share that knowledge with his Kizuki. Having three versions will ensure there is always a back up and will help them learn to perfect the cure. 

The first version—one that is risky and quick-acting. They can’t afford to make this one painless, but it’ll help them see the effects of the reverse transformation from demon to human. It would be preferable to test this on a lower-ranked demon.

The second—a slow-acting version that requires several doses over a long period of time. The success rate of this one is unlikely, as it would be nearly impossible to find a demon that would intake that number of doses. But it would serve to show the effects over time, and any unfavorable outcomes could be adjusted as the process would be gradual.

The third—the final one that will combine both to make a version that is both quick-acting and as painless as possible. Once this version exists, it will be the most perfected that it can be.

“I remember,” Shinobu says. “How’s the progress been?”

Tamayo frowns at that, and Yushiro refuses to meet her eye either. 

“It’s been…slow,” Tamayo murmurs. “Even with Tomioka-san’s blood. There is good news, though.”

She can use good news. “What is it?”

“The first and third versions are still in progress, but we’ve been able to create a serum based on what we learned. We’re sure it’ll be of use to the Corps.”

Tamayo and Yushiro have been able to come this far in a matter of days. Even if Tamayo believes the progress has been too gradual for her liking, it’s more than they have achieved in months. She wishes she could have been a greater part of it. “I’m sure it will be! What is the serum for?”

“It’s a preventative antitoxin,” Tamayo says, “meant for the Hashira.”

She tilts her head. An antitoxin—for what purpose?

“It’ll allow you to return to your duties.” Tamayo’s lip twitches, and it’s only then that Shinobu realizes how overjoyed she must be with this discovery. She’s someone that keeps a tight lid on her emotions for the most part, but this is the closest she might ever come to cheering out loud. “It’ll prevent you from being able to be turned into demons.”

Shinobu’s heart stops. There’s a gaping hole where the organ once was. Then, right as it becomes impossible to breathe, it beats again, racing furiously in her chest. “This serum…” she says, her eyes wide. “It will make it impossible for our cells to transform? Even if we’re attacked, we’ll remain human?”

“We haven’t been able to test it,” Yushiro says snidely. “Don’t get excited. Unless you’re volunteering.”

“I’m happy to volunteer!” Shinobu holds out her arm, but Tamayo waves her off. “Tamayo-san, Yushiro-san, that’s amazing!”

Shinobu can’t even imagine the impact this will have on the Demon Slayer Corps. There is always the risk that the Hashira will die on missions. But at the very least, they will no longer have to fear losing their humanity. They can fight and die with their pride as humans. They can protect the lower-ranked demon slayers. They can be useful to the Corps again. 

She’s known how antsy she’s been the past couple of months. Each time she sends Kanao off, there’s always the tiniest prickle of jealousy that she isn’t right beside her. She wants to contribute—wants to protect. She wants to fight alongside her comrades to ensure a world without demons. 

If Tamayo is offering her that, then there is no end to the depths of her gratitude.

“If you’re volunteering, I’ll be happy to administer it to you,” Tamayo says. The light in her eyes betrays her own enthusiasm. “We’ll do so after this. There’s always the chance it doesn’t work, but at the very least, we know it’s harmless.”

“Let’s do it then.” Shinobu moves to stand, but Tamayo holds out a hand.

“There’s one more thing,” Tamayo says, as Shinobu retakes her seat. “The first and third versions are still in progress, but…the second has always needed less work as it’s very experimental in nature. We created the first dose.”

Her eyebrows rise. “That’s great!” But somehow, she has the feeling something’s left unsaid. Tamayo’s lips are tight, like she’s figuring out how to word her thoughts. “It is great, isn’t it? Who are we testing it on? Nezuko?”

“No,” Tamayo says, her voice small. “Not Nezuko-san.”

“Then who?”

Tamayo exchanges a look with Yushiro. “I admit we should have asked you beforehand, Kocho-san,” Tamayo says, turning back to face her. Her hesitation only serves to make Shinobu nervous, and she doesn’t know why. “I thought—it was the perfect opportunity, and I thought you two would be together for a longer period of time.”

Shinobu blinks. “Huh?”

“We’ve already started testing the second version,” Yushiro says. “You administered him the dose when you gave him the second batch of blood we sent.”

She whips her head towards Tamayo. “What?”

Tamayo bites the inside of her cheek. When she speaks, it’s like the words are being dragged from her throat. “The test subject for the second version is Tomioka-san.”

Chapter Text

It takes two seconds for the realization to settle in and another three seconds for her mouth to move. “What?” 

Perhaps her voice came out too shrill or shocked, but for once, the mask she kept perfectly in place slipped to let her genuine reaction through. 

Tamayo shifts uneasily in her seat. “I do apologize, Kocho-san,” Tamayo says, frowning. “We might’ve been too hasty in our decision to use Tomioka-san as a test subject. But we weren’t sure we’d get another opportunity like this. He’s willing to ingest the blood we provide to him, so he’ll be unaware that it’s been manipulated and we will have higher chances of success.”

“No, I—” Shinobu clamps her mouth shut. What is she doing? Is she actually going to disagree with Tamayo? 

Tamayo’s argument makes logical sense. Although Nezuko is available, neither of them want to ask the young girl to risk her life on the chance of a cure that may or may not work. They’re meant to save her life, not endanger it. Any other demon they approach will require doses through injections, and therefore be aware of the changes to their body. This might lead to unexpected results, especially if the demon chooses to destroy the cure within their system. 

Truth be told, there are few demons that would be favorable test subjects for this second version. It’s part of the reason it always seemed to be a long shot. Multiple doses over an extended period of time would be difficult to regulate, and there is always a risk involved. 

As a former Hashira, it’s expected that Tomioka would volunteer himself for the sake of the Corps. If something goes wrong, it would be a sacrifice well made.

So why is she bothered by Tomioka being designated for this task?

“You’re right,” she says. Tamayo’s expression clears, and Yushiro, in turn, looks like he wants to throw a brick at Shinobu way less. “Testing the second version in real time will be a valuable asset for us, and Tomioka’s willingness to accept blood makes him the ideal candidate.”

Tamayo’s shoulders relax. “We should have cleared it with you first. He’s still a Hashira.”

Perhaps that is what bothers her. In his choice to restrain from taking human lives, Tomioka’s unwittingly put his own at risk. He’s gone above and beyond what other demons are willing to sacrifice, and using him without his knowledge turns that sacrifice into a punishment. Her stomach churns. 

No. She shouldn’t feel guilty. This is still for the greater good. This is for Tomioka’s life as well as the others’. He would understand. He would encourage it.

“Though…” Tamayo purses her lips. “It doesn’t matter much now. I thought the two of you would be together longer. One dose won’t change anything, and the prototype will phase out of his bloodstream in no time.”

That’s right. This version requires several doses and constant observation. She doubts she’ll ever spend such an elongated period of time with Tomioka again. “I see.”

“In that case, we’re back at square one. We should continue to research the change in Tomioka-san’s blood cells. I’m not fond of having Nezuko-san be the test subject for this second version.”

Unlike Tomioka and the others, Nezuko is innocent. She hasn’t killed. She’s still a child even though she’s endured things that would destroy most adults. If they can spare her from this, they should.

Shinobu nods. “That is why the Ubuyashiki family have invited you two to join us at Headquarters.”

Tamayo blinks, as if hearing these words catch her by surprise. Even Yushiro squirms in his seat.

“Yes,” Tamayo says, albeit a bit slowly. “Amane-san did mention that to us when we spoke last. I understand the benefit but…”

“Does it really sound like a good idea to invite two demons to the Corps’ Headquarters?” Yushiro asks, voicing the question Tamayo doesn’t dare to speak aloud.

Their concern is valid. After all, even though Nezuko has never taken a life, the Hashira had been ready to behead her for the crime of being a demon alone. They had no room in their hearts to listen to the Kamados’ tale—only the ceaseless will they swore to carry out. But times have changed since then. Now, most of the Corps hold Nezuko in high regard, and they’re willing to offer current Upper Ranks the chance at salvation. A few years ago, this would have never been a possibility. It’s like the rest of the Corps have made it their personal responsibility to see out Kanae’s dream, the one she felt she could not. 

“There are risks,” Shinobu says. They deserve her honesty, at least. “I can’t promise that every slayer will be pleased to have you there, but Oyakata-sama’s word supersedes their doubts. He has asked you to come, so no one will object. I also believe it is in your best interests to join us. There is only so much we can communicate through letters, and I want to help. I want the cure as soon as possible. The longer we wait…”

Tamayo nods. “I understand,” she murmurs. She exchanges a quick look with Yushiro. “We have our concerns, but our priority is and has always been to destroy Kibutsuji. We want to see that man fall as much as the Corps do.”

“Then will you join us?”

Yushiro sighs. 

“It will take us some time to relocate,” Tamayo says. “I need to gather my recent research and supplies before we move.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

“Don’t sound so smug about it,” Yushiro snaps. Shinobu raises her hands in surrender. “We’re not doing this for you.”

“Yushiro.”

Shinobu waits for Yushiro to reel back before returning her attention to Tamayo. “Then we’re in agreement,” she says. 

Tamayo moves to stand, wiping the front of her kimono. “Yes, we are. Let’s give you the antitoxin now before anything else. Then we can go over next steps.”

She waits for Yushiro to stand before following the two demons out of the room, her steps lighter than they’ve been in months. 

There is only so much distance they can cross under the cover of night. Although Kocho’s fighting spirit is visible even from afar, the sun keeps them from getting close, sentencing them to the shadows before they’re able to reach her. There is another person traveling with her, one with a fighting spirit that makes him lightheaded after staring at it too long. Another Hashira, no doubt. 

When they nearly catch up to the two slayers, the sun stops them in their tracks, and they’re forced to speed up once the moon rises. But now—now, the two fighting spirits are still. They’re so still and so bright even amidst the traffic and chaos of Asakusa, and all Giyuu can do is continue forward, leading the others towards them. 

“Are we getting close?” Shinazugawa asks, his voice gruff. He’s about one shove away from killing every human on this street, and Giyuu would rather not let that happen. He doesn’t think his effort to refrain from consuming human flesh would matter much if he let Shinazugawa terrorize a whole neighborhood.

“Yes,” Giyuu says. He doesn’t know what else he can do at this point. He’s debated it over and over in his head. How can he mislead Shinazugawa and Iguro without incurring Muzan’s wrath? Without putting Kocho’s life at risk? 

It’s an impossible question with no good outcome. No matter what he does, someone gets hurt—or worse, killed. He doesn’t want to be responsible for someone’s pain. 

It should be an easy answer: sacrifice Kocho. He should offer her life to Muzan as any other Kizuki would. She’s human. A demon slayer. A Hashira with the means to kill any of the Upper Ranks. So why does the thought of her pain fill him with poisonous dread? 

The three of them reach a stone wall set apart from the main road. At first glance, it appears as ordinary as any other fence on this street, but he can see the fighting spirits nearby. This should be it. 

“Here?” Iguro asks. 

Giyuu surveys their surroundings. There are countless people around: families out for a stroll, tourists wandering the streets after dark, a vendor from a nearby mochi cart. Their fighting spirits look mostly the same: small flickers of light, like candles capable of snuffing out from a strong wind. In comparison, Kocho’s is like a wildfire in his eyes. Even though her spirit resides beyond the stone wall ahead of them, there is no hiding her presence. She’s close. Right on the other side of the stone.

Without waiting for Giyuu to answer, Shinazugawa reaches out to touch the stone. “This isn’t real,” he says. “Feels real, though.”

“A demon technique,” Iguro says. “Interesting. Does this Hashira have demon allies?”

It doesn’t matter. No matter how powerful the people surrounding Kocho are, they’re no match for three Upper Ranks. He didn’t save her from death—only prolonged its arrival. His chest feels tight, like he’s choking on her poison all over again.

“Let’s get this over with,” Shinazugawa says. He extends his palm, and similar to Giyuu, his sword grows from its center, made from the strength of his flesh. 

“Wait,” Giyuu blurts out.

Both of his companions spin to glare at him. 

“She’s not alone.”

Giyuu raises his arm and points toward the west. The stone wall continues past where they stand, likely stretching along the entire property Kocho’s hidden in, and if he concentrates, he senses that brilliant fighting spirit—similar to Kocho’s in strength, but lacking in its venom. The other Hashira is along the fence serving as a guard.

“There’s another Hashira,” Giyuu says. “If you travel along the fence, you’ll run into them.”

Shinazugawa raises an eyebrow. “How strong are they?”

He drops his arm. “Their fighting spirit makes me dizzy,” he says in lieu of an answer, receiving two looks of confusion in return.

Iguro sighs. “Fine,” he says while stroking Kaburamaru on the head. “I’ll go take care of the other Hashira.” He turns to Shinazugawa. “You take Tomioka with you and turn the poisoner into a demon.”

Shinazugawa’s lip curls. “Why does he have to come with me? Why can’t he go with you?”

“Because I’m not taking him with me.” Iguro starts off in the direction Giyuu pointed out. “If you fail, we’re all dead.”

Shinazugawa doesn’t get the chance to stammer out a reply before Iguro vanishes. He twists back towards Giyuu, his eyebrows furrowed with annoyance. “Don’t get in my way,” he snaps. Without another word, he swings his sword—and the entire stone fence collapses from the sheer force of that strong wind.

The process takes all of five minutes.

Tamayo’s grip on her arm is gentle and reassuring. “There,” she murmurs with a pleased smile. The syringe in her grasp is empty as she withdraws. She hands it over to Yushiro before returning her attention back to Shinobu. “That’s it.”

Shinobu retracts her arm. One dose of an antitoxin that never existed before today, and now, she will—hopefully—be protected from the danger of becoming a demon. The lengths at which medicine advances is wonderful. Only a week ago, such a prevention didn’t exist. If it had, they might have been able to save the others. But she can’t let herself dwell on impossibilities now. The important thing is that no one else will lose their humanity moving forward. 

She wonders if the glee she feels is reflected on her face, like sunlight poking through the cracks of a curtain. Tamayo, at least, shares in her joy. 

“I hope it works,” Tamayo whispers, almost a plea to whoever might be listening. 

“I’m sure it will.” She’s unsure what she can trust lately. It feels like all of her convictions and beliefs have been tested recently. But she can have faith in this—in Tamayo and her wealth of knowledge. “Thank you, Tamayo-san.”

“Of course.” Tamayo straightens. “Shall we take a look at some of the prototypes Yushiro and I have been working on?”

Shinobu nods. Right as she prepares to stand, the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Her head snaps to the side, her heart pounding with sudden urgency. 

There’s no time to shout a warning before the left wall collapses.

There’s an immense amount of pressure riding on Mitsuri’s shoulders. Oyakata-sama left her in charge of escorting Shinobu to Tamayo’s residence and back in one piece. It would normally be a simple task: it should be effortless to protect one person—especially for someone recognized as a Hashira by the master. She’s swept into battle in the nick of time to save lives before, often dragging innocent lives from certain death by a hair’s difference, and she’s put her body on the line in front of the most fearsome of demons. She’s even faced Upper Rank Four’s most troublesome clone, and she lived to tell the tale.

She’s capable of keeping Shinobu safe. At least, she’s sure she is. It shouldn’t be a problem. Shinobu is safe with Tamayo and Yushiro for the time being, and so long as she protects the fence around their residence, there isn’t any pressing danger to Shinobu’s life. She can do this. Muzan can send a hundred demons after them, and she’ll be enough.

She’s almost positive.

But even so, it’s important that she focuses. While her back rests against the stone wall, her gaze vigilantly scans the roads ahead. 

There aren’t any alarms. The passerby are all normal, all human, all wanting to enjoy their evenings of their usual lives without a fuss. They’ll go on their walks, have dinner, and return home to begin the next day anew without the fear of demons lingering over their heads. They will live happy lives, untethered by fear and grief. It makes her heart swell just to watch, and she only wishes for the briefest of moments that she might one day have that same level of normalcy.

But no, so long as Muzan exists, she will never leave the Corps. As long as her heart beats, it does so for the purpose of protecting others. No matter what the future holds, she won’t be swayed.

Mitsuri grips the scabbard of her sword. She wants to relax. It’s all her mind wants. But her body unconsciously moves in fear of danger.

Even when the elderly street vendor passes her, it takes her some time to release the hilt. 

The man attempts to bend over to pick up a box of supplies, but halfway, he cries out in pain and is forced to straighten again, a hand pressed against his spine. The strangers moving past pay little attention to the noise, continuing on without a look backwards. 

He tries again, but this time, his body won’t even let him attempt it, and he has to give up. A young child—his grandchild, perhaps—wanders over and tries to pick up the first box himself, but the contents are far too heavy, and the vendor scolds him before he gets far.

She can’t stand by and watch any longer. It’ll be quick. It’ll take her a matter of seconds.

“Excuse me,” she says, approaching the pair. The vendor glances back at her, his hand now on his hip. Meanwhile, his grandchild continues to attempt to heave the box over his shoulders. “Do you need some help?”

“Ah,” the vendor says. “Thank you, ojou-chan. They’re just leftover stock, but they’re far too heavy. I’ll wait for my son-in-law to help out later.”

“Where do you need them to be carried to?”

“The shop on the other side of the street. But don’t worry about it. I’m honestly a little embarrassed that you noticed I was having so much trouble.”

“I can do it,” the grandchild insists. His tongue sticks out as he attempts to lift the box again, but this time, Mitsuri uses one hand to help him raise it upwards. “Oh!”

“See?” Mitsuri says cheerfully. “I’m very strong!”

“My, my.” The vendor gapes at her, which only makes her squirm slightly. It’s been some time since she’s shown off her strength to anyone outside of the Corps. She’s forgotten that this attention isn’t always wanted. She’s grown accustomed to the other members praising her strength that she forgets to hold herself back. “So you are.”

“That shop?” Mitsuri points out the storefront the vendor had gestured towards earlier. After he nods, she leans down and picks up the remaining boxes, hoisting them on top of the stack, ignoring the vendor’s outcries and his grandchild’s oohs and aahs . “I got this.”

“Ojou-chan, are you sure? Don’t hurt yourself!”

“Don’t worry!” Mitsuri assures him. 

She waits for the crowd to clear before stalking over to the other side of the street. The vendor chases after her with clear concern in his eyes, his hands outstretched as if one of the boxes might fall at any given moment. His grandchild darts after them, skipping alongside Mitsuri.

“Where should I set them down?” she asks.

“Oh, well.” Seemingly assured that she won’t drop his leftover stock after watching her carry it across the street without a sweat, he pushes open the door to the store. “In the back, if you please.”

“No problem!”

Mitsuri does as instructed, setting down the stack of boxes where his grandchild points, and she returns to meet the vendor at the front of the store.

“You’re so strong,” his grandchild crows. “How did you get so strong?”

She beams at him. His question comes from a place of curiosity, not disdain, and she will always try to nurture that childish enthusiasm. “I ate a lot and won a ton of arm wrestling matches!”

“I want to do that too!”

The vendor laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Well, thank you for your help. I feel bad. I don’t have a way to thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” She waves him off. “It was great to meet you both!”

Mitsuri returns back to her position against the wall. Everything feels as it did when she left. There’s no sense of danger that lingers. Yushiro’s illusion still stands. Maybe they’ll be lucky. Maybe Muzan will leave them alone. 

She’s about to rest her back against the wall again when she hears a hissing sound. Her eyes dart towards the noise. To her surprise, a familiar white snake slithers along the ground towards her. Someone’s foot nearly tramples upon him, and Mitsuri shrieks as she throws her hand over his head to shield the creature. 

“Kaburamaru-kun!” Mitsuri cries. The snake’s head darts out as if in greeting, and she scoops him into her grasp before anyone else risks stepping on him. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Where have you been?”

Kaburamaru’s tongue tickles her cheek as she places him around her neck. It’s been a while since she’s done this, but Kaburamaru adjusts like a fish to water. He’s calm all the while, and he even lets Mitsuri stroke his head. 

“Where have you been?” she repeats. “I’ve been so worried! About you and Iguro-san—”

There’s a caw from En in warning before the crow disappears in the direction of the house.

Mitsuri freezes. Every nerve in her body screams with panic. Even though she’s in the middle of a crowded street, every human surrounding her fades to nothing. She’s only aware of one thing—one person. The one being nearby that isn’t human. 

Of course. There’s only one place Kaburamaru would be. He would have never left his side. Even if the one he cared for became something unrecognizable, Kaburamaru would never abandon him.

She turns ever so slowly, her stomach sinking through the ground with dread, and she wonders if this is how Shinobu felt when she made eye contact with Tomioka that first time since he found her as a demon. If every limb felt cold as ice and if her chest caved in on itself. If she felt the pain that came with knowing that someone you cared about had gone down a path that changed them irrevocably. She must have. It’s the only way she can feel now, as her gaze meets Iguro’s.

She can barely hear her own voice over the roar in her ears. “Iguro-san.”

Two silhouettes are outlined within the dust cloud that fills the room. Shinobu is vaguely aware of Tamayo running out of the room, giving Yushiro instructions with the composure she wishes she had, but all she can focus on is the figures in front of her. 

The presence of one is familiar. A pair of blue eyes stare out at her from beyond the rubble; she’s spent the last week memorizing the unnatural shade and the kanji etched into the irises and the last few days wondering if she would ever see them again. But Tomioka stands in front of her as if no time has passed at all. He still wears the same bloody yukata he did the night they fled from Akaza—still manages to pin her in place with the weight of his gaze. 

He’s—alive. Muzan didn’t kill him. He’s alive.

It shouldn’t bring her so much relief, especially when he can only be here for one thing. 

It takes her a second to recognize the other presence. She doesn’t know this demonic aura, but the manner in which the demon holds himself startles her into awareness. His posture exudes confidence, and when he sweeps his blade across, sending a sharp breeze to force the dust away, she becomes cognizant of one thing in particular: the way Shinazugawa acts as a demon is very unlike Tomioka. 

That isn’t all that surprises her. Though Tomioka might be mistaken as an identical counterpart for his human self, Shinazugawa couldn’t look more different. His scars have disappeared, painting him into the picture of what he could have been in a world without demons. The sclera of his eyes are ink black, drawing more attention to the white kanji that detail his rank—Upper Rank Four. A demon crest resembling the shape of a pinwheel rests on his cheek, similar to Tomioka’s. There must be others, hidden beneath his clothes. The sword he holds must be made from his flesh. 

So he’s replaced the demon Kanroji, Tanjiro, and the others worked to kill. In terms of ranking, he’s just below Akaza, an original Kizuki, and right above Tomioka. Shinazugawa must have done a lot to prove his strength. If he was formidable as a Hashira, she dreads to know how he fights as an Upper Rank. 

Her heart won’t stop pounding. They’re here to kill her—or worse, turn her into a demon. She was a fool to think that Muzan wouldn’t try again—that he wouldn’t continue to torture her by sending all of her old comrades, just to watch the guilt swallow her whole.

No. She can’t afford to feel guilty. She stands up, a hand on her sheath. 

These are Upper Ranks who have killed countless innocent lives. She might have promised Oyakata-sama that she would try to save them, but her priority is saving herself. She needs to protect her own life. Just as she feared, Tomioka has returned under Muzan’s orders, and he won’t spare her this time. 

“Tomioka-san!” Shinobu calls cheerily. Behind her, Yushiro runs out the door after Tamayo. Good, she thinks. Call Kanroji-san. “Long time, no see! Did you miss me?”

Tomioka breaks eye contact to twist himself away from her. 

“No need to feel embarrassed! I doubt Shinazugawa-san’s company is better than mine. You can say you missed me.”

“Don’t talk to him,” Shinazugawa interrupts. He throws an arm in front of Tomioka, almost blocking him from her view. “I don’t know what you did to convince him to let you go the first time, but it won’t work again.”

Shinobu turns her attention over to Shinazugawa. It’s much harder than meeting Tomioka’s gaze. Shinazugawa’s eyes have all of the pure hatred that he carried as a human, but now, that fury is directed at her. Muzan must have delighted in the fact that Shinazugawa had been so angry with the world. He must have been easy to manipulate. Without his memories, that hatred could be redirected without much effort. A Hashira who once hated demons with every fiber of his being could grow to despise the humans he swore to protect.

“Don’t worry, Shinazugawa-san,” she says. “I was going to greet you too. I only wanted to say hi to Tomioka-san first. I was worried he was dead, you know.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” He bares his fangs at her. “Don’t piss me off.”

“It looks like your attitude hasn’t improved since becoming a demon. What a pity.” Shinobu releases a sigh in mock disappointment. Ignoring Shinazugawa, she turns back to Tomioka. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, almost as if he’s afraid to completely meet her gaze. “Are you here to turn me into a demon, Tomioka-san?”

A pained noise leaves his mouth.

“I’m happy to take care of it,” Shinazugawa snarls. He drops his arm back down to his side. “Stop trying to appeal to him. He’s not here to protect you. He’s the one who led us to you.”

“Ah.” She wondered how they managed to find her so quickly. With Yushiro’s technique shielding the property, their presence should have been hidden. Does Tomioka have other tricks up his sleeve? Other techniques he held back before? “Does it look like I need Tomioka-san’s protection? I’m capable of defending myself, thank you very much!”

Just then, a crow dives through the battered wall. En’s wings flap in a frenzy as she hovers by Shinobu’s shoulder. “SHINOBU-SAMA,” En cries. “KANROJI-SAMA HAS BEEN CONFRONTED BY ANOTHER UPPER RANK AT THE PERIMETER.”

A thin rope winds around her chest, making it hard to breathe. It hadn’t been enough for Muzan to send two Upper Ranks to retrieve a single Hashira. His fear over losing another Kizuki drove him to send an exorbitant amount of his most dangerous soldiers. She struggled facing Tomioka and Akaza head to head. Now, she has to face these two alone, while Kanroji takes care of the other Upper Rank. Their chances of survival look slimmer by the second.

“SHINOBU-SAMA—” En shrieks as she flies backward to avoid a gust of wind Shinazugawa sends in her direction. “SHINOBU-SAMA, WHAT SHOULD I DO?”

Shinobu makes a split second decision. “Stay with Kanroji-san!” she orders. 

En only hesitates for a second before following her orders. She vanishes out of the same exit she entered through, leaving Shinobu alone in the room with the two demons.

“You said you were capable of defending yourself,” Shinazugawa drawls. He points the tip of his sword in her direction. “Care to prove it now?”

Within a heartbeat, Shinazugawa’s arm careens backwards, poised to strike, and she jumps into action. 

Blood Demon Art: Cold Mountain Wind.

Shinobu throws herself on the floor as several deep slashes cut into the wall behind her. The wood groans before cracking and splintering completely from the force of the technique. Each attack causes the house to tremble. She’s not sure how much more it can withstand before it crumples completely.

With her heart in her throat, Shinobu rolls along the floor, knocking into several wooden planks discarded from the initial blast. Her eyes follow the two former Hashira at all times. It’s only because she’s watching so closely that she’s able to see the first wave hit the air.

Blood Demon Art: Dead Calm.

She leaps backwards as the wave hits the spot she vacated a moment ago. This isn’t good. All she can do is move to avoid their attacks. They’re able to force her to dance to their tune. The control is in their hands, and she can only react. If she isn’t able to get a hit in, her stamina will run out sooner than their patience. She has to attack first.

Shinobu unsheathes her sword, savoring how the metal sings. “Shinazugawa-san!” she calls. “I really do think we should be friends again. But friends don’t try to kill each other.”

As expected, Shinazugawa ignores her. He barrels forward without hesitation even though her weapon is in her grasp now, crossing the room with only a few steps. She swings in time for their blades to meet with a sharp clank.

It requires some effort on her part to hold him in place. Her fighting style doesn’t favor direct confrontation. Insect Breathing relies on quick attacks and faster reflexes without having to prioritize physical strength. It’s a style she made with her own abilities in mind, knowing full well she lacks the capabilities to to compete with a demon’s power. 

Shinazugawa had been a fearsome opponent as a human. As a demon—and an Upper Rank, no less—the force he uses causes her arms to shake and beads of sweat to collect on her forehead. 

“Oh,” Shinazugawa says, matter-of-fact. “You’re weak.”

Well. She can tell Oyakata-sama she tried to be merciful, at least.

Shinobu slams her heel into Shinazugawa’s stomach with all of the vigor she can muster. Both the attack and the sudden energy catch him by surprise. As soon as she kicks him backwards, his body flies into the opposite wall with a crack.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Shinazugawa-san,” Shinobu says, not apologetic in the slightest. “I kicked you too hard. Silly me!”

Shinobu doesn’t waste any time. She storms forward towards Tomioka without releasing another breath. 

His eyes narrow slightly at her approach. The air vibrates around her, the product of his technique, but each wave he sends veers too far and is too obvious to land the hit. She dances around each one with the elegance she’s taught herself, and once she’s close enough to touch him, she slams her knees into his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

“You must have missed me a little, right?” Shinobu asks as her knees pin him to the floor. His chest heaves beneath her. His eyes look wild with panic, and she’s so unaccustomed to seeing his expression with anything other than casual indifference that she almost forgets where they are. As much as she’d like to tease him, this is no time to play around. She can pester Tomioka another time. She grips the hilt and aims it downward. “You remember how this works, don’t you?”

But before she can move, a blade thrusts itself into her line of vision and forces her sword to stop. Her gaze follows the arm up to where Shinazugawa’s furious expression hangs over her. “You bitch,” he snaps. “If we didn’t have orders to turn you, I’d kill you right now.”

“Why? If I’m so weak, that kick shouldn’t have hurt.”

Shinazugawa forces her blade upward away from Tomioka’s chest, and she jumps to avoid the next swing of his weapon. She hasn’t struck either of them with her blade. Poison…will at least slow them down. 

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Centipede: Hundred-Legged Zigzag.

Shinobu dashes between each of the wind slashes that aim for her at a dizzying speed. The cloud of dust that had settled before rises up with each step she takes, and her legs tighten with the pace at which she moves. Shinazugawa continues to slash at the air, and each one comes closer than she’d like. It’s only because her heart beats so fast—because she’s moving so fast—that she manages to slip through with only a few scratches to spare. 

She sinks down to avoid another attack that strikes straight through the ceiling, and Shinazugawa can’t hold out his blade fast enough to stop her before the tip of her sword sinks into his neck. 

He’s quick to respond: his fist slams into her side, and she cries out as the force of it launches her against the wall. 

The shock of pain is instantaneous. “Shit,” she mutters. A few black splotches fill her vision, but she can’t afford to lie still. She needs to move—needs to fight.  

She lifts her head. Shinazugawa hasn’t moved from the spot where she stabbed him, his back hunched over. If she squints, she sees how his face has taken on that sickly purple hue that accompanies her poison and how his chest wheezes with the effort to resist it. 

“Shinazugawa,” Tomioka says, his voice low. “You need to break down her poison.” A beat passes. “It’s not that hard.”

“I’m…trying, you fucker,” Shinazugawa pants. “Fuck you.”

Interesting, she thinks. Tomioka would have recovered from this poison by now. Different Upper Ranks respond at a different speed. 

Shinobu tucks that piece of information away as she rises to her feet once more. She should leave now while Shinazugawa is distracted. It might be cowardly to run, but this isn’t a fight she can win. Her priority should be finding Kanroji. Their battle can resume another day.

Shinobu darts forward towards the open wall when a figure suddenly slides into her path. 

Tomioka.

He doesn’t move to attack her. He simply stands in her way, his body blocking the closest exit. Shinobu grits her teeth as she tightens her hold on the hilt of her sword. 

She needs to stab him. She can buy herself more time—if she uses poison. It’s like Shinazugawa said before: he isn’t here to help her. She shouldn’t feel remorse, especially when his body will recover within seconds, anyway. But even so, as she surges towards him, he must see the hesitation in her eyes. He’s almost able to stop her from thrusting her sword into his eye.

In the next breath, Shinobu tears her sword out none too gently. Tomioka stumbles backwards, a hand pressed against his bleeding eye. She moves past him and runs —only to feel an overwhelming pressure slam into her back. 

Her body is tossed forward against the nearest wall, right on the threshold that separates her from outside. The impact comes like a punch, and for a moment, it hurts to even draw a breath. Her limbs won’t respond, and she wonders if this is Tomioka’s technique again, determined to keep her still. 

As soon as the question arises, the feeling returns to her fingers, and this slight movement is enough to reassure her that this is Shinazugawa’s doing—not his. Her ears continue to ring, but the white noise fades enough for her to hear two voices speaking behind her. As she focuses, the words begin to filter through.

“Wait, wait—” Tomioka. Tomioka’s voice.

“Don’t tell me to fucking wait. You were barely even trying, letting me do all the damn work.” Then that must be Shinazugawa. His brusque tone makes it obvious. “Move the fuck out of the way.”

“Shinazugawa—”

A hand lands on her shoulder and forces her to roll and face the ceiling. Shinazugawa’s face enters her field of vision, and the look of determination is enough to return her to that state of panic she felt when Tomioka caught her the first time, when she had been sure that was the end for her—when she’d been sure she would lose her humanity forever. 

Her chest tightens, and the only sounds that leave her mouth are strangled gasps. She can’t even fight back, can’t even plead for her life. Her hand grapples for her weapon, but it’s so much further than she remembers. Did someone kick it away? She swings her leg, hoping to catch Shinazugawa with the blade, but that unrelenting pressure returns, driving her into the floor, and when it’s finally gone, her body is limp again.

“Shinazugawa, wait—”

“Shut up!”

Shinazugawa swings his sword, but this time, the attack isn’t directed at her. The blast of wind slams into Tomioka instead, and his eyes bulge as the technique sends him flying backwards. His shout echoes through the house, punctured by three short blasts—one for each wall he breaks through. 

Shinobu reaches a hand up while Shinazugawa is distracted. Her nails scratch along his bare skin, right beneath his eye, and three thin lines of blood follow the path. 

Shinazugawa clicks his tongue as his head swivels back to stare down at her. “Do you really think that’s going to stop me?” he asks.

She doesn’t respond. Any words she might summon would not be enough to express the full force of her anger. Her eyes speak louder than words to begin with, and Shinazugawa must sense her distress. It only gets worse once he bites into his palm with his fangs.

“Hashira,” Shinazugawa barks, holding his hand over her face. With his other hand, he grips her chin, forcing her to remain still, his claws digging in. “Drink up.”

No. No, no, no. She shakes her head, trying to break free. He must be drawing blood with how much strength he requires to hold her in place. But she doesn’t want this. She never wanted this. She would rather die. Death would be a blessing in comparison. 

In a last ditch effort, Shinobu drives her foot into his stomach, the blade poking free, and she can tell by the blood that drips onto her that she’s broken the skin. But Shinazugawa doesn’t even flinch. His fingers force her mouth apart.

Someone is screaming. It takes her a second to realize it’s her. 

When the first droplet of blood lands on her tongue, her vision darkens.

Chapter Text

One droplet isn’t enough. Several more follow, even though she tries her best to clamp her mouth shut. Her heart hammers so fast that it threatens to burst.

“Drink,” Shinazugawa orders. His fingers pry her mouth further apart, forcing more of his blood to slip through, and though she tries to stop it, she can’t fight back as more lands on her tongue.

Stop, she thinks. Please. Please stop.

Her body doesn’t feel any different. She is so wound up with panic that she can hardly focus, but she isn’t aware of any growing fangs or claws or an insatiable appetite for blood. She doesn’t know how quick the transformation is meant to be. Will it happen right away—or will she writhe in agony as Muzan’s blood floods her system?

Her brain runs a million thoughts at once, but the most prominent one stands at the forefront: Fight back. Move. Do something.

Shinobu attempts to kick him again, but his weight has her trapped beneath him. With how he pries her mouth apart, it’s becoming harder to breathe. Her lungs wheeze as her anxiety heightens, and the last sliver of her control becomes that much thinner. This can’t be happening. It can’t.

What about her girls? Sumi, Naho, Kiyo—who’d been so distraught over her disappearance that they hadn’t wanted her to leave. Aoi—who forced a brave face even through tears. Kanao—who will have lost another sister. 

What about Tanjiro and Nezuko and Zenitsu and Inosuke and all of the other wayfaring slayers that inhabit her estate, simply because they have nowhere else to go? What will happen to them once she’s gone? Will they move forward without her? Will they take care of her girls? 

What about the remaining Hashira? Himejima—who had been so honest in his relief that she returned. Tokito—who is far too young to have undergone this much sorrow. Kanroji—fighting for her life at this very second.

Is she really going to lose herself here? 

No, she wants to scream. No!

Shinobu slams her fist into Shinazugawa’s cheek, and the abrupt hit catches him off guard. He releases her immediately, his hand reaching up to soften the blow. “You bitch,” he hisses.

She bares her teeth at him. This is no time for pleasant smiles or venomous remarks. She will not lose her humanity this way. 

She brings her knee up into his chest again, and while it doesn’t push him back, he releases a grunt that lets her know she hit her mark. 

“Get off,” she demands. “Get away from me!”

His hand reaches for her again—to drag her by her hair. But Shinazugawa doesn’t make it there.

A hand slams into the side of his skull with frightening force, far more powerful than her original punch. Shinazugawa’s skull bursts, and his lifeless body crashes sideways into the wall in almost the exact spot she kicked him earlier. 

Tomioka stands over her, Shinazugawa’s blood coating his hand, looking more alarmed by the second, as if his body had acted on its own accord.

Shinobu turns away from him for the time being. He had gotten Shinazugawa off of her, hadn’t he? At the moment, her mind wants to worry about more pressing matters—like how her heart races with fear unlike any other. 

She holds out her hands in front of her: no claws. She pats her body in search of injuries she knows should exist. Her fingers come away with patches of blood: no regeneration. She pushes her thumbs into her mouth, feeling for the sharp fangs. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Still, even though logic dictates that she’s fine, the panic won’t subside.

A hand lands on her shoulder, and Shinobu flinches away. “Don’t touch me!” she screams. If her terror hadn’t been evident before, it is now. Even the simple light touch spurred her to cower. 

Shinobu glances back over her shoulder. She didn’t hear Tomioka crouch down beside her, but he has. His arm is outstretched towards her, frozen in place from her outburst. Eventually, he retracts it completely, though his gaze wavers in a way that makes her feel uneasy. His eyes look full of concern, but her brain wants to reason away such a ludicrous thought.

“Am I a demon?” Shinobu demands, her voice shrill. Her hands clutch at her face. “Am I becoming a demon?”

Tomioka is quiet. For a while, he doesn’t say anything, and his silence only makes her want to scream more. Then, he murmurs, “No.”

“No?”

“You’re still human, Kocho,” Tomioka says. “Shinazugawa’s blood should have changed you, but it didn’t. His cells died the second they entered your bloodstream.”

She wants to know how he knows for certain. It might be because of the bond or some other heightened sense he has, but she wants full clarity. She wants to eliminate any doubt she has.

“Are you sure?” Shinobu asks, her voice small. As small as the day she cried in Kanae’s arms while the two watched that demon murder their parents. “Lie to me about anything else but this.”

“I’m not a liar.” Tomioka casts a sideways glance over at Shinazugawa’s prone form, crumpled in a heap, but he doesn’t stir. “You’re still completely human.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. Even so, it requires an inordinate amount of self-control on her part to resist feeling her teeth again. At least his words manage to slow the hummingbird flap of her heart.

She can’t help the shame that washes over her at losing her composure so thoroughly—in front of Tomioka, no less. Her cheeks feel warm, and she wants to force him to look away for the sake of what remains of her pride.

But when she refocuses on his gaze, his eyes are different than a mere second ago—dilated, desperate. Hungry. Drool collects at the corner of his mouth.

“Kocho,” he says, his voice freezing her in place with how languid it sounds. “You’re bleeding.”

She should be alarmed. She should run in the opposite direction. Instead, her curiosity is piqued. If Tomioka is hungry, then has he eaten at all since they separated? “Am I?” 

“Mhm.” His fingers skim her cheek, and she watches as the blood from a scratch left by one of Shinazugawa’s attacks smears across the pads of his fingers. “Sorry. It’s all over your cheek now.”

“How rude.”

“Sorry,” Tomioka repeats, looking more dazed by the second. His appearance isn’t that far off from how he looked when they stumbled upon the couple at death’s door. His veins still stick out against his skin. His fangs seem more noticeable at this distance, and she can’t ignore how heavily he breathes either, like the need to hold himself back requires all of his energy. “I’m just…really hungry.”

Before she can respond, he leans forward, and Shinobu is too shocked to react. After what happened, she’s not sure her body is functioning as it should. When his hand rises to meet her jaw, she stays still. But nothing prepares her for the wet sensation against her cheek and the heat of his breath along her neck.

Shinobu startles in place as the realization sets in. He is starving, and actively trying to restrain himself. But his control is wearing thin. His tongue darts along the thin scratch like he’s desperate for anything to satiate it, and even then, it’s impossible to fathom how he manages to remain so gentle while holding her in place. Her heart is in her throat once again, and her stomach winds tight—though not with fear exactly.

Tomioka licks along her cheek, his nose tickling her skin, and when he withdraws, her blood clings to his mouth and fangs. She might be breathing as heavily as he is, though she doesn’t have the same excuse of hunger to cling to. “Sorry,” he repeats. Some clarity has returned to his eyes. “I’m—starving.”

He isn’t supposed to drink her blood, she remembers. Her blood is reserved for one person, and any amount might alert Upper Two to the killing dose in her system. Even though Tomioka’s actions are harmless, she definitely shouldn’t be letting Upper Five so close to her neck. 

Shinobu escapes from his grasp and leaps several feet away. “What on earth are you doing, Tomioka-san?” There’s a tremble in her voice. “Shouldn’t you ask before doing something like that?”

Tomioka looks somewhat dumbfounded himself. Maybe the distance between them has allowed his mind to clear. He stares down at his hand, still red with evidence of her blood beneath his claws. After a moment, he wipes it off on his yukata. 

There’s no time to dwell on the moment any further. 

“Tomioka,” Shinazugawa drawls. He drags himself into an upright position, though he still appears dazed. A patch of blood blossoms on the side of his skull, the product of Tomioka’s hit, but he’s regenerated from his injury already. For once, his attention isn’t on Shinobu. Instead, his eyes flit towards Tomioka as the latter stands up himself. “Iguro said you’ve been holding back your strength, but I never believed him. You really know how to pack a punch, huh?”

Tomioka doesn’t respond, only watches Shinazugawa with the same laser focus Shinobu does. 

“What the hell did Upper Three teach you these past two months?” he sneers. He pushes his hair out of his eyes. In his other hand, he uses his sword to keep himself standing. 

Tomioka shrugs.

“Are you going to try and stop me again? You’re really painting yourself out to be the traitor now.”

Shinobu raises her sword towards Shinazugawa at the implied threat. Tamayo’s antitoxin might have worked, but she won’t let Shinazugawa get another chance to test it. 

“There’s no point,” Tomioka says. “She won’t turn into a demon.”

“Is that because you’re going to take the hit for her?”

“No.” His eyes flit between her and Shinazugawa. “Can’t you tell? The runaway and Kocho must have done something to stop the transformation. You can try to turn her into a demon as many times as you’d like, but I have a feeling your cells will die over and over. Kocho can’t be turned.”

Shinazugawa’s eyes narrow, like he’s just realized that the transformation didn’t take. He watches Shinobu with the same predatory intent of a lion stalking its prey. “Kokushibo said that demon slayers require more of his blood in order to turn.”

“You gave enough.”

Shinazugawa grits his teeth. A curl of pleasure works through her. She’s happy with this much: they’ve been able to foil Muzan’s intentions thus far. 

“Fine,” Shinazugawa says with finality. “Then there’s no point in keeping her alive. Any Hashira is a threat to Muzan-sama.”

What?

Shinazugawa leaps into the air, his sword clenched in his grasp. 

Blood Demon Art: Gale, Sudden Gusts.

His arm moves at a rapid speed, and several lances of wind fly in their direction. The hairs on the back of her neck rise with anticipation. The attack is too broad to avoid. It’ll tear through the entire room. She has to bear the brunt of it or—

Shinobu ducks behind Tomioka. She has enough time to hide, but not enough for anything else. She hears the slash as Tomioka’s sword cuts through the worst of it, but she’s also close enough to hear his choked gasp as blood drips from his mouth. Even with his quick reflexes, he must have been unable to stop all of them.

“Move out of the way, Tomioka!” Shinazugawa shouts as he lands. No sooner than his feet touch the floor, he stampedes towards them, swinging wildly.

“Don’t blame Tomioka-san!” Shinobu says as she avoids the tip of Shinazugawa’s blade and dances backwards—away from Tomioka. “He was just a convenient shield!”

Shinazugawa attacks again, aiming for her midsection, but before he gets close, a metal chain swings out of nowhere and knocks his blade out of her path. 

The shock of it all sends her stumbling backwards. Shinobu catches her balance in time to watch Himejima’s imposing figure fill the makeshift entrance that the two Upper Ranks came through. 

The relief that sweeps through her can only be comparable to the first time she ever laid eyes on him—when he arrived in the nick of time to stop the demon from turning on the Kocho sisters next. He wastes no time; his axe cuts through both of Shinazugawa’s hands on the recoil, and Shinazugawa retreats away from her.

“Shinobu,” Himejima calls. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” Shinobu responds. She lands at his side, her sword arm outstretched as Himejima spins the flail in his other hand. “What are you—”

“No time for questions,” he interrupts. Both Shinazugawa and Tomioka gape at Himejima, their expressions a mixture of awe and apprehension. “Shinobu, we must outlast these two until sunrise.”

When the sun arrives, these two will have no choice but to run. It’s a logical solution, yet with only one Hashira, it had seemed an impossible choice of action. With two, however…

“Yes, Himejima-san,” Shinobu says, resolve steeling her voice. “Let’s do our best.”

The man standing in front of her is Iguro, and at the same time, he’s a complete stranger. He wears a black-and-white kimono, and his mouth is covered by bandages. At a quick glance, he’s perfectly normal and human, similar to how she saw him last. Yet, upon taking a closer look, scales similar to a snake’s skin climb up the side of his neck towards his jaw, and his eyes that had once seemed so stunning to her now carry the marking of an Upper Rank: Upper Six. 

The aura he radiates is even more intimidating than that of the Hatred Clone from the original Upper Four. With that demon, she hadn’t been afraid, and perhaps had been too overzealous in her approach. With Iguro, she can’t seem to make up her mind over whether she wants to run or stay frozen in place. 

He hasn’t even made a move. He doesn’t need to. Despite the fact that he’s perfectly still in front of her, his arms crossed in front of him, she’s well aware of the fact that a second would be all that he’d need to make his first attack. The question is whether or not he will.

Tomioka—had hesitated, hadn’t he? Though Shinobu insisted that those circumstances were different, it wouldn’t be too presumptuous to assume…

Mitsuri swallows past the lump in her throat, and chooses to speak again. “Iguro-san.”

This time, he chooses to respond. “Do I know you?”

Oh. Shinobu hadn’t warned her about this: how if the memory loss didn’t stab through her heart, the indifference at which he spoke to her would. It must have been awful for Shinobu, traveling alongside someone she remembered so clearly, only to be returned with emptiness where their memories together should have been. She’s not sure she’d be able to bear it. She almost can’t bear it now.

“You don’t… you don’t remember me at all, do you?” she asks, her voice small.

Iguro’s eyes latch onto hers, assessing, but she only finds a blank stare in response. “Should I?” he asks.

“I—I would hope so!” Mitsuri clenches her teeth. She can do this, can’t she? Shinobu survived this. So can she. “We were…friends, I hope.”

Iguro tilts his head to the side. “You’re not sure?”

“Well—I—”

His eyes narrow. “It doesn’t matter either way. My purpose is to stall you.”

The meaning behind his words settles in a second too late. Mitsuri spins towards the stone wall, though she can’t see anything behind it. If Iguro is here, Shinobu must be in trouble. She has to go help her.

She takes a single step forward, but the slash from Iguro’s sword arrives as quick as lightning. It breaks the stone at her feet with a loud crack, and several humans milling around them scream at the sound. It doesn’t take long for their attention to travel towards the sword in Iguro’s hand, and by then, the street blooms into full-blown panic. People begin running away from them, their cries reaching her ears even from the next few streets down. 

“Iguro-san!” Mitsuri unsheathes her own sword, and she delights in how Iguro’s gaze follows the path of her blade as it dances around her figure. “You can’t do that here! There are innocent people around. You could’ve hurt someone!”

His eyebrows furrow. “Why would I care?” He lifts his arm, only to stop at a loud hiss.

Mitsuri glances downward. The sound didn’t come from her. It came from Kaburamaru.

For the first time since their conversation began, Iguro is startled. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and after a few seconds, he lowers his arm. “Kaburamaru,” he says. “What are you doing?”

In response, Kaburamaru hisses again, tightening his grip on Mitsuri. 

“Kaburamaru-kun remembers me,” Mitsuri says, her heart blossoming at the realization that Kaburamaru isn’t lashing out without a reason. He’s trying to protect her—to urge Iguro to stop. “Even if you don’t.”

This only serves to deepen Iguro’s dismay. He shifts on his feet, his eyes flitting between her and the house beyond the illusion, where Shinobu is likely fighting for her life. 

“I don’t remember you,” Iguro insists once he works up the courage to make eye contact again. “I have orders. Whatever happened between us doesn’t matter. I serve Muzan-sama.”

Mitsuri frowns. “You once served Oyakata-sama and the Demon Slayer Corps. Are you not the least bit curious about what you’ve forgotten?”

His gaze turns murderous. “No,” he says, the word blunt, and she worries then that she might have stepped on a nerve. “I do not care for my life as a human. Humans are greedy and self-centered and trample on each other without regret. They lie and blame each other to save their own skins. I… I want to die serving Muzan-sama and eradicating the Demon Slayer Corps.”

Mitsuri’s eyes bulge. She’s heard this level of vitriol from Iguro directed towards demons before. She tried to convince him to come around to Nezuko and Tanjiro, but she never quite succeeded. There was always an inner hatred that went deep, that only healed by saving others. Hearing that hatred directed towards humans—and the Corps—in return breaks her heart.

“Iguro-san…” Her voice cracks.

But Iguro only raises his sword again, as twisted and snake-like as she remembers it being, and this time, not even Kaburamaru’s outcries are enough to still his hand.

“Iguro-san,” Mitsuri says. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to help Shinobu-chan save you and the others, but if you threaten Shinobu-chan—or any innocent life—I will not hold back.” Her grip tightens around the hilt. “Please. You don’t need to remember if it hurts—if you suffered. But…I can’t let you become something you would’ve hated.”

Iguro says nothing. He gives no warning before he barrels towards her.

They say it requires three Hashira to take down an Upper Rank. Even then, the task feels like an impossibility, even with their breathing techniques offering some advantage. Now, with two Hashira facing off against two Upper Ranks, their survival is even more daunting. But they have no choice: they either fight or they die.

Himejima adjusts swiftly to the pace of the battle. His chains snap with the purpose of pushing the two Upper Ranks further back, offering the two Hashira more space, and his flail rises to nail Shinazugawa in the side.

Shinazugawa cries out, twists his body to avoid more damage, and jumps off the wall to avoid the next swing of chains. Meanwhile, the axe moves in the same single breath; it careens towards Tomioka, who dodges completely rather than parrying the strike. In the end, Himejima gets his desired result: both Upper Ranks are forced further from them, and further apart from each other.

He’s provided the room she needs to make her attack. Shinobu bursts forward, and as Shinazugawa tries to recover, she jams her sword several times into his torso. Unlike Tomioka, he doesn’t require many doses in order to be slowed down, and his face colors within seconds. Before he can reach her, she dances out of reach. 

She turns her attention to Tomioka. Himejima’s axe swings and slices at his knees, sending a splatter of blood flying. But the limbs don’t sever, and Tomioka uses the momentum to twist and block her sword. The collision between them forces them both backwards a step, but she recovers first: she skips over Himejima’s chains and thrusts her sword into his arm. A nonlethal location. 

Tomioka gasps and presses a hand against his arm once she retracts her sword. Blood trickles downward, and his breathing grows heavier, but he’s far more composed as he concentrates on breaking down the poison. Unlike Shinazugawa, who panics with the first sign of wisteria in his system, he forces himself to remain calm. When he removes his hand, the wound has healed, and his expression is back to normal.

“Shinobu!” Himejima warns.

But Shinobu’s senses are on high alert for Shinazugawa’s next move. He strikes down from above, but Shinobu flips over him before his weapon can reach its mark. When he lands, her own weapon has already torn through his side.

“Fuck,” Shinazugawa pants. He holds a hand against his side in an attempt to stifle the bleeding. Against any other slayer, his wound would have closed by now. Against her, the poison slows down all of his regeneration. As long as she can keep stabbing both of them, their reaction times will worsen, and the Hashira will have the advantage. “Stop with the fucking poison.”

“It isn’t that hard to break it down!” Shinobu teases with a laugh. “Just look at Tomioka-san!”

She swings again, intending to pierce Shinazugawa’s side, but her blade meets another. When she lifts her head, Tomioka’s stony expression is there to greet her. 

Shinobu grits her teeth. Unlike Shinazugawa, she can’t claim Tomioka has made a life-threatening attack. In fact, since Himejima has arrived, he hasn’t used a single technique. He’s only avoided theirs. If Shinazugawa is on the offensive, she’d say Tomioka has gone in the opposite direction and is acting defensively. He’s serving as support for Shinazugawa.

She can’t fault him too much for that. It’s better than the alternative—him trying to strike her and Himejima down. But it annoys her regardless.

“Tomioka-san,” she says through clenched teeth. Unfortunately, when it comes to brute strength, he easily overpowers her. She brings their clashing swords downward, and before Tomioka can anticipate her next move, she pushes out the blade in her sandal and jabs it in his calf. “Stop trying to protect Shinazugawa-san.”

Tomioka cries out, and Shinobu allows herself a second of remorse before yanking her foot away. There’s a clang, and then Himejima’s flail comes between them, forcing them apart once more.

Stone Breathing: Fourth Form: Volcanic Rock, Rapid Conquest.

Himejima drags both of the chains to position the flail and axe at opposite ends of the room from afar. As Shinazugawa leaps towards her, he plays right into Himejima’s hands. Shinobu leaps up faster than the blink of an eye, and before either of the Upper Ranks can follow her movement, Himejima draws the two ends of the chain together. The flail and the axe swing, aiming to impale both of the demons.

It would’ve worked—if not for Tomioka absorbing most of the impact with his technique. His sword hangs at his side, but somehow, the strike from Himejima doesn’t lead to more than a few scratches on either of them. It’s like the flail and axe both slide through them, as if Tomioka and Shinazugawa repel the weapons. But the effect this has on Tomioka is not inconsiderable: he gasps like he’s exhausted, like he’s struggling to breathe.

Damn it. She thought they had them. She hoped that one surefire attack would take both of them out of the equation.

She lands beside Himejima.

“Poison them again,” Himejima instructs. “It’s the only thing that slows them down.”

Right. 

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Bee Sting: True Flutter.

Shinobu dives towards Shinazugawa first. He’s still in a daze, staring at Tomioka like he can’t believe he bothered shielding them both, and he’s slow to react to Shinobu moving at top speed. When she’s close enough, she’s able to see how his eyes pop and how realization sets in—that he won’t be quick enough to stop her. 

Her sword slides through his eye like butter on bread. She doesn’t wait to hear his gasp of pain before utilizing the momentum of her pace and dashing towards Tomioka. Similar to the first time, he doesn’t try to avoid her. It’s almost irritating how easily he allows her to stab through his eye, and this time, he doesn’t even cry out in pain. 

Faster, she thinks. More.

She quickens her pace until her heart reaches the point of bursting and sweat drips down her forehead. Her sword is an extension of her arm, twisting between her opponents, hitting their vitals as much as it takes. The cat-and-mouse game continues between them. For each injury she creates, Shinazugawa and Tomioka slow down in an effort to break down the poison, and Himejima uses the brief periods of respite in order to hack at limbs, never quite reaching the crucial point: the neck. But the advantage never leans in their favor for long. 

Sooner or later, the poison seeps out of their bloodstream, and they return with equal fervor to meet their attacks at the same intensity. It’s an exhausting exchange, and it’s worse when her limbs begin aching, when her breathing turns shallow. Shinazugawa and Tomioka can fight without end; their stamina won’t run out. But for her and Himejima, their time is numbered, and she can feel it waning.

How much longer? she thinks as she dodges a strike from Shinazugawa. In return, her sword punctures his chest. When will the sun come out?

They can’t go on like this forever. Himejima’s surely getting tired. He might not be moving around as much as her, but he needs endurance in order to be able to continue wielding his weapon. And there’s only so much more she can take herself. Her speed is her greatest asset, but it’s also a double-edged sword. Once exhaustion takes over, she can’t rely on her physicality to protect herself.

“A little longer,” Shinobu pants. She swings her sword up against Tomioka’s and kicks out at Shinazugawa at the same time. Just a little more. 

“You’re getting tired, aren’t you?” Shinazugawa drawls. He’s recovering quicker—or is she slowing down? “You two aren’t going to last.”

They will. She’ll survive these two with Himejima at her side. They only need to endure the endless barrage a little longer.

She’s become so weary that her vision is failing her. There’s no other explanation for why she sees a stranger enter the room through the now-broken door behind the two Upper Ranks.

Blood Demon Art: Blood Bewitchment.

A sweet scent wafts through the room, permeating every inch of what remains of the home, and faint visions of flowers surround her. If she squints, she spots the stranger holding their arm in a way that looks unnatural. It’s only when she concentrates that she realizes they’re clawing into their skin. Rivers of blood trail up their forearm. 

“Kocho-san. Himejima-san.” That voice is familiar. Who is it? It’s soft-spoken. Non-threatening. “I apologize it took me so long. Let me lend you my assistance.” Shinobu watches on with awe as Tomioka and Shinazugawa’s eyes glaze over. “Please hold your breaths.”

The streets of Asakusa are a nightmare to traverse normally. There are far too many crowds bunched close together and far too many cars that take up space. Yet, she would give anything to be part of that bustling, ordinary crowd now. It would be preferable to this: being chased by an Upper Rank through the alleys that cut through the busy streets.

“Iguro-san!” Mitsuri calls over her shoulder. She takes a sharp left at the sight of some inebriated men smoking together down the path ahead. Better to lead Iguro away. “Please stop!”

Iguro does not heed her words. It’s like he doesn’t even hear her. His footsteps thunder towards her, never ceasing their pursuit, and he’s close enough that she doesn’t think she’s imagining the sensation of his breath on her neck. 

Mitsuri’s first priority is to ensure that no bystanders wind up injured. As a Hashira, this duty comes first and foremost. It’s why she let Iguro chase her from the fence. His attacks had been too unruly, too unrestrained, and if she let him continue where they stood, there was no doubt in her mind that someone would be hurt—or worse, killed. 

It’s fine if she’s the one to bear it. She’s a Hashira. It’s expected of her to protect as many human lives as possible. She can stop Iguro from putting others in danger. She only needs to drag him further away—

Kaburamaru hisses in warning, and Mitsuri swings her blade in time to cut through the force of Iguro’s attack. With her next step, she spins to face him.

“Iguro-san,” she says, her voice shrill. This is foolish and idiotic, and there is no point in trying to reason with him. In all the time she’s known Iguro, he’s worn many faces, but his cruelty never extended towards her. He could have a terrible attitude, but he never took it out on her. But she’s never seen this face, so full of venom and disgust and pure hatred. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to help you!”

Iguro is silent as he swings his arm again, and this time, she gets the full view of how his sword works. His nichirin blade had been curved, like a snake’s body. This sword he’s created from his flesh is no different, but it’s even more flexible than the sword he carried when he was part of the Corps. It’s almost like it moves in time to the beat of his mind. Wherever he wills the blade to turn, it follows the path he designates without requiring much movement in his arm.

Mitsuri blocks the blow with a huff. Thankfully, as limber as Iguro’s blade is, it means she’s a good match against him. She might not have the same ease of control over her sword, but she’s spent years perfecting Love Breathing and learning to wield a weapon that called to her. If she has nothing else, she at least has her experience to fall back on.

“Iguro-san,” Mitsuri pleads as he takes a few steps closer. “Can’t you listen to me for a second? I want you to hear what I have to say.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Iguro snaps at the same time as his blade. 

Blood Demon Art: Coil Choke.

His blade rushes towards her, and before she can blink, it encircles her from all sides. All he has to do is tug—and she’ll be chopped into tiny pieces. Kaburamaru cries out in warning. 

“I’m the Love Hashira,” she says, more to herself than to Iguro. 

Love Breathing: Second Form: Love Pangs.  

Her sword clashes with each strike of Iguro’s blade, meeting every swing in equal strength, and she knocks his weapon away. With some amount of satisfaction, she watches as his eyes widen with surprise. “I’m not going to stand here and let you kill me,” she says. “I won’t hold back if you try it.”

Iguro’s eyes have always been the most expressive part of him. His mouth—hidden even as a demon—gives no indication as to what he’s thinking. But she’s known him long enough to know that he’s squinting because he’s lost in thought. Is he trying to figure out what attack might be the one to catch her off guard? She needs to focus.

Slowly, Iguro retrieves his weapon, all while keeping one eye on her. He inspects the blade more carefully than is warranted. It’s only when he speaks a second later that she realizes he was buying himself time. “What did you want to say to me?”

The question comes as a shock. “What?”

“You said you wanted to talk.”

She did, but honestly, she doesn’t know where to begin. A multitude of questions form in her mind, but none seem like the right one to ask. There’s so much she doesn’t know, so much she wants to hear. Her reason for wanting to talk had stemmed from missing him first and foremost—if like Tomioka, Iguro had that same potential for disloyalty. 

She once spent time each week crafting a letter to send to Iguro by crow. It’s been months since she’s last seen him, and longer still since they last spoke. The subject matter doesn’t mean much to her. She only wants to have some semblance of his company again. 

But he stares at her with an expectant look, and she knows she has to say something. Anything.

“This is a lot of pressure,” Mitsuri complains, tapping her feet. “Give me a second.”

Iguro scoffs and returns his attention to his blade.

There is one question, one she’s wanted to ask every day since Iguro was first declared missing. But it’s foolish, and he won’t answer it. Still, she has nothing better to say.

She waits for Iguro to meet her gaze again before she asks, “Are you okay?”

Iguro raises an eyebrow. “What?”

It’s even more inane to repeat it. “Are you okay?”

“Is that it?” He drops his arm with a sigh. “What a strange question.”

Mitsuri’s expression doesn’t change. She waits for Iguro to answer.

“What would I be bothered by?” Iguro asks instead. “I have nothing that disappoints me. I have everything a demon could ever want.”

“But are you in pain? Are you suffering?”

Iguro’s eyes slide past her towards the busy street behind her. For a moment, she worries he might dash forward and resume their battle. But if anything, he appears—distracted. “These are all odd things to ask,” he says. “When you said you wanted to talk, I thought you’d want to convince me to help the Corps. I thought you’d want me to disobey Muzan-sama, like Tomioka did.”

“Shinobu-chan didn’t ask Tomioka-san to betray Muzan,” Mitsuri says defensively. “I could stand here and tell you that I hate that you’ve become the very thing you despised or that I wished you wouldn’t try to hurt anyone. I could try and convince you to help the Corps.” She exhales loudly, the telltale sign of her exhaustion. “But I don’t think you’ll listen to me, and my priority has to be protecting Shinobu.” Her eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments. “You don’t have to answer. I know it’s stupid.”

Kaburamaru nudges her chin, almost in reassurance. 

When she opens her eyes again, Iguro studies her with an inquisitive look. “You are a strange Hashira,” he says with a sigh. “If you knew me as a human, you don’t have to acknowledge me as a demon. I’m not the same person you remember, so you don’t need to spend your time worrying about someone who’s already dead.”

His words drive an invisible stake through her heart. “Iguro-san…”

“Lift your sword, Love Hashira,” Iguro instructs. With this, he raises his arm, cutting their conversation off. “I’m not as softhearted as Tomioka. Your words won’t sway me.”

Gritting her teeth, Mitsuri does as instructed. Within a flash, Iguro’s attacks resume at full strength. There is no hesitation behind any of his strikes. His eyes are cold with determination—to the point where even a single scratch from his blade seems deadly. 

Mitsuri can only meet him with equal force, her blade clashing against his with continuous clangs. As humans, he was weaker than her, but as a demon, the two are on more even footing. Iguro fights with nothing to lose, meanwhile Mitsuri is conscious of avoiding his neck and protecting the innocent lives behind her, continuing on in blissful ignorance as their lives teeter close to death’s door. He can lose limbs and still fight at full strength, but her humanity keeps her grounded to reality. 

He’s relentless though. The exhaustion has started kicking in, and the force behind his attacks hasn’t ceased at all. She’s forced to fall back a step—just to avoid losing an eye.

She’s forced back another step, then another, and then—

Blood Demon Art: Venom Fangs of the Narrow Head.

Iguro dashes behind her with a speed that is inhuman. His sword lashes out, and in her panic, she stumbles sideways to avoid being beheaded. There’s a sharp tearing sound. Mitsuri’s gaze falls downward, and her heart falls.

“Oh! No, no, no!” Her socks—the ones Iguro gifted with her with such thoughtfulness and consideration. The right one has ripped straight down the middle from her collision against the wall. Tears spring to her eyes before she can help it. “I’m the worst.”

Mitsuri is vaguely aware of Kaburamaru unwinding himself from her neck and returning to Iguro, just as she is vaguely aware that Iguro is standing stock-still to her side. He hasn’t made another movement towards her, though she’s prepared to act in a second if he does. She doesn’t have the nerve to look at his face.

“I wasn’t supposed to rip them,” she murmurs to herself. The tear runs halfway down. Perhaps it’s salvageable. “I’ll never get another pair.”

How can she? The person who once swore to her that he’d get her as many pairs as needed to replace the ones she ruined no longer remembers the promise he made. 

No. She’s being dramatic about this. It’s only a pair of socks, after all. She could have lost a limb—or her life.

Her head whips towards Iguro, prepared with a retort on her tongue, but at his expression, her words fail her.

Iguro’s eyes are wide, like he’s shaken, and the aghast look he wears is evident even despite the fact that half of his face is hidden. He raises a hand to his head, his claws scraping against his skull, drawing small drops of blood. Kaburamaru has wrapped himself around Iguro’s neck and tries to draw Iguro’s attention, but Iguro’s mind is clearly elsewhere. His eyes shut, like he’s trying to remember where he is, but he looks no less distressed when he opens them again. 

Now she’s worried, despite Iguro’s advice. “Iguro-san?”

The sound of her voice shocks him like a bucket of ice water. His eyes snap to hers, but before she can say anything else, he runs.

There’s no time to process what has happened before he disappears around the corner. 

“Iguro-san!”

She should run after him. She should—

A pair of footsteps thunder in her direction from behind, and she spins in time to watch Yushiro race towards her. 

“What are you doing?” he demands without preamble.

“Huh?” Her eyes bulge. Her brain can’t process the last couple minutes, much less Yushiro’s presence here. “I—”

“Shinobu’s in danger!” Yushiro shouts. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

At once, the last few minutes no longer matter. Her comrade is in danger. Without waiting for Yushiro, Mitsuri bursts into a sprint, retracting the steps back to Shinobu.

Chapter Text

Bright colors burst beyond her eyelids. The scent wafting through the air has become sickly sweet. Shinobu can do nothing else but hold her breath as instructed, and the very second she does, the air in her mind clears. Beside her, Himejima does the same, though he doesn’t let his guard down and continues swinging his flail in the air in case either demon tries anything. 

The stranger approaches with slow steps from behind Tomioka and Shinazugawa, and Shinobu jolts at the realization that it’s Tamayo who had stepped in. She thought she would have been incapable of not recognizing Tamayo even from a distance. Although her presence is demonic in nature, she carries herself with the courtesy and grace most demons lack. 

This must be her technique at work. She’s never seen Tamayo use it before. It’s incredibly powerful to put two Kizuki in a daze, but then again, Tamayo predates even the Kizuki. 

Shinazugawa’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and he’s helpless as his legs give out. He falls to his knees. Tomioka’s head keeps dipping forward, like he’s fighting off sleep, his eyelids fluttering. In the end, he can’t keep himself upright either, and he sinks to the ground next to Shinazugawa. 

“Keep holding your breaths, you two,” Tamayo orders. Carefully, she eases past the two Upper Ranks to get closer to her and Himejima. She regards them both with her careful gaze. “Are you both alright?”

Wordlessly, Shinobu nods. She wants to tell her that the antitoxin worked—that the Hashira no longer have anything to fear. But she knows better than to breathe in the fumes of this technique. If it’s able to render two Upper Ranks powerless, she can’t imagine what it would do to a human like her.

“Good.” Tamayo nods. “The sun will be coming up soon. Once it gets closer to sunrise, I’ll release these two.”

The sun has almost returned. The relief that sweeps over her almost knocks her off her feet. They’re nearly safe.

“I can’t hold them still for long.” She lifts her arm, and this time, Shinobu gets the full view of what is demanded of Tamayo for her to control such a dangerous art. Her claws dig into her arm, forcing back the skin until her blood drips onto the floor. “Thankfully, you two did extremely well to hold them off for so long. It’s nearly over.”

Tamayo glances back over her shoulder at the two Upper Ranks, but they haven’t moved an inch. Their wounds have long since healed, though the evidence of their tiresome battle still lingers in pools of blood at their feet. 

Meanwhile, Shinobu can feel that troublesome headache returning in the back of her skull. Not now. She’ll deal with that later. It’s probably only a sign of how tired she is, anyway.

“Kocho-san,” Tamayo says, dropping her arm back to her side. Her blood continues to trail down the skin, but the wounds are already beginning to close up. “Would it be too much if I asked you to poison these two again? Just to make sure they don’t move?”

Shinobu nods and draws out her blade. 

Tamayo retrieves two empty syringes from her pocket. “If possible, I’d like to extract their blood. If you think we can do it.”

Her eyes flit over to the two Upper Ranks. They’re frozen still. If they can be quick, it shouldn’t be impossible. Himejima raises his flail, and Shinobu understands without words that he agrees with Tamayo’s proposal. He’ll be waiting in case either tries anything.

Shinobu leaves her place at Himejima’s side and wanders over to Shinazugawa, Tamayo at her heels. Shinazugawa stirs at the sound of footsteps closing in, but he doesn’t react until her sword pierces his neck. His entire body seizes, and his mouth opens wide—

The axe presses against his neck, and Shinazugawa’s throat jumps. His gaze travels upward to Himejima. There’s a chilly resolution in Himejima’s eyes, one that convinces her that he would behead Shinazugawa here and now, if Shinazugawa gave him a reason to. 

“I’ll be quick,” Tamayo assures them. Without wasting another second, she jabs the syringe in the side of his neck. Slowly, the inside fills with red, and once it’s full, they all release him at once.

It’s Tomioka’s turn. Shinobu turns her attention to him, only to falter when he peers up at her with drowsy eyes. 

“Kocho-san?”

Right. Just—stab him.

He’s remarkably still even as she grips his chin and pierces the tip of his neck with her blade. She thinks she spots the ghost of a smile on his lips, but it must be a trick of the light. She’s only seen him smile a few times before. This was nothing like that. 

“Apologies, Tomioka-san,” Tamayo murmurs. With careful fingers, she draws the same amount of blood from Tomioka. 

Once the blood has been extracted, the three of them step close to the opposite wall. The sun is close. She can tell in how the sky has brightened and how Tamayo flinches in anticipation of its arrival. Shinazugawa and Tomioka should leave if Tamayo releases them now.

“Leave,” Tamayo orders. “Return to your master’s side.”

Shinazugawa glowers at Tamayo. Like this, it’s almost like his anger and vengeance towards demons hasn’t changed at all. He stands, then wavers, like he might attempt one last attack. Tomioka rises to his feet as well, but his gaze doesn’t wander over to them at all, fixated instead on the approaching sunlight. 

Love Breathing: Third Form: Catlove Shower.

The sword that slashes and cuts at the ground in front of Shinazugawa and Tomioka is familiar. The burst of attacks catches the two Kizuki off guard, and they disappear without another word out of the exit they created, aiming to outrun the sun. Tomioka’s ponytail is the last thing she sees before they disappear from view completely.

“Am I too late?” Kanroji lands on the ground beside them. “Are they gone?”

Shinobu’s eyes are wide. “Kanroji-san!”

Tears instantly spring to Kanroji’s eyes. She looks a little worse for wear, and Shinobu wonders what she’s been through since they saw each other last: one of her socks is torn, her haori is dark with soot, and her chest heaves like she’s finished running a marathon. But none of that matters. They’re alive. They survived.

“Shinobu-chan!” Kanroji cries out. Her arms encircle Shinobu’s neck, and she brings her tight against her in a hug. “You’re alive! You’re alive!” Her eyes bulge as she recognizes the person standing behind Shinobu. “Himejima-san! You’re here too! Tamayo-san! I’m so glad we’re all alive!”

Yes, Shinobu agrees. They’re all alive, and her humanity and sense of self is safe, too. She lets Kanroji embrace her, and even laughs when she tries to get Himejima to join. They’re all alive.

When Giyuu first became a demon, there were three rules that Akaza stressed above all others. For someone that sounded as carefree as Akaza often did, Giyuu wouldn’t have pegged him as a stickler for the rules, but as he soon found out, there was an order to their existence that even Akaza abided by. 

The first was that Giyuu shouldn’t undermine the hierarchy among the Kizuki. He found this simple enough. He preferred not to talk at all, so this sounded easy. But he soon learned that some of the Upper Ranks—particularly Douma—took offense to his silence. He tried to adapt, and maintain a level of distance and respect. He eventually understood that, despite the hierarchy, his relationship with Akaza didn’t count. In fact, Akaza found it rather stuffy if Giyuu tried to maintain a respectful tone with him. 

The second was that Muzan’s orders were absolute. It didn’t matter whether the commands through the bond made him uneasy or whether he didn’t feel inclined to do what was asked of him. If he disobeyed, Muzan would find him useless, and his life would be void. Clearly, he didn’t follow this rule very well.

The third was this: the sun was a force he shouldn’t test. Even if it was unfathomable that his durable body could burn to a crisp beneath its rays, he should never linger out in the open near sunrise or else he would face a premature death. 

Akaza’s warnings continue to ring in his ears even now as he keeps pace with Shinazugawa. The two of them burst through the thorny bushes surrounding the home, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the Hashira—as much distance as they can between themselves and the sun. Every alarm in his senses warns him to move quicker, to hide. Even though he knows that they must have a few minutes more, the fear that plagues them both is uncontrollable. 

He’s never let himself get this close to death. If it hadn’t been for the runaway’s technique, he would have fled long ago. 

The two of them reach the perimeter, where Iguro waits for them, tapping his foot. His gaze wanders more than usual, like he’s been rattled by something. It must be their proximity to sunlight. Giyuu’s sure that the same alarm must be reflected on his own face.

As soon as Iguro spots them, his shoulders relax, though only slightly. “What took you so long?” he demands.

“Huh?” There’s enough venom in that single word that Giyuu winces. Shinazugawa and Iguro get along splendidly under normal circumstances; he’d hate to find out what their dynamic would be like if they didn’t. “You go first. There were three Hashira there. Weren’t you supposed to get rid of one of them?”

Iguro’s head dips, and his hair blocks his expression from view. If Giyuu concentrates, he notices how Iguro’s fighting spirit almost quivers. It makes him pause. He’s never seen Iguro be uncertain about anything before. One of Iguro’s most admirable qualities is his sense of resolve. For his heart to waver…something must have happened.

“Where’s the poisoner?” Iguro throws back instead. “What happened there?”

Shinazugawa makes a dissatisfied sound. “Why don’t you ask Tomioka?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s kinda my point, jackass.”

“Where’s the poisoner?” Iguro repeats.

Shinazugawa scratches at his nose. “She’s still human. The transformation didn’t take.”

Iguro’s brows furrow. “What?”

“Shouldn’t we discuss this later?” Giyuu asks. He’s still mulling it over himself: the blood cells that disintegrated the moment they entered Kocho’s bloodstream, the reason why that might be, how formidable each of those Hashira appeared, what possessed him to lap at Kocho’s cheek like a dog. A million thoughts swarm to the front of his mind, but before he can consider processing any of them, logic urges him to focus on the threat of sunlight hanging over them. “The sun’s coming.”

Shinazugawa’s eyes shut, and he releases a resigned sigh. “Fuck.”

Giyuu knows what awaits them as much as the others do. The relief from the sun will be short-lived. The punishment that will be dealt to them in the Infinity Castle will make burning to death seem like a mercy. 

There’s no way around it. They failed, and if he’s right, Muzan’s lost the chance to transform Kocho forever. They will not survive his wrath unharmed.

Giyuu shuts his eyes. In the far distance, he spots Kocho’s fighting spirit, bright and brilliant as always. It’s almost enough to distract him when the ground drops out from beneath them, and the doors to the castle lock them inside. 

The sun’s arrival keeps them from straying outside of the now broken-down house. There’s enough cover for Tamayo and Yushiro to administer the antitoxin to Himejima and Kanroji, which requires a matter of minutes. By the time they’re done, Tamayo releases a breath, one that she’s likely been holding since the wall first crumpled.

“There,” Tamayo says, releasing Himejima’s arm. “That leaves one Hashira.”

“I can administer the antitoxin to Tokito,” Shinobu reassures her. 

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Himejima corrects, his hands held in prayer. His eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Your help has been invaluable to the Corps. Thanks to your genius, we will now be able to continue to help protect human lives. That is a gift that cannot be understated.”

Himejima says it best. His words encapsulate the gratitude swelling in Shinobu’s own heart.

“Yes, thank you both!” Kanroji nods her head eagerly. “I’m sure Shinobu-chan has already spoken to you about this, but I’m thrilled that you two will be joining us at Headquarters very soon.”

“Well, we don’t have a house anymore,” Yushiro says, rather grumpily. His arms are crossed over his chest.

Tamayo snorts a laugh before letting her eyes settle on the three Hashira. “You don’t have to thank me,” she says. “I’m only doing what I feel is right. We’re both…worried about what it’ll mean to join you all at Headquarters, but today has shown me that whether or not we’re ready for that change to happen, fate has no intention of stopping.”

“Indeed.” A single tear glides down Himejima’s cheek. 

Tamayo holds out her hand for the bag in Yushiro’s arms, and he hands it over without a word. In the time Shinobu spent holding the two Upper Ranks at bay, Tamayo managed to compile a demon lifetime’s worth of research into the few bags that wait for them at the doorway. Although most of the house was destroyed in the battle, they all survived, and so, their mission hasn’t ended. With what’s left, they can recover their progress. 

To her surprise, Tamayo hands the bag over to her. “Here you go, Kocho-san.”

Her eyebrows fly upwards as she grips the strap. “What’s in it?”

“The antitoxin for Tokito-san.” Tamayo gives her a meaningful look. “And the rest is for Tomioka-san.”

Oh. If she jostles the bag enough, she can hear its contents sloshing. “I see. Thank you—for everything.”

Tamayo’s smile is gentle as her eyes linger on the three of them, a stark contrast to the stern figure that managed to bring two Kizuki to their knees. She’s especially grateful now that Tamayo is on their side. 

When Oyakata-sama first reached out to tell her of her assignment—that she would be working alongside a demon to formulate the cure to turn demons back into humans and create several types of poison to aid them in their final battle—she was livid. She didn’t disobey as the order came from Oyakata-sama himself, but she was less than pleased about it.

She hadn’t exaggerated when she told Tanjiro once that she felt a revulsion towards demons she couldn’t fight. Not even her love for Kanae could overcome that hatred. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to control her anger long enough for them to collaborate. For someone who spent years learning to act a certain way and hide her true emotions, she couldn’t see this failure as anything but inevitable.

Luckily, it hadn’t been. They had their rough start, of course. She and Yushiro couldn’t conceal their dislike for one another, and that anger towards Tamayo was uncontrollable. Yushiro, at least, was no killer, but she couldn’t sympathize with Tamayo no matter how much she tried. But as time went on, she learned to endure their company, and eventually, began to seek their advice.

That hatred settled into dislike, which became indifference, then without her notice, turned into respect. 

She respected Tamayo—in spite of all she had done as a demon. She didn’t shy away from her past mistakes and instead used them as the fuel to bring them closer to Muzan’s defeat. 

The smile she offers Tamayo now is genuine. Perhaps the dream her sister wished for hadn’t been in vain.

“We will meet again soon,” Tamayo assures her. “Until then, stay safe.”

With that last parting, the three Hashira leave Yushiro and Tamayo behind. Those two will be stuck inside until the night comes, but for them, the sun is their savior, guiding them onto their next stop.

Shinobu is glad to leave the hustle and bustle of Asakusa behind. There is novelty in a city that’s always spilling forth with new people and ideas, but as someone who savors the peace and quiet, their walk to the next town puts her at ease. 

The three of them move at a steady pace. They’re all equally tired, their legs burning from the earlier battle, and no one—Kanroji included—is in the right mood for conversation. 

It’s agreed that they’ll stop temporarily at a wisteria house before returning to Headquarters. It seems like a long shot that Muzan will send Upper Ranks after them twice in a single day, and they need to regain their energy. That—and the headache she’s spent the entire morning ignoring has bloomed into a persistent pest. She won’t say no to a few hours of rest.

They continue on in silence for some time—until Shinobu hears the unmistakable sound of a sob.

“Kanroji-san?” Shinobu twists to look back over her shoulder. Ahead of her, Himejima slows to a stop. “Are you alright?”

Her face is beet-red, visible even though she’s covering herself from view. Each breath she draws is ragged, like she’s been fighting through tears for some time. “It’s nothing,” she says, her voice too measured to be genuine. “Don’t worry about me!”

“Kanroji.” Himejima appears at Shinobu’s shoulder. “If you are feeling unwell, we can stop.”

“It’s nothing! It’s so stupid, really.”

It doesn’t sound like nothing. Shinobu’s spent a good portion of her life listening to what’s left unsaid. Kanao has never been one to speak her mind. Shinobu had to adapt to figure out what Kanao wanted if the latter never voiced her thoughts. She likes to think she has some experience in reading people, and although Kanroji insists that she’s fine, the manner she’s holding herself suggests otherwise. 

When she glances over at Himejima, she finds the same conclusion reflected in his expression. She tries again. “Kanroji-san,” Shinobu says, resting a hand on her arm in a silent attempt to urge her to lower her hands. “I can tell you’re upset. We’ll be happy to help once you tell us what’s wrong!”

Kanroji sniffles. “It’s not something you can help with.” Her arms return to her sides, revealing her puffy eyes. “It’s so silly. I was just thinking about how I already destroyed the haori Rengoku-san gave me at the Swordsmith Village, and now, I ripped the pair of socks Iguro-san gave me too. I’m never going to be able to get those things back.” Her shoulders sag, and a pang echoes in her chest. “It’s stupid. I should be happy to be alive, and I am, but I really treasured those gifts.”

Shinobu hadn’t known for sure who the Upper Rank Kanroji faced off against was, but there isn’t a shadow of a doubt left in her mind. It would make sense for Muzan to send all three of the former Hashira after them, though it is certainly cruel. The heartbreak rings true in the broken chords of Kanroji’s voice. 

It must have been an arduous fight for Kanroji. She had to face someone she cared about without preparing her heart beforehand. Shinobu would go as far to say that Kanroji’s battle was more difficult than hers. 

“It’s not stupid,” Shinobu murmurs. She retrieves her handkerchief from her pocket and hands to Kanroji, who takes it with a teary smile. “They were irreplaceable gifts. I would be heartbroken if I couldn’t repair Kanae’s haori.”

Himejima might be crying more than Kanroji at this point. “You shouldn’t feel ashamed, Kanroji,” he says. “Do not apologize.”

“Sorry,” Kanroji says, her voice small. 

“I’ll be happy to gift you some butterfly clips that you can put in your braids!” Shinobu offers. “Clips that look similar to mine.”

That only makes Kanroji cry harder, which hadn’t been her intention at all. “Shinobu-chan!” Before she can react, she’s pulled into a tight embrace, her face buried in Kanroji’s braids. The side of her neck begins to feel wet. “That’s so kind of you!”

Her arms rise to meet Kanroji’s. “It’s no problem.”

It takes a minute for Kanroji to recover and release Shinobu from her iron-tight grip. Although her face is still red, she’s able to stop crying. The three of them continue on towards the nearest wisteria home, guided by En from above. A few other crows circle from a close distance with watchful eyes. Shinobu feels well-protected the rest of the way as the wisteria crest comes into view.

The wisteria home is watched over by a middle-aged woman and her husband. Half of their time is spent tending to wounded demon slayers that stumble in, and the other half is dedicated to running their cozy inn that branches off from the side of the building marked with the crest. 

The wife, Umeko, is pleased at the sight of their arrival. She’s quick to designate rooms for them, bring them fresh clothes, and provide a tour of the inn where they’ll be staying. Each of the rooms are small and quaint and rather snug, the perfect place to recover their strength. There’s even an onsen that is half-outside, the warm air rising in a heavy steam, and Kanroji’s eyes light up when Umeko shows it to them.

The prospect of a warm bath sounds relaxing, but the headache she’s had since this morning has become a more pressing concern. It’s only strengthened since then, and it’s hard for her to follow along with Umeko’s words without zoning out. 

It’s only when Umeko turns to her that Shinobu realizes she must have missed something.

“What?” Shinobu asks. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“It’s alright, Kocho-sama. I only asked if you planned on using the onsen with Kanroji-sama.”

“Oh.” 

Before she can give a proper answer, Himejima interrupts from behind her. “Forgive me for saying this, Shinobu. But you seem tired. Are you feeling well?”

Nothing gets past him. She won’t be able to brush him off with a lie either. “I’m just a little tired.” Even her smile is weary as she answers. “I have a bit of a headache. Nothing some rest won’t fix.”

“Then you should rest right away!” Kanroji urges. “You should go to sleep. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Mhm.” Shinobu holds back from admitting that she’s certain her headache has gone past being a simple bother. Her entire body has an unnatural chill to it. “I’ll do that.”

“I’ll lead you to your room, Kocho-sama,” Umeko says with a bow.

“Sleep well, Shinobu,” Himejima says.

Kanroji waves at her as she follows after Umeko. “I’ll check on you after I finish my bath!”

Shinobu’s annoyed. Her mild headache has blossomed into a full bed-ridden fever. 

Once Umeko had left her room, she wasted no time in undressing and pulling on the yukata that was set aside for her. She grabbed a bucket of water and a small towel, drenched it in water, and dropped it on her forehead. She dragged all of the extra covers she could find from the closet, rolled out her futon, and buried herself completely in the warmth. 

She doesn’t remember how long she’s been here, lying awake staring at the ceiling, far too uncomfortable to fall asleep. Every few seconds, shivers run through her body, and her teeth chatters like it’s the dead of winter. But she has a feeling that if anyone were to press a hand to her forehead, they’d find her skin to be dangerously hot and sweaty. 

Part of her worries this is a side effect to the near-demon transformation. But Tamayo had inspected her blood prior to their departure and confirmed what Tomioka said: Shinazugawa’s cells died the second they entered her system. It’s both a relief and an annoyance, because she knows that this fever must be self-inflicted.

After all, she’s no stranger to the occasional bed-ridden fever. She thought she moved past them after determining the exact formula for her daily wisteria intake. Unfortunately, that formula relies on constant doses, and in the week she spent gallivanting with Tomioka, her routine fractured. In taking what would be the normal dose last night, her body has decided to rebel. It wants to reject the poison she took of her own volition.

But she won’t let it. She’s endured dangerous fevers before because of her little experiment. This is more of the same. By morning, she should be better. She already fixed herself some medicine to help, so the only thing left is to wait it out.

Wait it out—if only it were so simple. 

Even beneath three layers of blankets, tremors wrack her body from her knees to her shoulders. The wet towel does little to ease her mind, even if it’s helping her body. Her mind is in a foggy haze. Her vision has difficulty adjusting to anything beyond the brightness of the lamp in the corner of the room. 

Her eyelids keep shutting against her will. She can’t be certain if she’s dozing off, but each time, she startles seconds later with the jump of her heart. It’s exhausting. Her bones want nothing more than to sink into the futon and through the earth. There’s a weight pressing down on her chest that she can’t fight.

Shinobu wants to sleep, wants to shut her eyes, if only for a moment.

There’s a rustle outside her window. Did she forget to shut it before tumbling into bed? She should close it or else—

Shinobu twists her head to the left towards the open window. Right, she left it open to allow the fresh air to circulate. Though she wishes she hadn’t now. It’s far too brisk.

Her vision blurs. Her head sinks against the pillow, and this time, even though fear slices through her like a sharp knife, her body can’t muster the strength to react.

A familiar set of eyes peer back at her from the darkness, though she can’t tell if she’s imagining things. She saw Tomioka a night ago. Why would he be here?

His presence is masked as he braces his foot against the window frame. He climbs through in one fluid motion. Tonight, his yukata is gray, hidden under a navy blue haori, and his hair is ruffled at the ends from the wind, but he’s otherwise unharmed and unchanged. 

This must be a fever dream. She thought he would have been punished for an eternity for the failure of not turning her into a demon. Instead, he stands at the edge of her room, watching her with a curious gaze, like last night never happened.

Even so, she can’t resist the urge to pester him. “Are you here to finish me off, Tomioka-san?”

He’s wandered into this inn like it’s nothing. Even if she screams, she doubts either Himejima or Kanroji will be quick enough to stop him from killing her. This time, she’s in no position to defend herself either. Even so, she won’t let him do so easily.

Shinobu pulls herself upright and reaches for her sword. It takes her a few tries; her fingers keep skimming the hilt and misjudging the distance. When she finally turns to face him, the double vision overwhelms her senses.

“So?” Shinobu asks, the single word a taunt. “Well?”

Tomioka watches her with the same heavy stare he always has. He’s never spoken much, but his silence is strong enough to not require words. All he has to do is let his eyes fall on someone before they want to escape the weight of his gaze. But she won’t give him the satisfaction of turning away. She never has. 

“Kocho,” Tomioka says. Somehow, his voice is the one thing that convinces her this might not be some feverish haze. With a sigh, he takes a step closer. His hand finds her sword, still within its sheath, and he urges her to lower it to the floor. Her own hands discard it without much argument. “You look pale.”

Huh. “What?”

“You look pale,” Tomioka repeats. She’s still sitting up, but now, he presses a gentle hand against her shoulders. His claws nearly skim the collar of her own yukata, and she flinches away. “Sorry. You should lie down.”

“No,” Shinobu says resolutely, even as she lies down again. “What are you doing here? I thought you would be killed. This time, at least.”

Tomioka’s voice is hollow as he says, “So did I.” His eyes slide over to her sword, now forgotten. “Does your sword have poison in the scabbard?”

“Yes. Wait. Why?” Her brain is far too exhausted to keep up with his winding train of thought. 

“I need to weaken the bond first. Then we can talk.” Before she can stop him, Tomioka unsheathes her sword. Then, against all reason, he aims the blade at his own chest. 

“Wait. Wait!” 

Shinobu sits up so quickly that her head spins. Somehow, her hands find their way to the hilt of her sword and cover Tomioka’s. The back of his hands are warm—delightfully so. If he were still human, his knuckles and fingers would have scars to match her own, the blisters that come with the territory of being swordsmen. As a demon, his skin is smooth to the touch. It’s almost enough to distract from that momentary panic at watching Tomioka turn her weapon on himself.

Tomioka freezes in place, his eyebrows high. “What?”

“You don’t have to stab yourself.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Tomioka-san.” Shinobu resists the urge to pinch his thumb for good measure. “Can you find my uniform? Then check the pocket. I think I left the bottle there.”

His eyes hold a million questions, but thankfully, he knows better than to argue. He releases his grip on her weapon, and she puts it away. She hears the rustle of fabric as he searches through the pockets. In the meantime, she lies down again, trying to focus on anything else but the white flash in her brain. 

When Tomioka returns to kneel at her side, he has the pill bottle from Tamayo in hand.

“Good,” Shinobu says. “Now take one.”

She expects him to object and be difficult about it, but she’s even more thrown when he doesn’t ask anything at all. He simply pops one pill in his mouth without another word.

“What?” Shinobu is indignant. She can’t remember him ever being this daft and clueless. “Don’t just trust me! At least ask what it’s for!”

Tomioka offers her a strange look. “I’m Upper Five. A tiny pill won’t kill me.” He sets the bottle down beside her. “Besides, you told me to.”

“So? I tried to kill you before.”

“But your fighting spirit is calm now.”

There it is again—the mention of a fighting spirit. She can guess what he means, but with his reverent manner of speaking, she suspects there’s more behind it to him and Akaza. But she’ll have to set aside her curiosity for the time being. There are a million questions waiting on the edge of her tongue, some more concerning than others.

“Wisteria,” Tomioka murmurs once he swallows. The traces of it must be faint as Tamayo advised they would be, but he recognizes the contents regardless. 

Shinobu tugs the covers back up to her neck until her face is the only part of her that’s visible. With that temporary surge of adrenaline gone, her mind has remembered how numb she is. She wishes she’d asked Tomioka to close the window on his way inside. 

“Tamayo-san said the concentration of it should be less,” she says. Part of her is tempted to shut her eyes, if only to alleviate the pounding in her skull. “You shouldn’t have to worry about decomposing it. Your body will do so naturally.”

“The runaway made this?”

“Yes. Do be grateful. Now you won’t have to puke blood.”

Tomioka’s lips flatten. She can see the questions brimming in his eyes, but before he has the chance to ask any, she interrupts him.

“You won’t have to poison yourself to weaken the bond anymore,” Shinobu says. “This will be enough.” That is—if Tomioka even bothers to appear in the future. 

But Tomioka nods in agreement. “It…works,” he murmurs. 

“You said we could talk once you weakened the bond.”

“I did.” Tomioka rests his hands in his lap. He regards her out of the corner of his eyes, all bundled up against the invisible chill. 

Even her tongue feels heavy. Speaking requires more energy than ever before, but she understands well enough that, even in her current condition, Tomioka won’t be the one doing the talking. “He didn’t kill you,” she says, stating the obvious. “You’re still alive.” A pause. “Were you punished?”

At that, his gaze lowers to the floor. There’s an emptiness to his voice as he answers, “I’m unfit to be a Kizuki. If I were better, I wouldn’t have disappointed Muzan-sama.” An indignant response rises inside her, but he continues before she can voice it. “We were all punished for our failure.”

Without meaning to, one of his hands glides against the collar of his yukata. There’s a reddish bruise that she hadn’t noticed before in her feverish haze concealed beneath the fabric. It climbs towards his neck and dips beneath the fabric towards his chest. Her instincts as a doctor want to urge him to show her, to reveal the mark so that she can assess the damage for herself. But he’s a demon. Surely, an injury inflicted upon him—even by the progenitor of demons himself—won’t remain forever. 

Still, it’s an injury he’s received because of his foolish mercy towards her. The guilt gnaws at her heart. 

The question slips out before she can help it. “Are you in pain?”

Tomioka’s hand freezes over his chest before he lets it drop into his lap again. “I’m okay now,” he says, his voice small. 

This—this is something she’ll have to remember in their inevitable fight against Muzan. This lingering pain that’s left Tomioka so hollow and ashamed. She wants to repay this back tenfold, and that can only be done by ensuring Muzan dies a terrible, torturous death.

“Okay.” Shinobu’s eyes drift shut. “That’s good.”

A few seconds pass in silence that’s neither uncomfortable nor frustrating, and Shinobu almost forgets Tomioka’s still there until he speaks. “You look unwell, Kocho.”

She scoffs. “You flatter me.”

“I mean it. I always thought that you look pale for a human. That you must feel unwell constantly.”

Shinobu jolts against her will, her eyes flying open. There’s no way Tomioka is referring to his memories from when he was human. He’s said countless times he doesn’t remember anything from his life before being turned into a demon. Even so, he teeters dangerously close to the truth for her liking—far closer than anyone has ever come before. 

“I’m fine,” she assures him, her tone light and breezy. She waves him off with a flap of her hand. “I’m tired, that’s all. It’s not easy fighting two Upper Ranks at once.”

Tomioka considers her words. He seems to decide it isn’t worth fighting her on this. Instead, he draws the bucket of water closer and retrieves the towel she used to cool her forehead. It must have been discarded when she tried to threaten him. 

“I’m sorry,” Tomioka says. Her head spins at the sound of his apology, and it only worsens when she tries to look at him. 

“What for, Tomioka-san?”

He draws in a sharp breath as he soaks the towel inside several times. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to lead Shinazugawa and Iguro to you. I didn’t want you to hate me for turning you into a demon.” His gaze hardens. “But I also didn’t want anyone else to get hurt for my mistakes.”

There’s no doubt in her mind that he’s being sincere. He sounds conflicted as he speaks, like doubt weaves its way into his mind from all angles. She knows better how the bond between him and Muzan is more of a curse than a blessing. It must be a nightmare to even consider defying his orders, and for Tomioka to do it not once, but twice, is nothing short of a miracle. It’s just like him to want to shoulder all the blame himself. There is plenty she can blame him for, but not this. Not a choice he didn’t make for himself. Not a life that was forced upon him.

“It’s not your fault, Tomioka-san,” she says, trying to convey even half of the sincerity she feels. “I would have hated being turned into a demon, but I underestimated how strong the bond is. That’s my bad.” She lets out a dramatic sigh. “I owe you. You saved me. Twice. It’s annoying.”

Tomioka stills halfway between pulling the towel out of the bucket. “I’m…sorry?”

“You should be. It’s inconvenient being in debt to a demon.”

“Then don’t pay me back.” Tomioka raises the towel over her head, and before she fully realizes what he intends to do, it lands with a squelch onto her skin. 

“Ow.” Shinobu pushes it further back so that it doesn’t cover her eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Instead of answering immediately, his knuckles skim her forehead, almost as if he’s too wary to rest his hand against her skin completely. “You’re warm,” he says. “Humans aren’t supposed to be this warm, are they?”

“It’s a small fever.” Her teeth chatter louder than before. “It’ll pass.”

He gives her a dubious look. A sudden breeze flits in through the open window, and a full-body shiver runs through her. Her mouth opens to ask Tomioka to shut it, but he’s already standing before she gets the chance to. He marches over, pushes it shut, and returns to her side.

She doesn’t want to thank him for that. His foolish consideration.

“Kocho,” he says. There’s an underlying urgency to how he says her name, and she forces herself to meet his eyes even though he stands over her now. He hesitates, his throat jumping. 

“What is it, Tomioka-san? I might pass out soon, so if you need to ask me something…”

His fingers twitch. “I need…more blood.”

The request brings unwanted memories back to the surface of her mind—of how he cradled her close, of that haziness to his eyes, of how breathless he sounded while he licked at the cut on her cheek, almost as if he lost control of his own actions. She’s tried to push that from her mind, and she was almost successful too. But now, it’s all she can focus on. She needs to blink a few times to clear her head enough to remember that Tamayo did provide her with more blood in case it was needed.

“Over there.” Shinobu motions in the left corner of the room where her bag sits. “Can you find it?”

Tomioka hums in agreement as he searches through her belongings, and with him out of sight, she can almost force him out of her mind. Almost.

“Have you…” It’s a difficult question to ask. If he answers one way, she won’t be able to hide her frustration. “Have you…eaten since we’ve been apart?”

The answer is almost instantaneous. “No. I thought—I didn’t want you to be angry with me, so.”

He might as well have punched her in the stomach. His answer knocks the wind out of her, and even if she was in the right state of mind, she’d have trouble wrapping her head around this. 

Tomioka is a newly-turned demon, forced to consume large amounts of Muzan’s blood in order to join the Upper Ranks at a frightening speed. He mentioned before how difficult it was to curb his hunger. Is this the cure at work?

I didn’t want you to be angry with me, he said. Is that what he senses through her fighting spirit? Endless anger? It wouldn’t come as a surprise.

“That’s great, Tomioka-san!” Shinobu says cheerfully. Because it truly, truly is. If she can convince him to spare one life, that’s one more person’s happiness that is saved. “How do you feel?”

The sound of slurping fills the room in response, and even though she can’t see him, she can almost hear the desperation. He might have restrained himself, but his control hung by a thread. After all, if he hadn’t been ravenous, he would have never…touched her like that. 

“Hungry,” Tomioka says decidedly, after pausing long enough to grace her with a response. He slurps for a few more heartbeats. “The hunger doesn’t go away.” Another lapse of silence. “I don’t know if I can do this forever.”

“I think you can!” The logical side of her wants to call herself out as a liar. She’s sensible enough to know this can’t last. After a few days, Tomioka is in this starving state. If someone were to be injured in front of him, she’s not certain she’d trust him to hold himself back. But—he’s held himself back before. He’s done it numerous times now. She doesn’t have to give into reason so soon, especially when hardly any time has passed. “Anyhow, I can get you more blood.”

“It’s not the blood. I can feel it. Blood isn’t a substitute for flesh. Maybe if I were stronger, better… Maybe Akaza could do it, but I don’t think I can.”

The implication that Akaza might have more self-control than Tomioka irks her. She has to resist letting her dislike of Upper Three show. It’s clear in how he speaks of him that there is respect between them, and the last thing she needs is to get on Tomioka’s bad side. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. Akaza…” He trails off, almost like he’s realized he’s about to reveal more than he should. “Akaza…doesn’t eat women.”

The information doesn’t strike her as new, but it’s no less surprising. Tomioka might have mentioned it the first time Akaza came after them, but she’d brushed it off in the heat of the moment. After all, demons were cruel to all and kind to none. What reason would Upper Three have to refrain from eating women?

“Why?” Shinobu asks, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“I don’t know,” Tomioka says. There’s a harsh tear as he opens another bag. “I don’t think…he knows either. He doesn’t eat—doesn’t kill women.”

There must be a reason, some buried memory that hasn’t quite climbed to the surface. She wishes she could learn why, but it looks like this is a dead end, too. All she has is Tomioka’s word. She has her own reasons to doubt that a Kizuki might be particular about who he kills. 

“Interesting,” Shinobu says. The sounds of slurping fill the room once more. Outside, the cicadas buzz, and in the distance, she hears the faint calls of the Kasugai crow. Although the rest of the wisteria house and the connecting inn must be abuzz with activity, in her separate room, all is quiet. She wishes she felt well enough to enjoy it.

Once Tomioka finishes, she calls out to him. “Tomioka-san.”

“Mm?”

“Come sit by my side.” She pats the spot he vacated to search for the blood. “I’m not done talking.”

“You should be.” Though he still wanders back over to her. He settles down at the side of her futon. “You should rest.”

“How can I? I have a dangerous Upper Rank in my bedroom who’s hovering like a mother hen.”

Tomioka has the gall to roll his eyes at her.

It takes a moment for her eyes to focus on his profile, on how he regards her with some wariness in his gaze, like he’s trying to predict what she’ll say, only to fail. There’s a droplet of blood stuck on his bottom lip, but she doesn’t have the energy to point it out. It’ll take enough out of her to pry what she needs out of Tomioka.

“You keep insisting that you’re not strong enough,” Shinobu says. “I want you to tell me why you think you’re unfit to be a Kizuki. Now.”

Chapter Text

Her question is less of a question and more of an order. Even after she speaks, it hangs in the air between them, and the atmosphere in the room is suddenly as tense as it had been when he first climbed through the window. 

Tomioka refuses to meet her eyes, instead staring down at his lap, where he wrings his hands. She almost feels guilty for pushing on a door that she knows he’s locked a thousand times.

But the way he speaks concerns her. She’s seen all kinds of demons—ones who were overly confident and arrogant, only to fall prey to an early demise, ones who were terrified by their weakness when facing down a Hashira, ones who craved power, who stopped at nothing to build the strength they believed they lacked. Out of all the Kizuki, she suspects most of them—if not all—have some level of pride in their capabilities. Other demons die in droves at the hands of the Corps, but the Upper Ranks have always been different. No matter how many Hashira they send, they never seem to fall so easily.

Tomioka is Upper Five. He must have done something to show that he was worthy of that ranking, yet he doesn’t seem to believe it himself. It’s almost reminiscent of how he spoke of himself as a Hashira in comparison to the rest of them. 

I’m not like the rest of you. 

For a demon, Tomioka reflects a level of self-doubt and indifference that is unusual. He’s endured deadly blows without flinching. He’s been willing to ingest wisteria poison on a whim. When she held her chin in order for Tamayo to extract blood, there wasn’t a single ounce of fight in him. 

Akaza mentioned that Tomioka’s fighting spirit—whatever that means—was almost nonexistent. Has Tomioka lost the will to live? Surely, a demon created from Muzan’s cells wouldn’t want to die. 

“Will you tell me?” Shinobu offers a placating smile to ease the blow of her earlier request. It’s the first time she’s smiled since he arrived. The fever has been too much of a distraction otherwise. “I’d like to know. Maybe I can help you!”

His eyelids shut with exasperation. “You can’t help. This isn’t fixable.”

“You have such little faith in me. It’s upsetting.”

The next few minutes pass in silence. Every so often, Tomioka releases a long sigh. She debates breaking it to ask her question again, but on some level, she recognizes this isn’t a silence that he wants her to fill. He needs it to figure out his next words. 

This time, when he drenches the towel in the bucket of water and drapes it over her forehead, she doesn’t complain even though he hits her in the eye. 

“There’s nothing to fix,” Tomioka says as he smooths out the towel. With more gentleness than a demon can afford, he brushes a stray strand of hair away from her face. Her stomach twists almost painfully. Perhaps she’s coming down with a stomach ache as well. “I’m not strong enough to be a Kizuki. I’m aware of this, and so is Muzan-sama. That’s why I keep disappointing him.”

“What do you—”

But it’s like the dam has broken, and now that Tomioka has begun speaking, he can’t stop. “If it were anyone else that had been sent after you that first night, you would have become a demon. They wouldn’t have hesitated. They would have…done it. But I…” He huffs. “I’m only Upper Five because Akaza took me under his wing. If he hadn’t trained me, I probably would’ve been killed by a weak slayer.”

“That’s…” He sounds like he regrets being merciful towards her, and she has the urge to punch him for that alone. “You do realize you were a Hashira? You weren’t weak. You’ve never been weak.”

“Something is wrong with me,” Tomioka insists. “Akaza said I had one of the most stunning fighting spirits he’d ever seen when we fought, but since I’ve become a demon, he says it’s disappeared.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Who cares what Akaza thinks? I, for one, don’t.”

“I feel like my existence is a bother to him—to the rest of the Kizuki.”

Shinobu has to reel in her disdain for Akaza then. Tomioka clearly cares about what he thinks of him. “Why do you say that?”

Tomioka shrugs. “Shinazugawa and Iguro say that I’m useless. Akaza says that I’ll become strong enough to fight Douma with him one day, but he’s still waiting for that to happen.” A noise of irritation leaves his lips. “Muzan-sama hates me, and I know why now, but he’s always hated me.”

“You were a Hashira. Your life was dedicated to killing him.”

His voice is small as he admits, “He hates me more than he hates Shinazugawa and Iguro.”

That is—peculiar. She would have assumed that hatred would be spread equally among the former Hashira. Would Muzan really hate Tomioka for his personality over the others?

Tomioka flexes his fingers. “I don’t even think I’d care if he killed me,” he says. “He keeps me alive to fill the empty spots, but—I don’t know why Akaza wants to get stronger. Strength doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care about my rank. I feel so… aimless . I’m supposed to serve Muzan-sama, but I only do it because it’s what I’m told.” He clenches his hand into a fist. “I’m not like the other Kizuki. I know this isn’t how I’m meant to feel.”

Is this the cure at work? No, these seeds of doubt have been planted long ago. They might only be growing because of the two doses in his system, but Tomioka must have felt like this for the past few months. 

He speaks of an emptiness she can’t relate to. After Kanae died, she desperately wanted to stop feeling anything. That unstoppable rage was all-consuming, and even her mask was prone to cracks at the most inopportune of times. There are days where she wonders what she would want if she hadn’t dedicated her life to the sole purpose of revenge. What would she imagine for herself then? 

Kanae wanted her to live a long life—to marry and live a life in peace far from the battlefield. But she never let herself imagine that sort of normalcy. How could she when the lives of everyone she loved ended in tragedy? 

To feel nothing but self-loathing sounds devastating. Self-loathing while feeling everything is hard enough for her.

“Is there something you want to do, Tomioka-san?”

Tomioka doesn’t answer. 

“For what it’s worth,” Shinobu murmurs, her eyes drifting shut, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. You won’t remember this, but when I first became a Hashira, I thought you were cold to the bone.”

He huffs at that. “Oh.”

“I was wrong, of course. We were on a mission together once. There was this young girl, Yae. Her father had become a demon, and she was determined to put him out of his misery, even though she only had a shotgun to defend herself with.”

“What happened?”

“You killed her father.” It isn’t pleasant recalling what happened next—how despair overtook Yae completely, to the point that she wished to end her own life. “It was exactly what Yae intended, but as soon as his life ended, she tried to follow him.”

Without opening her eyes, every nerve in her body is aware of how still Tomioka is beside her. Her recollection of a time he doesn’t remember might be irritating for him, but she has a sense that isn’t the case. She has a feeling he’s drinking in her words, trying to pin the details to memories he can’t grasp onto. 

“You said my name with such panic,” Shinobu murmurs. Even now, she remembers the pure desperation in his voice. She’s never heard him sound like that again. When she tried to corner the Kamados on Mount Natagumo, he’d been the perfect picture of calm. But not then—not when someone’s life nearly slipped through their own fingertips. “You were terrified for her.”

There’s a note of hesitation in his voice as he asks, “Did she…?”

“She survived. The shotgun jammed, and after, you were able to convince her to keep living—for her father’s sake, too.”

A heartbeat passes. “I see.”

“You are not an uncaring person, Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says. There are others who might disagree, who misinterpret his attitude as aloof and unfeeling. She likes to think she knows him better than that. “I don’t think you’re wrong in how you feel. If you were like the rest of the Kizuki, we wouldn’t be able to sit here and talk like this.”

She’d be dead, or worse, a demon. What Tomioka views as weakness has turned out to be his saving grace, the reason the Corps are willing to lead their former Hashira back to peace.

She wants to open her eyes, wants to catch a glimpse of his expression to see whether he agrees, but everything feels impossibly heavy, and even the simple act of looking over at him has become an insurmountable task. Her body trembles with another chill invisible to all but her. 

When she’s able to pry her eyes apart, Tomioka stares down at her, puzzled.

“What?” she demands. The softness to her voice is gone now, and there’s only sharpness left in its place.

Tomioka chews on the inside of his cheek. “You fell asleep.”

“What?” She didn’t even notice. “For how long?”

“Just a minute.”

“Oh.”

“You’re tired, Kocho.” He removes the towel from her forehead to restart the process of replacing it, newly damp. “Sleep.”

Shinobu should listen to him. Her dreams beckon to her, tugging down on what remains of her consciousness, and that weight presses down on her with renewed force, leaving her a sweaty mess as she writhes and shivers. It would be reasonable to rest—to let her body relax and prepare for tomorrow. 

There is a seed of dread that fears that this entire conversation has been a fever-induced haze. It’s almost too good to be true. She doesn’t trust her mind to remember what he’s told her, and it’s important that she does. He might never get the chance to voice his thoughts to anyone like this again. The least she can do is ensure he’s heard. 

“I can look at your injury,” she suggests. “It would be terrible if—”

“Sleep, Kocho.”

“You’re so demanding.”

Tomioka doesn’t grace her with a response. He drops the towel on her forehead, and she’s now certain he does it in such a sloppy manner on purpose. But the exhaustion has caught up to her, and she’s too tired to fight back.

Her mind drifts off before her body follows suit. Her breathing slows. Before her vision darkens, she spots the outline of Tomioka’s figure, and she’s surprised to see that he doesn’t move even as her eyes shut.

Asleep. Finally.

Giyuu worried she would never let herself rest. He supposes he didn’t make it any easier by coming to visit her, but he couldn’t stop himself. The logical side to his brain wants to reason that it was for purely selfish reasons: he needed blood, and the only one who’s offered it is Kocho. However, the other more emotional side wants to admit that he’d been worried—that despite watching her remain human last night, he wanted to confirm it with his own eyes tonight. 

He has his answer now. How he can mistake her as anything but human with how she shivers from a fever a demon would never worry about? With how her entire body sweats in an effort to nurse her back to perfect health? He hasn’t watched any humans fall ill while he’s been a demon, so he can’t determine the cause himself. Kocho said it was from exhaustion. She might be right.

In any case, he no longer has a reason to say. His conversation with Kocho was brief—and overwhelming. He wasn’t able to respond much in the moment, but in the aftermath, his head might explode from the newfound information. To hear of a version of himself he can’t recall is like reading a story happening to someone else. It’s disorienting and sets him on edge more than he likes. He isn’t fond of this uneasiness.

With a sigh, Giyuu shrugs off the haori he wears and tosses it on top of Kocho’s shivering form. There aren’t any more covers or sheets in the closet; he’d checked when searching for blood. He's in no position to request more when he isn’t supposed to be here either. This is all he can offer, and he’s fallen short in this regard, too.

She sleeps far too easily knowing well he is meant to kill her. Now that Muzan knows she can’t be turned, he’s lost interest in wanting Kocho to become a demon.

Kill the poisoner, Muzan said earlier, while digging his claws into Giyuu’s chest. In the same breath, Giyuu felt all of his internal organs burst. Kill all the Hashira you see. If they cannot be turned, I no longer have use for any of them. They are more dangerous alive.

Yes, Muzan-sama, he chorused along with the others, as their innards spilled across the floors of the Infinity Castle. 

He’s lucky he walked away with his life, but—

When he looks down at his chest, the color of that bruise hasn’t changed. His body should have healed within seconds, but the imprint of Muzan’s hand hasn’t faded, like his master wanted to physically etch the memory of his punishment into his skin. He hopes it’ll disappear soon. It still stings like it had when the claws first pierced the skin. It’s unusual for any wound to linger for longer than a few seconds, and he doesn’t know what to make of his body seeming so fragile. But perhaps that’s what Muzan intended: his strength is unstoppable unless Muzan himself decides to take it.

Muzan would kill him on the spot if he knew he was here, watching over Kocho as she slept. He’s run out of second chances. Muzan might be desperate, but he’s not a fool.

So why—why—is he here?

Giyuu snatches the towel from Kocho’s forehead and dunks it in the bucket. The water is already too warm to have much of an effect, but he soaks it all the same. He raises it over her forehead. Before, he was trying to irk her with his clumsiness. Now, he doesn’t want to disturb her.

For once, her eyes are shut, and the sharpness to her expression has eased in sleep. Though her body still reacts to a cold he cannot feel, she’s far more relaxed than he’s ever seen her. It’s unusual that she would be this at ease when she knows he hasn’t left. It’s a far cry from how she tried to shove him out of her room when they first traveled together. 

He almost misses how simple everything felt then.

Giyuu is about to place the towel back on her forehead when the door slides open.

The Hashira with the dizzying fighting spirit fills the center of the entrance. Her chest heaves like she sprinted across the entire inn to make it here. Her pink-and-green hair has nearly fallen out of the braids. With one hand on her scabbard, her gaze flickers between him, frozen halfway above Kocho’s figure, and Kocho, asleep without stirring at her comrade’s arrival.

The towel slides out of his grip and lands on Kocho’s forehead with a plop that echoes through the entire room. He winces, but luckily, Kocho doesn’t react. She must be exhausted if she hasn’t at least cracked open an eye.

It’s time to leave, Giyuu decides. He leaps to his feet and jumps backwards until his feet reach the window frame. With one hand braced on the edge, he can ease himself out without another sound. He can avoid drawing further attention to himself.

But the voice of the Hashira stops him in his tracks. “Tomioka-san, were you…?”

Now that he’s left Kocho’s side, the Hashira has taken a few steps closer to her to check that she’s unharmed. Giyuu notices how her eyes linger on the towel, on the haori. 

“Were you…helping Shinobu-chan?”

Wordlessly, Tomioka clambers the rest of the way out of the window. It takes all of three steps until he’s back in the forest with enough distance between them. He breaks off into a run, leaving those three brilliant fighting spirits behind him. 

She’s alone in her room when she rouses from sleep later on. The fever has seeped out of her system, thanks to her medicine, and the headache that plagued her yesterday has left her alone. By all accounts, she’s back to normal: head clear, well rested. 

There’s no evidence that Tomioka was there the previous night, save for a navy blue haori that’s been draped across her. There’s no time to ponder the oddly considerate gesture before there’s a knock at her door. 

“Yes?” Shinobu calls. 

“Shinobu-chan?” Kanroji slides open the door to her room with some degree of hesitation. When she spots that Shinobu’s already awake and alert, she relaxes. “How are you feeling?”

She offers a reassuring smile. There’s no need to let Mitsuri know that her headache was more than exhaustion. “I’m fine! Much better, see? All I needed was a good night’s rest.”

“Mm.” Kanroji chews on her bottom lip as Shinobu begins rolling up the covers she procured. It looks like she might say something else, but even when Shinobu glances over at her, she’s quiet. In the end, all she adds is, “You went to sleep early.”

“I did.” Ah. Kanroji did promise to check on her last night. “I’m sorry. Did you come to see me? I fell asleep pretty early.”

“Uh-huh. It’s okay. You must have been tired.”

“Yeah.” After folding the last of the covers, she puts them all away in the closet. She still has her futon to tidy up, but her room is nearly cleared. There is the matter of her uniform and haori, still stained with blood; she hadn’t thought to ask someone to get her clothes washed before separating. But she can always wait and wash her clothes back at her estate. Right now, returning to Headquarters is the priority. “How is Himejima-san?”

“He went off on his own this morning to pray, but he should be returning soon.”

“Alright.” Shinobu straightens. She can wait to finish cleaning. She fell asleep last night without a proper meal, and she’s famished. “Let’s head down to breakfast, shall we?”

“Okay!” 

Kanroji waits for her at the door. When Shinobu walks past her, there’s an unspoken question in her eyes, one that threatens to burst from the seams. Kanroji isn’t the type to hold secrets or stop herself from talking. If she’s hesitant now, there must be something pressing on her mind. 

“Kanroji-san,” Shinobu says. “Are you alright?”

At once, her expression clears, leaving Shinobu to wonder if she imagined it. “Just fine! Let’s eat. I’m starving!”

They depart from the wisteria house in the early afternoon. There’s enough sun out that there isn’t the danger of stumbling upon any demons, and they’re close enough to Headquarters that they can cross the distance before night falls. Umeko bids them farewell at the gates to the inn with a deep bow and safe wishes on their journey. 

Himejima and Kanroji have both changed back into their uniforms for the trip back. Unfortunately, as her uniform is still dirty, she leaves with them in one of Umeko’s spare kimonos. Even Kanae’s haori hadn’t been spared from the bloodshed. Instead, she wears Tomioka’s haori over the clothes, despite it being far too long on her—though it certainly isn’t the first time she’s worn a haori that hadn’t been made with her in mind.

It smells like him, which is the most troublesome part. Like the air from the tip of a mountain combined with sea salt. With each step, the sleeves roll past her wrists, and she has to push them back up to her elbows. Kanroji ogled her for an awfully long time when she first left the inn, which made her worry that Tomioka had worn this during their fight and Kanroji somehow remembered. But no, there’s no way Kanroji would know that this haori was his. She’d like to keep it that way.

She recalls more of their conversation than she expected despite the fever haze. She remembers how hollow his voice sounded, how pained he was when he spoke of himself.

The last thing she needs is more guilt. She’s already doing as much as she can. She’s working on the cure, she’s providing him with blood, she’s helping him weaken the bond. She can’t withstand his pain, too. She can’t even make sense of her own.

But that doesn’t mean she can sit by and do nothing either. 

Perhaps Tamayo would have some insight. Maybe there’s someone who would know how to help him. The problem is whether or not he wants her help.

There’s one question still at the front of her mind. She was too flustered yesterday to consider why he showed up to see her at all. Was it because he needed blood? It’s possible considering he hasn’t eaten flesh in days. But then, he didn’t need to stay—didn’t need to leave behind his haori to keep her warm. 

Shinobu is so lost in her own thoughts that an annoyed huff makes its way out of her mouth against her will. 

Himejima regards her, confused. “Shinobu?”

“Yes?”

“Is something the matter?”

“Nothing!” There’s nothing that can be done to fix how infuriating Tomioka can be. She’s half-convinced he gets under her skin in a way everyone else is immune to. “We’re nearly there, aren’t we?”

“Yes!” Kanroji leads their group at the front, her braids swinging with each stride. “Nearly.”

Good. She’s been away for only a day, and it feels like an eternity has gone by. She pushes up her left sleeve again as she climbs over a fallen tree trunk. 

The trio continue walking until they see the telltale signs of the first fences surrounding Headquarters. From above, En soars ahead, assured in their destination. It takes them another ten minutes to reach the Butterfly Estate.

“We’re here!” Kanroji says cheerfully. She twists back to face her and Himejima. “I’m going to go take another bath unless you need me.”

Shinobu waves her off. “It’s no problem. I’ll see you later, Kanroji-san.”

“Bye, Kanroji.” Himejima dips his head. 

Just before Kanroji starts in the direction of her own home, Shinobu calls out, “I’ll work on the butterfly clips, alright? I haven’t forgotten.”

There’s a sheen in her eyes. “Shinobu-chan…” The absence of her green socks is noticeable. Kanroji hadn’t been able to bear putting on one without the other. 

“I won’t forget!”

With that, Kanroji nods before heading off. 

To her surprise, like last time, Himejima seems to hover, like he’s waiting for something to happen. 

“Himejima-san?”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to report to Oyakata-sama?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Why are you still here then?”

A sense of déjà vu hits her as Himejima falters. This isn’t unlike this morning when she waited for Kanroji to say what was on her mind, only for the question to never come. Himejima is always honest. She’s never known him to hold back in any regard, but like before, he clearly has something more to say. 

“If you won’t speak, can I ask a question?” 

Himejima nods.

“How were you there?” she asks. “In Asakusa? You can’t lie and say that you were on a mission nearby.”

It’s been on her mind since yesterday. As much as she was grateful for his opportune arrival, the timing was almost too perfect. There was no way he should have been able to find his way through Yushiro’s technique unless—

“I followed you two,” Himejima admits. The tears swell in his eyes out of guilt. “I’m sorry, Shinobu. I came by to visit you at your estate when Amane stopped to give you the details of your mission. On her way out, I asked if I should accompany you.”

She supposes that makes sense. It only stings a little. It’s bad enough that she needed an escort. “I see.”

“It is not that I believe you are weak,” Himejima says. There are two rivulets that stream down his face. “It is that I worry deeply for you. There is only so much I can do, but I…feel responsible for your livelihood. Saving you once for you to die tomorrow would cause me incredible sorrow.”

Her throat feels thick. She can’t be annoyed at him for long. The sincerity leaks from his voice as quickly as he cries. It only worsens her own guilt at knowing that—in the end—he will face that sorrow he fears when she doesn’t survive. “Kanae’s death wasn’t your fault,” she says, her voice soft.

It’s rare that she mentions Kanae to anyone. Whenever her sister comes to mind, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain the facade she plays. It’s like Kanae hangs over her shoulders, tearing back the mask whenever her name is invoked. 

“I know,” Himejima murmurs. “Death is rarely one person’s fault, and still, we all feel guilt from it.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t hurry towards your death, Shinobu.” Himejima’s hands rise in prayer. “I didn’t worry enough about Kanae because she didn’t have a death wish, but you…”

One of her eyebrows quirks up. “You think I have a death wish?”

“I think you toe the line often in the hopes that it’ll bring you comfort from those you’ve lost.” 

His words cause her heart to ache. The worst part is that they’re not untrue. 

“I’m perfectly alright, Himejima-san,” Shinobu says in an attempt to reassure him, though she’s convinced it’s a lost cause. There are a few people she cannot pretend in front of, and Himejima is one of them. “With the antitoxin, I’m not in danger anymore.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do you think I’m lying?”

“I sensed Tomioka leave the inn,” Himejima says, and she freezes. “I didn’t sense him enter, or I would’ve come running. Why was he there?”

“Why don’t you ask him? I don’t think he knows himself. All we did was talk. He drank some blood. Then he left. That’s it.”

He exhales through his nostrils. “I see.” A pause. “I only want you to be careful. I’m sorry…for being overbearing.”

He is, though he isn’t wrong to be. She can’t be annoyed by it. So few people have the nerve to pick her apart beneath a microscope these days. When Himejima does it, she knows it comes from a place of good intentions. “It’s alright,” she says. 

“Was…Tomioka alright?”

Physically, not really. Mentally, definitely not. “Not exactly.” She sighs. “We need the cure immediately. Every time I see him, I worry it’ll be the last.”

Himejima nods in agreement. “I’ll let Oyakata-sama know.” He bows to her. “Farewell, Shinobu.”

She heads to the gate of her estate. “Goodbye, Himejima-san.” Once he’s gone, she motions towards En, perched on the top of the fence. “En, will you go fetch Tokito-kun for me?”

“YES, SHINOBU-SAMA.” 

With that, Shinobu enters through the gate. There are more loose ends to tie, after all.

The bruise on his chest hasn’t faded yet.

Obanai lets out an aggravated sigh as he releases the collar of his kimono, letting the fabric fall back into place. It isn’t a pretty sight. The coloration is a reddish-brown, almost resembling a handprint. It’s been so long since he’s suffered injuries that he’s forgotten what it’s like to have the memory stain his skin. 

But it’s nothing he doesn’t deserve. As much as he wishes he could have met Muzan’s expectations, the reality is that he fell short. They all did. The simple task of turning the poisoner into a demon became an impossibility, so it’s only natural that Muzan would take out his frustration on the three of them. To make matters worse, he might have been able to soften his master’s edge if he had at least eliminated one of the four remaining Hashira, but he wasn’t even able to do that.

In the end, he ran from her. Not out of fear, exactly. He doesn’t know what to make of how his insides ached at the sight of her injuries, at the sound of her socks tearing apart. His brain felt like it was bleeding, his vision was nothing but white light, and every limb in his body stopped obeying his command. It’s like the discomfort was a force stronger than him. The only time he felt pain like that was later that same night when Muzan dug his claws into his chest and tore into his heart.

He hates that feeling. He wanted to run from it. Run from her.

That foolish Love Hashira. 

Obanai spent some time observing her before Kaburamaru forced his hand. He watched as she regarded all of the strangers passing by with something akin to longing. When she went to help the vendor, it would have been the perfect time to catch her off guard. But every time he thought about it, something stilled his hand, an instinct deep in his gut. Instead, he kept his eyes on her as she offered her assistance and asked for nothing in return. 

Despite being a stranger, she interacted with the vendor and his grandchild with nothing but unerring kindness. It makes her naive, and he was proven right when all she could ask him later was if he was alright.

She has no reason to dwell on human sentimentality. He’s a demon. All pain is momentary, and his life is eternal. He has no familiarity with suffering. He’s not weak. He’s not thin-skinned, like Tomioka. 

He’s not.

“Hey.”

Shinazugawa’s voice drags him from the depths of his thoughts.

Obanai lifts his head from where he sits cross-legged at the base of a tree trunk. They haven’t made much distance since Nakime released them from the clutches of the Infinity Castle. Tomioka left them soon after without another word, meaning that the two of them are alone.

He hasn’t been able to confess his failure to Shinazugawa directly. Muzan danced around the topic of the Love Hashira when administering their punishment, but judging by how deeply his claws dug in, he knew about everything from the moment Obanai hesitated. Still, it’s one thing for his master to know. It’s another to admit to his shortcomings aloud, especially when he doesn’t understand what caused his body to rebel.

“Yeah?” Obanai says.

“You want to go hunting?” he asks. Kaburamaru lets out a harsh hiss. “Maybe it’ll help us heal.”

Shinazugawa normally leaves his clothes unbuttoned. Tonight, though, he’s covered his shame. An identical bruise hides on his own chest. 

“Maybe,” Obanai agrees. Kaburamaru bites into his neck, and with a long-suffering sigh, Obanai detaches him and sets him down in his lap. “Shinazugawa.”

Shinazugawa cocks his head. “Yeah?”

Obanai can’t help but hesitate. Ironically, he feels like he might be better off talking about this with Tomioka. At least, Tomioka’s failed in the same way. “Did you…want to hesitate at all while fighting the poisoner?”

“Huh? No.”

Of course he wouldn’t have. There’s a reason Shinazugawa is above him and Tomioka in ranking. “Ah.”

“Why do you ask?”

It’s worse talking about it out loud, he decides. If Muzan sifts through his memories, that shame remains unspoken. If he tells Shinazugawa about his doubts, he breathes them into existence. “No reason,” he says, standing up. “The Hashira—the Love Hashira, I mean—she acted like she knew me.”

“We probably knew them all.” Shinazugawa shrugs. “From before.”

Right. The mention of a before never seemed so significant until now. 

“Did she say something to you?” Shinazugawa asks.

“Eh, no.” Nothing that wouldn’t sound foolish out of his own mouth. “I was just curious. Maybe Tomioka’s not an exception. Maybe he’s the start of a pattern.”

Shinazugawa levels him with a flat look. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He barely knows himself. All he knows is that he hasn’t stopped thinking about the Hashira. Even without knowing her name, her existence has become an all-consuming memory—everything from her breathing style, to her voice, to that unwavering concern in her gaze. No one’s ever looked at him like that. Who would ever be concerned for his sake?

Even when Muzan crushed his insides, he knew that there was no other outcome. He couldn’t kill her. There was something…off.

If only he remembered, then maybe—

He shuts down that train of thought as soon as it begins. He doesn’t need to remember. There’s no good in dwelling on his weak human self. As a demon, as an Upper Rank, he has purpose. He’s one of Muzan’s loyal servants. His obsession with the Love Hashira will be brief. Within a day, he won’t be able to recall her face.

“Forget it,” Obanai insists. “You go ahead without me. I don’t feel like hunting tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

He only needs to make a quick stop, then he will be able to move on, and all will be back to how it was. 

“I’m going to the nearest village,” Obanai says. He doesn’t wait for Shinazugawa’s response. He’ll be able to find him later through the bond’s pull. He vanishes into the trees, hoping against hope that the street vendors will still be open.

Chapter Text

No sooner than an hour after Shinobu has returned to her estate, she receives notice from Kanao that Tanjiro and Nezuko have returned from their latest mission. Tokito hasn’t arrived yet, which means she has time to pull Tanjiro aside. 

She’s been putting off this conversation for the past couple of days. Her time has run out. Tanjiro might not be an expert in demon biology, but he might have a better understanding of Tomioka than her. He might know how she can help him.

“Tanjiro-kun,” Shinobu calls.

Tanjiro is in the middle of the infirmary talking with Sumi, Naho, and Kiyo, though he lifts his hand in greeting at the sound of his name. 

“Shinobu-san,” Tanjiro says. He murmurs his apologies to the girls before making his way over to her. For once, Nezuko is nowhere to be found. She must be asleep in her own room, recovering. “It’s good to see you!”

Shinobu grins at him. “It’s good to see you too, Tanjiro-kun!” She motions for him to follow her. “Kanao told me you’d returned, so I figured this was a good time for us to talk. It shouldn’t take long.”

She leads Tanjiro into her office and shuts the door behind him. There are two chairs already arranged facing each other, intended for her and Tokito. She gestures for Tanjiro to take a seat before following suit.

“First off,” she says, smoothing down the front of her kimono, “how have you and Nezuko been?”

His face brightens at the mention of Nezuko. “We’ve been great!” he says cheerfully. 

In all the time she’s known Tanjiro, it’s rare for anything to cause his enthusiasm to waver. Even though he’s suffered as much as the rest of them, any grief is hidden behind layers of shining optimism. He must have had a difficult couple of months trying to account for the Hashiras’ absence, but none of that shows in his expression. He reminds her keenly of Kanae, so much so that it occasionally hurts to look at him. Her older sister would have loved Tanjiro—and Nezuko, too.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Shinobu says. 

“What about you, Shinobu-san? Kanao told me that you crossed paths with Giyuu-san.”

Her smile twitches the smallest amount. “So you’re up to speed then. That’s good.” A pause. “I’m doing well, all things considered.”

There’s no need to divulge what happened in Asakusa just yet. Oyakata-sama should be the first to know. Once Himejima reports to the master, she’ll tell the others. What happened is irrelevant to her curiosity for the time being.

“Shinobu-san.” Tanjiro sniffs the air, and Shinobu stiffens at once. She forgot about his keen sense of smell, and what’s worse is—

His eyes dart to the haori she wears—the one Tomioka gave her—and his mouth opens to speak. 

Shinobu reaches forward to pinch his nose with a bright smile. “Tanjiro-kun! It’s impolite to go around smelling people without their permission, you know.”

His face turns beet-red, especially as she doesn’t release him right away. “Right!” His voice is muffled. “Ah, yes! Thank you for the reminder.”

She lets him go, and he exhales in relief. She can’t ignore that he’s aware of whose haori she wears, but at the very least, he won’t say anything about it now. She’d rather not address it. 

It takes him a second to recover, but to his credit, he understands to move past his realization and continue their conversation. “Kanao told me Giyuu-san let you go,” Tanjiro says, tilting his head. “That he protected you.”

Not once, but twice. More than twice if she’s being honest. He’s held her life in the palms of his hands on more than one occasion, and the fact that she’s still alive is testament to his mercy. “That’s correct.”

This brings a bright smile to Tanjiro’s face. “I’m so glad,” he says, his eyes crinkling. “I know that everyone says Nezuko is a special case, but I always hoped the other Hashira might prove everyone wrong.”

Iguro—who was relentless in his attacks against Kanroji. Shinazugawa—who hadn’t hesitated before forcing her into a life she didn’t want. Tomioka is the exception among them, not the rule. 

“In any case,” Tanjiro continues, “I’m glad. I’m not surprised. It makes sense. Giyuu-san has always been kind and merciful even as a human. It makes me happy that his goodness is still there even as a demon.”

Tanjiro’s words send a cold shock through her. “What did you say?”

“Hm? That Giyuu-san has always been good? That he’s kind even as a demon?”

There’s something to his observation that tugs at her brain, and she’s unwilling to let it go. “Can you backtrack for me, Tanjiro-kun? Explain why you’d think that.”

He blinks owlishly. “Because he saved me and Nezuko? He was supposed to kill her, but he led us to Urokodaki-san, and he put his life on the line for us.”

He hates me more than he hates Shinazugawa and Iguro, Tomioka said. 

At the time, she wanted to brush it off as a misunderstanding. She doubts Muzan harbors any particular fondness towards any of the former Hashira. They’re more useful as tools, as killing machines to fulfill his will. But there is something to be said about how Tanjiro views Tomioka.

She’s had a similar thought in the past—that Tomioka protecting her from Akaza was remarkably similar to how he defended the Kamado siblings on Mount Natagumo. 

Oyakata-sama told them once that Nezuko’s existence was the spark that ignited the change they were all hoping for. That her refusal to consume human flesh, her ability to restrain her demonic urges, were signs that Muzan’s control is not absolute. That she could one day be the key to learning how to bring about his defeat.

There is no doubt that Muzan particularly hates Tanjiro and Nezuko. To him, they represent pests that remind him of his failures. No matter how many demons he sends to get rid of them, they refuse to die. To him, they are persistent enough to be a pain in his side—as much as the rest of the Corps. 

It is possible, she thinks, that Muzan views Tomioka-san’s mercy as the catalyst for his downfall.

Only Tomioka would have been so lenient with a young boy and his newly-turned demon sister. Only he would have had enough compassion in his heart to believe that they might be different. If any other Hashira had stumbled upon the Kamado siblings that day, Nezuko would be dead. They would have been bound by hatred or duty. He is the only one who would have been sympathetic enough—or foolish enough—to have hope in those two. 

It’s possible Tomioka is right. Muzan might hate him more, because on that cold wintry day, instead of being ruthless, Tomioka made a choice that changed the future of the Corps forever.

Her eyelids flutter shut. “I see,” she says. “You’re right.”

“Shinobu-san?”

She opens her eyes again, and this time, her smile doesn’t feel like an act. “You’re right, Tanjiro-kun. It’s exactly like him.”

“Shinobu-san?” Tanjiro repeats, concern leaking into his voice. “Are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine. This has been very insightful. Thank you.”

“I don’t think I did anything in particular.” He offers a sheepish smile. “But you’re welcome?”

“Mhm. I did have one more question if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, of course.”

It’s been on her mind since her return, though she doesn’t understand why. But if anyone were to know, it might be Tanjiro. “You remember how Tomioka-san’s haori was ripped into shreds?”

“Yes.” He nods eagerly.

“Do you happen to know who’s in possession of what remains?”

The answer is instantaneous. “Urokodaki-san.” A beat passes. “I think Oyakata-sama wanted to offer him something after…you know.”

It would make sense. Tomioka’s never mentioned any surviving family. Any of his possessions would be passed onto his master. “Are you in frequent contact with Urokodaki-san?”

“Yes. I write him letters often. Why?”

“Do you mind asking him if I can have what remains of the haori?”

“I don’t think he’ll mind.” Tanjiro scratches at his chin. “I think it brings him more pain than comfort, anyway. But—if you don’t mind me asking—why?”

Why? She doesn’t quite know herself. She hopes it’s more of a passing concern than an itch she can’t scratch. She’s more…curious than anything. That’s all. “I wanted to see if it could be repaired,” she says. “Maybe it would help his memory.”

His expression clears, and that sunny smile returns. “I can ask!”

“Thank you, Tanjiro-kun.” 

Before she can say anything else, there’s a knock at her office door. A second later, it slides open, revealing Tokito.

“Kocho-san,” Tokito says slowly, with a hesitant smile. “And Tanjiro.”

“Tokito!” Tanjiro leaps out of his seat to greet him. “What are you doing here?”

“Kocho summoned me.”

Shinobu nods. “I did.” She spots En at her window, pecking at the sunflower seeds she left out for her and Kanzaburo, who, to her surprise, hasn’t left her estate since she’s been gone. “Tanjiro, can you give Tokito-kun and I a minute or two? This shouldn’t take long, but it’s Hashira business.”

“No problem!” Tanjiro moves past Tokito, who enters the room. “I’ll go write that letter now, Shinobu-san!”

She can’t fault him for his enthusiasm. In this case, it’s very welcome. Once Tanjiro shuts the door, she’s left alone with Tokito. 

“Tokito,” Shinobu says while retrieving the last dose of the antitoxin Tamayo made. Within a minute, all of the Hashira will be protected from the risk of being turned into demons. They can return to the field. They can fulfill their duty to the Corps and to their master. The thought brings her immeasurable relief, and she knows that Tokito will feel the same once she tells him everything. “Are you ready to return to active duty?”

A summons arrives for her the following morning to beckon her to the Ubuyashiki Estate. The Butterfly Estate is lively as she leaves, with Inosuke and Zenitsu having returned from their respective missions late the previous night. Her presence isn’t missed as she slips out the door. Aoi is the only one to notice her departure, and she catches Shinobu at the fence, forcing a basket of onigiri into her hands before returning inside.

The air is crisp and fresh on her walk to the estate. The sun is comfortable despite the clear skies, and it gives her the time and space to clear her head. She was able to sleep soundly last night, and she woke up with no fever. She’s back to her normal doses of wisteria, and her body has resumed accepting each one. It’s a welcome relief. The only thing that has become something of a bother is that ingesting the wisteria now reminds her of Tomioka, and having him on her mind before going to bed is unhelpful.

It’s annoying having him inhabit her every waking thought. All she can wonder about is where he is, what he’s doing, whether he’s alright. Has he returned to Muzan’s side, or is he with Akaza? Is he hungry? Lonely?

It’s idiotic of her, to say the least. She has enough on her plate as it is. 

The sight of the Ubuyashiki Estate rising in front of her is a distraction from her all-consuming thoughts. The younger children are outside playing, though they stop to greet her as she passes. A few Kakushi mill around the perimeter, some of whom are familiar faces, and they incline their heads as she enters through one of the side entrances.

She knows why she was summoned. There are two orders of business.

Somehow, Hinaki—one of the eldest daughters—is already waiting for her.

“Kocho-sama,” she greets, falling into a deep bow. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you,” Shinobu corrects. She slips off her sandals. “Have they already arrived?”

“Yes. They’re in one of the offices. They asked to see you right away.”

Perfect. Though it’s only been a few days, time is of the essence. Shinobu follows Hinaki to the aforementioned office, and when the door slides open, two familiar faces turn to look at her.

“Tamayo-san, Yushiro-san,” Shinobu says. A hint of relief can be heard in her voice; it’s lucky that they both made it here in one piece. Hinaki closes the door behind her, leaving the three alone. “Glad to see you’ve made it!”

Tamayo’s already made herself at home. Her research is spread out over one of the desks, and she’s paused in the middle of taking notes. It’s clear that she’s been hard at work, eager to make up for the lost time due to their sudden relocation. But when Shinobu greets her, she drops the pen completely. 

“Kocho-san,” Tamayo greets her. “Thank you for coming to see us so quickly.”

Yushiro is a little more on edge than usual. Maybe being so close to so many demon slayers worries him more than she thought it would. He’s in the middle of gathering their books and organizing them according to relevance, but his fingers twitch against the covers. Even though he’s long learned that Shinobu isn’t a threat to either of them, he carries himself with a stiffness that doesn’t suit him.

He merely hums in acknowledgement before returning to the task at hand.

“It’s no problem,” Shinobu says. She sets down the basket and takes a seat in one of the spare chairs. “Do you mind if I eat something first? I skipped breakfast before coming here.”

“You’re fine.” Tamayo waves her off with a flap of the hand. “We aren’t viewing any samples right now.”

“Thank you.” 

Shinobu unwraps the basket, revealing several neatly-made onigiri lying in a row. Aoi has outdone herself. With a smile, she grabs the first and takes a hearty bite.

“I don’t know how much time I have,” Shinobu admits. “I think Oyakata-sama wants to see me as well.”

“This won’t take long.” Tamayo takes a few steps closer to where Shinobu sits so that they can see eye to eye. “I only wanted to let you know what we’ve discovered from Shinazugawa and Tomioka’s blood cells.”

Her curiosity is piqued. She pauses before taking another bite. “Are there any changes in Tomioka-san’s cells?”

Tamayo bites on the inside of her cheek, and at the sight, all hope deflates. 

Yushiro is the one to answer. “Yes and no.”

“Hm?”

Yushiro sets down a book with a loud bang before releasing a long-suffering sigh. “They haven’t changed in the ways we expected,” he explains. “We hoped that some of his demonic cells would start to die, almost as if the transformation was beginning to reverse. Unfortunately, that hasn’t happened at all.”

Shinobu turns toward Tamayo. “So what has happened?”

“Except for small amounts of wisteria—likely from the dose you gave him prior to us extracting the blood—there is no evidence of the prototype in his system,” Tamayo says. “It’s like he broke it down on his own. He shouldn’t have been able to do that.” A furrow appears between her brows, a telltale sign that Tamayo is frustrated, although her voice doesn’t make that evident. “It’s quite similar to Nezuko-san, actually. When I thought her body would reach the brink and reverse the transformation, her cells continued to change in a different way. So has Tomioka-san’s.”

Shinobu lets out a huff and finishes the last of the first onigiri. “Why would he fight back against it? He doesn’t seem attached to being a demon.”

“You tell us,” Yushiro says haughtily. “Shouldn’t you know him at all? Instead of allowing the cure to change him, he’s the one fighting back. He wants to stay a demon.”

That doesn’t sit right. It doesn’t mesh with Tomioka’s words at all. From what she’s observed, he suffers as an Upper Rank. If his body subconsciously wants to stay in his demon form rather than return to being a human, it must be for a reason. He doesn’t do anything without one. 

Strength doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care about my rank. I feel so…aimless.

“I wouldn’t say that Tomioka-san is doing this to be difficult,” Tamayo reasons. “Look at Nezuko. She knows that all her brother wants is for her to be human again, but her cells haven’t abided by that. I doubt she’s doing it to be heartless. I believe she cares about her brother a lot. So much so that there’s something she believes is more important than her becoming human.”

She asked Tomioka what he wanted, and he didn’t answer. It’s possible he doesn’t know, and maybe that subconscious reason is why his body has reacted as it has.

“His cells are changing at a rate that is even more rapid,” Tamayo says. “Almost frantically. The periods of stagnation that we observed before are few and far between.”

“Do you think there’s something Tomioka is prioritizing?” she asks, reaching for the second onigiri. “Maybe there’s something he wants to do before he becomes human again?” Or maybe , she thinks, he doesn’t believe he deserves it.

“It’s possible,” Tamayo says. “Either way, we need to give him more doses before we might see any concrete results. But we can’t be sure when you’ll see him again—”

“Uh.”

Both Yushiro and Tamayo turn to stare at her, wide-eyed.

Shinobu raises her hand with a sheepish smile. “I saw him two nights ago. He drank more blood, so there’s now a second dose in his bloodstream.”

Yushiro’s jaw drops. “This Upper Rank is obsessed with you!”

Obsession. She’s never seen it that way. If she had, she might’ve come to the conclusion a long time ago that Tomioka might be equally obsessed with her as she’s becoming with him. But—that’s not something that concerns Yushiro.

“He’s persistent, isn’t he?” Shinobu brushes Yushiro off with a smile, like Tomioka’s actions are completely ordinary. “With two doses, we may start to see some results, yes? Perhaps some physical ones, too.”

“Yes.” Tamayo recovers from her initial surprise swiftly—much more so than Yushiro, who still gapes at Shinobu. “If that’s the case, then I’m interested to see how his body reacts to the second dose.” A pause. “Kocho-san, do you believe Tomioka will find you again? Would your life be in danger?”

It’s possible. With the antitoxin at play, the risk of being turned into a demon has diminished, but that doesn’t mean Muzan doesn’t have other plans for her. If she can no longer be turned, then Shinazugawa’s words hold true. In his eyes, she’s better off dead. The only thread of security she has is that Tomioka hadn’t been a threat two nights ago.

“Possibly! I don’t think my life would be in danger from Tomioka-san, but if Muzan were to figure out that we were together, it’s possible he could control Tomioka’s actions through the bond. Right?”

Tamayo frowns. “That is a possibility.”

“It’s a risk we might have to take. We need to see the cure at work, and we need to adjust his future doses.”

“I don’t like the risk,” Yushiro cuts in. “We’re putting too much faith in this Upper Rank.”

“Yushiro.” Tamayo’s eyes slide over to him. “I understand your concern, but from what I observed of Tomioka-san personally, everything Kocho has told us is correct. He’s not violent at all, and he’s even quick to disregard his own life.”

Yushiro pouts.

Shinobu finishes the second onigiri in another bite and licks her lips. “I think it’s possible he’ll find me again. I think that should be our next course of action.”

Tamayo wanders back over to her notes, skimming through her observations on the two’s blood cells. “Shinazugawa-san’s blood cells weren’t very similar to Tomioka’s,” she says. “His cells did change quickly, as is expected for someone who’s risen to the rank of Upper Four so soon, but his blood is closer to the former Upper Six’s than Tomioka’s or Nezuko’s.”

Based on his behavior, that doesn’t surprise her. It serves as a useful point of reference though. “That’s good to know.”

“Mhm. Besides that, not much has changed. We don’t have anything new to report.” Tamayo closes her notebook with a sigh. “I have more blood for Tomioka-san. You can take it with you.”

Shinobu nods. “Thanks,” she says, taking another onigiri from the basket. “I did have one question to ask. I’m not sure if you’d have any insight, but there’s no harm in asking, I think.”

Tamayo glances over at her expectantly. “Sure. Ask away.”

There is some guilt that comes with divulging Tomioka’s private thoughts—ones that he shared with her in confidence. But she did promise that she would help him, and there’s only so much she can work out on her own. Any other advice might prove helpful, and there’s no one better to ask than a demon who broke Muzan’s bond out of her own strong will. 

“When Tomioka-san visited me,” Shinobu begins after taking another bite, “he acted a bit strange.”

“Strange how?” Yushiro pauses in his task to face her, his curiosity piqued. “Everything he does is strange already.”

“Mm. It has more to do with how he talks about himself.” She meets Tamayo’s gaze. “He told me that he doesn’t care whether or not he lives or dies. He claims he follows Muzan’s orders without any real interest in serving him. He said he feels aimless— wrong. Is that…normal?”

Before Tamayo can provide her input, Yushiro speaks up. “I don’t think the first part is true.” He resumes stacking the books. “If he didn’t care at all, he could walk out into the sun tomorrow. There’s an easy solution. But he doesn’t, so he must care a little about his survival.”

That—is a fair point. She supposes she hadn’t considered that. But again, if Tomioka’s body has resisted the cure for some unknown reason, perhaps that reason keeps him tethered to his own will to live. She doesn’t know enough to claim either way. 

“I wouldn’t say it the way Yushiro did,” Tamayo says, eying him. “But he has a point. Maybe Tomioka-san claims he feels that way, but that doesn’t sound right to me. In all of my years as a demon, I’ve met very few who felt their existences were meaningless. Kibutsuji wouldn’t allow for that. If he turned a demon who didn’t want to live, he has no reason to keep them alive.”

Another good point. That bond has proven itself countless times to be a curse more than a blessing. “I see,” Shinobu says.

“I wouldn’t say Tomioka-san is like any of those demons either,” Tamayo reasons. “He has desires. Why else would he defend Shinazugawa when you attacked them? Why would he protect you from Akaza?”

Tamayo’s right. She might be unable to see it as clearly because she’s too close to the crux of the situation, but everything he’s done is because he wants to.

“I asked him if there was anything he wanted,” Shinobu says, frowning. “Anything at all. He couldn’t answer me.”

“He might not know.” Her expression is mirrored on Tamayo’s face. “This is…concerning. If there’s one thing demons carry with them from their human lives, it is their strongest desire.”

Shinobu finishes the last of the onigiri, deep in thought. Tomioka’s low opinion of himself is not unfounded. Akaza remarked that Tomioka’s fighting spirit has vanished since he became a demon. For Tomioka, that must be devastating, a sign of his weakness. Akaza had even sounded so pleased when he commented that it had returned, so its absence must be a blow to his self-esteem.

“Tamayo-san,” Shinobu says. “What would you say a fighting spirit is?”

Tamayo is slightly thrown by the question, but she recovers quickly. “A will to survive?”

“That’s what I thought.” She leans forward and braces her elbows on her knees. “Do you think something like that is…visible?”

“Visible how?” Yushiro asks.

“I don’t know. Upper Three—Akaza—spoke about Tomioka’s fighting spirit when he first tried to capture me. He said that Tomioka-san had a brilliant fighting spirit the day they fought—when Tomioka was still a human—but it had vanished once he was turned into a demon. I think the two of them—Akaza and Tomioka, I mean—can see this…spirit. This desire to survive. This drive people have.”

Yushiro quirks an eyebrow. “And?”

“If Tomioka’s fighting spirit has disappeared, then I can’t imagine what drives him now. What he wants to stay human for. What he’s fighting for.”

“I know you can’t see this so-called ‘fighting spirit,’” Tamayo says, “but do you know if Tomioka’s has ever fluctuated at all?”

“If it’s always been gone, you mean?” Yushiro clarifies.

“Er, no. Wait.” It has. Akaza said as much when Tomioka threw himself in front of her to bear the brunt of the blast. Tomioka’s fighting spirit was as noticeable as it had been when they first clashed. “Akaza said it returned when he came after us.”

Yushiro pauses in the middle of putting another book away. “So we’re right. There is something he wants. Something he’s willing to fight for.”

“Tomioka-san doesn’t fight for the sake of it,” Tamayo says.

Realization settles in like water running down the back of her uniform, a shock to the system.

“Interesting,” Tamayo remarks, her eyes wide with this new discovery. “I never imagined this. What is stronger—a Hashira’s desire to protect others or an Upper Rank’s desire to kill?”

“Is that possible?” Shinobu asks. It’s almost too good to be true. But if her hypothesis is correct, Tomioka cares nothing for his own strength and power, but a great deal when he decides he’s responsible for someone else’s life.

“It’s a theory for now,” Tamayo says with a gentle smile. “We’ll only find out more if we continue to study him.”

And that is her responsibility. Shinobu stands, the contents of the basket now empty, and she bows to Yushiro and Tamayo. “Thank you both,” she says. “This was very helpful.”

“Thank you,” Tamayo corrects her. “We’ll let you know if anything changes. Please stay safe.”

After leaving Tamayo and Yushiro in their office, Shinobu wanders through the estate. A few Kakushi roam the halls and point her in the direction she’s looking for. When she reaches Oyakata-sama’s room, Nichika is outside, flicking a coin in her hands. 

“Kocho-sama,” Nichika says upon noticing her, straightening at once. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Shinobu says, somewhat hesitantly. While Himejima visited Oyakata-sama the other day, she’s uncertain if the rest of the Hashira are still free to come and go as they please. Oyakata-sama’s health shows no signs of improvement, and at his current stage, his symptoms will continue to worsen at a rapid rate. Even though he was well enough to attend their Hashira meeting, he may no longer be well enough to hold a conversation. “May I see Oyakata-sama?”

Before Nichika can answer, a low, rough voice reaches them through the door. “Shinobu, please come in.”

Nichika bows and opens the door for her. With a nod in thanks, Shinobu enters as requested.

Oyakata-sama is laid out on a futon as close to the engawa as he can possibly get. The doors are open wide, allowing the breeze to filter through the room, and the sunlight is free to land on his face. Thankfully, he doesn’t look any worse than he did at their meeting. Bandages still cover most of his face, and the purple bruising has continued its trek across his skin, but if he’s still able to speak to her, then there must be a silver lining.

Amane is the only other person present in the room. She’s knelt at his side as usual, and offers a smile at Shinobu’s entrance.

“Shinobu,” Oyakata-sama says, his voice cracking on her name. “Will you come sit by my side?”

“Of course, Oyakata-sama.”

Shinobu settles down on the opposite side of Amane, her hands cradled in her lap. From this distance, she can hear the rattling in his lungs, the weariness to his sighs, and dread sinks through her as she wonders the inevitable: how much longer does he have? 

“Thank you for coming to visit,” Oyakata-sama says. “I take it you’ve already seen Tamayo and Yushiro.”

“Yes. I spoke with them before this.”

“Mhm. How are things on your end?”

She wishes she had something more constructive to offer. Right now, there are too many loose ends to be able to confirm anything. “It’s a work-in-progress,” she says decidedly. “Things are coming along, but there are…other things that need our attention.”

Even though she doesn’t utter his name, Oyakata-sama nods knowingly. “Giyuu.”

How does he know? Is she that obvious? 

“Yes. He’s fighting against the first dose of the cure. I need to investigate to see the effects. He might need a higher dosage. Or maybe he’s an unsuitable test subject.”

To her surprise, Oyakata-sama doesn’t have any hesitation in his voice as he murmurs his agreement. “As I said before, I believe Giyuu has provided us a path to victory if we choose to believe in him,” he says. “If we can work with him, I think we’ll make the progress we’re all hoping for.”

She wants to ask how he’s so certain—how he can place so much faith in someone who is as capable of betraying them as any other demon. Oyakata-sama has such confidence in his voice without having ever seen Tomioka in person since he’s become a demon. She wishes she had that unshakable trust, but years of hatred are hard to shed, and it’s harder still to rely on such an unknown factor.

Tomioka might never accept the cure. He might continue to decompose it, alerting Muzan to their efforts, and he might risk their entire operation. Putting such blind faith in him seems unwise, and yet, Oyakata-sama sounds like he wants her to do just that.

“You’re uncertain.”

Shinobu lets out a nervous laugh, which is uncharacteristic of her. She let the silence drag too long. “I’m just worried,” she says. “Tomioka-san…has saved me a few times, but… There’s a risk. There’s always a risk.”

“There’s always a risk,” Oyakata-sama repeats. “Indeed. It was a risk with Nezuko, and a risk with Tamayo and Yushiro. But I still believe that these risks will be worthwhile in the end. I’m willing to take the gamble.”

His intentions go unspoken, but she hears them nonetheless. Go find Tomioka-san.

“As you wish, Oyakata-sama.”

She moves to stand, but his voice keeps her still. 

“Shinobu,” he says. He waits for her to assume her position again before continuing. “I wanted to thank you for the work in creating the antitoxin.”

“Oh.” She wants to wave him off, but that feels highly disrespectful. Truth be told, her involvement in that was minimal. “Thank you, but the credit goes to Yushiro and Tamayo on that one. That was all their work.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible if you hadn’t given them Giyuu’s blood.”

Her mouth clamps shut. “Yes, I suppose…”

Oyakata-sama’s weary smile is hidden behind the strips of bandages, like the sun poking out from the clouds on a rainy day. “Don’t diminish your hard work.”

“Yes, Oyakata-sama.”

“Thanks to you—and Tamayo and Yushiro—the Hashira are now permitted to return to active duty. I cannot understate my gratitude.”

On cue, En descends on the engawa with a flap of her wings. “SHINOBU-SAMA,” she cries. “SHINOBU-SAMA. WE HAVE A NEW MISSION. YOUNG GIRLS HAVE BEEN DISAPPEARING IN A TOWN TO THE NORTHWEST. YOU’VE BEEN CHOSEN TO GO INVESTIGATE.”

A mission. A new mission—one unrelated to the cure or her research. Excitement blossoms in her chest, an unstoppable feeling. 

Oyakata-sama’s smile grows. “As you can see, we’re very happy to have you all back,” he says. “Please stay safe, my child.”

Shinobu leaps to her feet. “I will!” she says, beaming. Her smile is not a lie. Her joy reaches out from beneath her skin, shining out through her features. This isn’t a dream. She has a new assignment. She can be useful to the Corps again. “Thank you, Oyakata-sama!”

“Thank you,” he says. “My best wishes to you and Giyuu.” The mention of Tomioka makes her pause. How is he so sure Tomioka will appear? Before she can ask, he dismisses her with a simple, “Please take Kanzaburo with you as well. From what I hear, he’s been anxious about being left behind.”

Chapter Text

The village in the northwest has reported a series of disappearances over the past month. At first, the villagers brushed these cases off, claiming that the young women involved were reaching a certain age and were running from their family homes to be married or free themselves from their parents. Most of these girls had histories of rebellion, of vanishing for days at a time. It’s only recently that the problem has arisen as potentially demonic in nature.

Although the villagers were loath to admit it, not every woman that has vanished could be categorized as defiant, and they began to feel more afraid than self-righteous when an entire group of sisters went missing one week ago. 

There’s a wisteria house within the village, and with the growing rumors that these women may not have left of their own accord, the inhabitants of the home sent a message to the Corps to plead for aid.

Normally, a demon would leave more obvious tracks, like a mutilated corpse or bloody fingerprints. However, the owner of the wisteria home reported that nothing of the sort had been found up until now. They had nothing to show for their concern other than the collective absences of many of their villagers, and if their losses weren’t so noticeable, it’s possible no one would have been alerted to that underlying sense of danger.

If a demon has outsmarted an entire village this long, they might be more dangerous than expected—which is why Oyakata-sama has sent her. She needs to get to the bottom of the situation as soon as possible, and she can only do that by being a friendly face, by showing the villagers she means no harm, in the hopes of learning more information.

At a first glance, the village appears to be utterly ordinary. The people she passes engage in friendly conversation on the roads, crowds of young children occupy themselves by skipping stones along the river, and there aren’t any lingering stares on the back of her skull. It’s normal. Too normal.

Shinobu continues through the center of the village in the direction of the wisteria house. En and Kanzaburo fly above her, leading the way. She’s heard a few indignant squawks from En as Kanzaburo narrowly avoids flying into the sides of buildings, but other than that, her journey has been uneventful until now. 

She never worked up the courage to ask Oyakata-sama how he could be so sure Tomioka would find her again. Surely, he wouldn’t risk the danger another time. But she finds herself scanning her surroundings with more of a careful eye, even though the logical side of her brain reasons that it’s impossible for him to move around while it’s still sunny out. Just in case.

Shinobu spots the wisteria crest before En lands beside it. 

“HERE, SHINOBU-SAMA.” En points at the symbol with her foot. 

Kanzaburo takes his time settling down beside En. His descent is slightly wobbly.

“WHERE’S GIYUU?” he asks, not for the first time.

Her answer isn’t any different from the first ten times, so this time, she remains quiet. With a grateful smile for the two, she approaches the entrance. 

A man in his forties waits for her by the front door, his legs sprawled over the steps. At the sound of her footsteps, he lifts his head, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing to greet her. He’s in the middle of stroking a stray tabby cat, who mewls at his feet for attention, and the sight of the animal makes her pause further away than she would normally.

“Hello,” the man says, his eyes crinkling. He has crow’s feet in his eyes, she realizes. “You must be the Hashira.”

“Hello,” Shinobu says, putting on her most brilliant smile. “I’m Kocho Shinobu. It’s nice to meet you…”

“Shimizu. Takehiko. Nice to meet you as well.” Takehiko rises to his feet, and the tabby cat scurries off into the yard. “Sorry to drag you all the way out here if it’s not a demon to begin with.”

“Better to be safe than sorry!” 

From what she knows, Oyakata-sama has already sent a few lower-ranked demon slayers to this village to investigate the claims, but they could never pick up on a trail, and worse, the women continued to disappear. If it is a work of a demon, their strength is far beyond that of an average slayer. Before, it would have been an easy decision to send along a Hashira or two. Now, thanks to the antitoxin, Oyakata-sama can make that decision.

Oyakata-sama hadn’t wasted any time in sending the Hashira out. None of the others were still at Headquarters by the time she left, already long gone on missions assigned to them that morning. She was the last to leave. 

As much as she felt antsy being left behind the walls of her estate for so long, it must have been worse for Oyakata-sama knowing there was nothing he could do and still having to send out rookie slayers to die. 

This is a Hashira’s mission. She’ll finish what the others failed to do. If there is a demon involved at all, she’ll find them.

“You can come inside,” Takehiko says. He motions her forward. “You can meet my wife. Make yourself comfortable.”

Shinobu follows after him and murmurs, “Sorry for the intrusion,” under her breath before crossing into the house.

Shimizu Takehiko and his wife, Shimizu Shiori, live in a small home that they’ve split for the sake of hosting demon slayers passing through the area. They invite slayers into their home and offer a place to stay in exchange for the debt they feel they owe to the Corps. 

Twenty years ago, when the two were barely young adults, they encountered a demon within the mist outside of the village whose technique dulled their senses and rendered them immobile. They were trapped within a ditch in the forest, intended to become the demon’s next meal, and were unable to move a muscle. After three days, a Hashira tracked down the demon of the mist, killed it, and in turn, gave the two a second chance at life.

Today, the two offer up their spare room in gratitude for the slayer that unknowingly set them free before death came for them.

And their gratitude does not come sparingly. Shiori is quick to offer Shinobu a glass of tea—which she declines—and an assortment of sweets in case she’s hungry. Takehiko brings a cup of bird seed outside for the two crows without her having to ask.

By the time the three of them sit around their table, Shinobu is a tad overwhelmed with how hospitable they are. Most families in wisteria houses are, but these two are especially eager in a way she doesn’t know how to react to. 

She needs to focus on the matter at hand.

“Can you tell me anything about the disappearances?” Shinobu asks.

“There isn’t much to tell,” Takehiko says with a frown. He cradles his hands around a cup of tea, courtesy of Shiori. “There have been ten women who have gone missing in the past two months.”

“Ten?” Her eyes bulge. Ten is an awfully large number to let go unnoticed.

Shiori nods slowly. “The three sisters that vanished a week ago make it ten.”

“How often has this been happening? How has no one called attention to it before?”

“The first four women were all engaged to be married,” Takehiko says. “Their partners disappeared around the same time, so their families assumed that they went off in secret and married on their own. People only started to find it strange when the fifth girl went missing.”

Still—it’s a lot for people to turn a blind eye towards. 

“It didn’t help that their families would keep quiet out of shame,” Shiori says mournfully. “It’s not like we wouldn’t realize that certain people hadn’t been in town for a while. When we asked their families, they would say that so-and-so was sick or that they left town.” 

“I see.” She taps her fingers against the wooden surface of the table. “Then after that?”

“When the fifth girl vanished, her father spoke up. Said she wouldn’t have left without saying anything.”

“From what we’ve put together,” Takehiko says, splaying his hands, “we think at least one person’s gone missing each week. But since everyone’s been avoiding speaking about it, we’ve only been aware for the past month. For the most part, people try to pretend like nothing’s happened, but you might’ve noticed that it’s rare to see a young woman like yourself walking through the village on her own.”

She tries to recall her journey this morning. Everything had seemed ordinary at a glance, but she can’t remember seeing another woman her own age on her way. Takehiko might have a point. She had been so focused on the liveliness that she hadn’t noticed the obvious absences.

“It’s possible,” Shinobu says. “I didn’t notice anyone staring at me, though.”

“No one would tell a passing traveler,” Shiori says. Her hair hides her expression, and Shinobu realizes a beat later that she’s ashamed. “Most people want to pretend that everything is normal. They don’t want that attention. Not to mention they don’t know what is making these women vanish. The less attention they draw to themselves, the better.”

“Hm.” She scratches at her chin. “What about the last three? A group of three sisters?” Like her, Kanae, Kanao. 

“The Sano sisters,” Takehiko clarifies. “The older two are twins. Nineteen, I think. Then there’s a younger one, who might be fifteen, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Is it the first time more than one person has disappeared at a time?”

“As far as we know,” Shiori says. “Their mother has been…distraught.”

Shinobu can imagine. It’s terrible losing one child. Losing three at once is an unimaginable pain. 

“I know that it’s still up in the air whether this is because of a demon,” Takehiko says, his eyes sliding to hers. His gaze is shuttered, and she recognizes the expression for what it is—the ghosts that survive the aftermath of a demon attack, the ones that never truly go away. The survivors always remember that fear as poignantly as their current emotions. “But I think it is. Sano-san…I’ve never seen her like that before. I went to visit her after her daughters were reported missing. Others had warned me that she’d lost her mind, that the grief had broken her, but I thought she looked completely present. She said, ‘He poisoned their minds. He poisoned their minds and convinced them to go with him. That dreadful man.’”

Shinobu sits up straight. “A man? Did she describe him at all? Anything?”

Takehiko looks apologetic as he says, “Sorry. She passed out shortly after. Apparently, she’s been in and out of consciousness for the past week. She didn’t describe anything that might be useful.”

All of the focus seeps out of her. “It’s alright,” she reassures him. “That is still helpful.”

“I know I might be being paranoid, but it reminded me of…” The rest of his sentence trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish it. His expression matches Shiori’s, and Shinobu knows without asking that they’re reliving the same painful memories.

“I agree with you,” Shinobu says. “It’s worth looking into. I’m rather curious!” She glances out at the nearest open window, where the sun has started its descent behind the clouds. “You said it’s been a week, correct?”

Takehiko jolts back into full awareness. “Yes.”

“Then it’s possible the demon will strike again tonight.” Shinobu rises to her feet, and both Takehiko and Shiori’s eyes widen at the abrupt movement. “I’ll go prepare. Thank you very much.”

Takehiko smiles at her. “It’s no problem,” he says. “I hope you’ll be able to find them. At least to give their families peace.”

Shinobu returns his smile before departing from the room with a grim sense of resolution. It’s unlikely that she’ll find a body. Too much time has passed, and demons don’t let their meals last for long. At the very least, she intends to kill the demon responsible. That—she hopes—will bring the peace their families deserve.

The village is entirely aware that it’s been a week since the last disappearance. While the inhabitants might not be willing to acknowledge the tragedy during the light of day, at night, the roads are deserted, the lights within the homes are dim, and there’s an unearthly silence that carries across the town. In the distance, the line of trees that reach into the forest are lined with a layer of mist, like that demon that once terrorized the Shimizus left its mark even after death. 

With how quiet the village is, even the smallest movement will catch her notice. There’s nothing for her to do but patrol back and forth along the empty streets, waiting for the moment the serenity will break and chaos will ensue. If anything happens, she’ll know immediately, and she should be able to cross the distance if needed.

Still, it would be helpful if she had some help. She trusts her abilities and instincts, but there’s been an uneasiness sitting in her stomach since she heard the words of the Sanos’ mother: He poisoned their minds.

She might have meant physical poison, like the kind lodged in her scabbard, but Shinobu doubts that’s the case. It sounds metaphorical, like the way people twist their words in order to convince others to act according to their will. Did the Sano sisters leave of their own accord?

Her brain is full with a multitude of questions that pile up the longer she spends wandering the village. Unfortunately, she won’t have any answers—not unless the demon shows up tonight. 

Shinobu continues down another winding street. To her right, curtains shake, like someone was spying on her a moment ago. She raises her head to peer at the moon. The night is halfway over, judging by its height in the sky. If the demon intends to act today, they’re running out of time.

With a sigh, she continues her patrol. An hour passes before she hears the sound she’s been waiting for. A rush of footsteps, of branches being crunched beneath someone’s feet.

She snaps into action and leaps into the air. Her own feet glide onto the nearest rooftop with ease, and her hand reaches for the hilt of her sword. The noise came from the northwest, from the treeline. 

She races across the rooftops, jumping across them with practiced movements. By now, the villagers must know she’s on the move. She’s long past trying to stay quiet for their sake. She lets every step be heard, every leap echo through the building beneath. There is no time to waste. Someone’s in danger.

It takes her thirty seconds to reach the point in the town where the sound was heard, but when she lands on the nearest rooftop overlooking the spot, there isn’t anyone there. Her head twists back and forth. No, she couldn’t have missed them. It took her seconds to make it here. The demon would not be able to escape with tonight’s target under her nose.

All she needs is to spot them, to hear another sound—

Someone’s sprinting. Two streets down.

Shinobu reaches the next roof, then the next, in time for a sharp scream to reach her ears. 

“No!” A strangled shout cuts through the silence like a blade. A woman’s voice. They’re right below her. She can hear someone thrashing and kicking, likely at another person. “Don’t touch me! Don’t grab me! Don’t take me back there! Don’t take me back to him!”

The demonic presence is faint, but it’s here. Shinobu draws out her blade, the metal singing.

“Shut it!” a gravelly voice snaps. “You’ve already caused us problems by running away. You think he’ll be happy with you?”

“I don’t care! I’m not going back!”

There’s a grunt, like someone collided with the other, but the gut-wrenching scream that follows twists her gut. The woman’s protests and cries die down as she dissolves into quiet tears. 

“You don’t have a choice.”

Shinobu crawls forward to the edge of the roof and tries peeking down. From this angle, it’s impossible to see anyone. There’s at least two people—one human woman, and the other a demon. She needs to separate the two before the woman winds up even worse. If she dives down—

But before she can make her next move, a blur moves from the alley below up onto the rooftop opposite her. A demon, she realizes, her heart picking up speed. He has markings etched around his mouth, and his eyes are nearly translucent as they latch onto her. Within one second, he lets out a scream.

The sudden noise catches her by surprise, so much so that she doesn’t react fast enough to the shockwaves produced by the sound. It hits her in the gut, sending her crashing back against the roof tile, and she lets out a gasp. The impact knocks the wind out of her, dizzy and dazed. The stars above blur together in her vision.

“Help! Help!”

Shinobu scrambles back into a crouch in time to watch a second demon join the first on the opposite roof. This one is far burlier than the first, almost drowning the original in size. It takes her a second to realize he’s holding something, and a second more to recognize it as a human woman.

The woman’s eyes lock with hers. “Help me!” she screams. One of her arms reaches out for Shinobu. The other is bent at an unnatural angle, and for a second, she wonders if that is why the woman stopped fighting—if the demon broke her arm to keep her quiet. “Please!”

The second demon clicks his tongue as he glances back at Shinobu. His eyes glide over her without much interest. His grip tightens around the woman’s waist, and the two demons break off into a run.

“Hello!” Shinobu calls after them. She leaps onto the roof they vacated. Her head is still spinning more than she’d like, but she’s able to follow the two of them as they race across the roof tiles, just as she had earlier. “Won’t you come back? I’d like to offer to be your friend!”

Neither of the demons spare her a second glance. The woman, on the other hand, grows more frantic the more distance grows between them and Shinobu. She kicks out at the demon holding her, scrambling for purchase. None of her actions make the demon even flinch. 

Enough talking, she decides. 

Shinobu pushes off the tile with all of the strength she can summon in the soles of her feet. For a second, there’s nothing between her and the ground but air. The wind pushes at her body, her ears roaring. The demon holding the woman looks over his shoulder in time to watch her drop onto the roof right behind them.

His eyes bulge. “Run!” he orders to the other. “A demon slayer!”

Shinobu keeps at their heels, her legs pumping. The woman’s eyes fill with an ounce of hope as she watches Shinobu keep chase. She wishes she could reassure her that she’ll be safe, that she won’t be taken by them. But to do that, she first needs to stop them.

“If you won’t let that woman go, we can’t ever be friends,” Shinobu says. She extends her sword by her side as she runs. The poison gleams from the tip. “Last warning!”

As expected, the two demons ignore her. They continue racing across the tops of the village homes—in the direction of the forest. 

While she’d like to let them get further and see where they might lead her, her priority is saving the woman. She’ll figure the rest out later.

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Bee Sting: True Flutter.

In the blink of an eye, Shinobu bursts forward with an incredible amount of speed to close the remaining distance between her and the two demons. The demon holding the woman twists back in time to watch her sword pierce his throat. 

A screech leaves his mouth, and his grip loosens on the woman. She slips through his grasp with a shout, and Shinobu dashes in time to sweep her into her arms before she topples off the edge of the building. 

“You—”

The demon’s features contort before he can finish his thought. His face darkens, the wisteria climbing from the puncture wound into his skull, and blood trickles out of his mouth before his knees buckle. His body crumples, and his corpse slides down the roof, landing onto the ground with a sickly crunch. Dead.

The first demon—the one whose technique revolves around the soundwaves he produces with his screams—watches his partner fall with wide eyes. 

“I did warn him,” Shinobu says, rather mournfully. “If only he’d listened.”

Her gaze drops to the woman in her arms. Her eyes have fallen shut, and it’s only then that she realizes she must have passed out in the midst of her panic. She doesn’t rouse even as Shinobu adjusts her in her hold. Her arm is definitely broken, judging by the angle it hangs, and she doesn’t like how her leg is dark with bruises either. But she’s alive. Safe and alive.

Shinobu needs to get her somewhere safe. It’ll be much easier to fight this demon without an innocent life involved. Without another look in the demon’s direction, Shinobu leaps to the next roof over. Jumping like this is much harder with the weight of an additional person, especially when she lacks arm strength to begin with, but she manages. 

Where can I leave her? Shinobu wonders.

The hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she moves in time to avoid the soundwave that aims straight at her. 

“Shit,” she mutters. She hoped the other demon would give up instead of pursuing her to take back what was lost. Instead, he’s followed her to the next roof, and his mouth opens to use his technique again.

This time, it’s Shinobu’s turn to run. She dashes over the buildings, her eyes pricked for the sounds of those screams. Each time, the wave punches into the building she’s on with a force that breaks through the tile. Each one is only a hair's breadth away from making contact.

It’s hard to maintain her usual speed when she’s holding someone, and her speed is one of her greatest assets. If she can’t utilize it to the best of her ability, she’s at a greater disadvantage. 

What do I do? she thinks as her feet slide across the next roof. The woman still hasn’t stirred despite how much Shinobu jostles her with each step. How do I protect her and kill this demon?

Another scream comes, this one more panicked than the rest, and Shinobu instinctively dodges out of the way. She ducks along the side near the chimney and pauses to search for the demon’s location.

But when she looks around, no one else is on the rooftops nearby. Her eyebrows furrow. She saw the demon a moment ago on the last roof. How could they have disappeared? Did they decide to run in the end?

A metallic stench stretches towards the sky where she waits. 

Blood. That’s blood.

Panic overrides her senses. It’s possible the demon switched targets at the last second instead of chasing her. It’s possible someone else was hurt in her stead.

Shinobu lands on the ground. Inside the building, a lamplight flickers. With the woman still cradled in her arms, she wastes no time in following the smell. It leads around the side to the alley between this home and the next. 

At once, her vision is overwhelmed. Blood covers the entirety of the alleyway, coating the walls and spilling down the street. This much blood—there can only be a body to accompany it. The smell of it is almost too much to bear.

She continues forward, only for her foot to hit something hard halfway. When she looks down, she startles. She hit a human arm. 

What happened? How could so much damage occur within a single second?

It’s only after a second look that she realizes that the body is here in front of her. At first glance, her eyes were drawn to the catastrophic amounts of blood, but interspersed between the pools that travel along the street, there are pieces of flesh. If she squints, she can see that the flesh have small fiber-like threads that appear to be trying to rebuild themselves.

This isn’t human flesh. It’s demon flesh. A demon’s body. But then who—?

Within the alley’s shadows, a silhouette shifts. A pair of inhuman blue eyes stare back at her from within the darkness. Before she can say anything, Tomioka raises a finger over his mouth, signaling for her to be quiet. 

Bond, he mouths. As if she needs the reminder. The bottle of pills sinks within her pocket. 

Although Tomioka had hidden within the shadows, it’s not the only reason she nearly missed him at first. Blood coats his own face, as if the explosion that burst the demon’s flesh backfired on him. His yukata is dark with splotches of the evidence, and his hands are bright red down to the tips of his claws. His countenance reminds her of how he looked after Akaza smashed in his skull—bloody, ruthless, every bit the picture of an Upper Rank demon.

And yet, that image shatters as he jams his hands into the pockets of his haori rather awkwardly. The absurdity of the situation almost makes her laugh.

He must have caught up with her then, just as Oyakata-sama predicted. Then, while the demon chased her down, he’d been oblivious to the Upper Rank right behind.

But the demon isn’t dead yet. Strangled gasps reach her ears from every bit of mangled flesh, the perfect sound of misery. She needs to end it herself. 

She strides over to Tomioka and extends her arms, urging him to take the woman from her. 

Tomioka hesitates, but when Shinobu thrusts her forward without giving him the chance to object a second time, he accepts. His arms replace Shinobu’s and allow the woman’s head to rest against his chest.

“I’m leaving her in your capable hands,” she whispers, so low that the demon can’t possibly hear her. “One moment please.”

Without further ado, Shinobu retrieves her sword and searches for the part of the body that most resembles the head. After two minutes, an eye blinks back at her from within the wreckage. Her sword pierces through the iris. The demon releases his last gasps before the remains of his flesh collapse.

“There,” Shinobu says, sheathing her sword again. “Now—”

“Bond,” Tomioka repeats, more insistently.

“Alright, alright. Patience.” She pulls out the bottle and takes out a single pill. She’s about to hand it to Tomioka when she remembers that his hands are still full. With an icy smile, her eyes gleam. “Open wide.”

She didn’t think it was possible to alarm Tomioka any further, but his eyes pop as she brings her hand close to his face. It’s only when she pushes the pill against his closed mouth that he responds, parting his lips to let the pill land on his tongue. Soft, she thinks while retracting her hand.

“There. Now. What on earth are you doing here, Tomioka-san? Do you intend to follow me everywhere?”

Instead of answering, his gaze drops to the woman cradled in his arms. “She’s injured,” he says. Still committed to never answering her point-blank. “We should get her to a doctor.”

“I am a doctor, remember?” 

She’s more concerned about whether Tomioka’s self-control might break. She practically handed him dinner on a silver platter, and the woman’s skin is littered with cuts and bruises. If she’s not careful, he might snap.

But then again, his eyes aren’t dilated like they were when—

She shakes her head, willing the memory away. The same hunger she’s seen in his gaze before isn’t there now. She might be able to trust him to hold her a little while longer. 

“We need to talk,” Shinobu says with a smile that verges on threatening. “You’ll carry her the rest of the way, hm? Like you said, I need to tend to her injuries.”

Tomioka’s mouth falls open like he might object, but Shinobu doesn’t wait for an answer. She stalks past him in the direction of the wisteria house, and after a heartbeat, she hears the shuffle of footsteps following after her. 

Somehow, Takehiko and Shiori are still awake when she returns. They’re sitting at the table, a candle lit between them, almost as if waiting for her return. At the sound of her entrance, they both straighten to greet her, but fall short halfway. It takes her a heartbeat too long to figure out what’s wrong.

She held the door open for Tomioka like it was nothing; she didn’t think anything of it. While she can’t forget that he’s an Upper Rank demon, she hasn’t considered him a threat to her in some time. Maybe she stopped thinking of him that way when he saw her in the midst of a fever, shaking and helpless, and still didn’t finish her off. Either way, Tomioka isn’t a threat to her, but that doesn’t mean others don’t view him exactly as he is: Upper Rank Five, one of the strongest demons alive. And she can tell by the matching looks of alarm on Takehiko and Shiori’s faces that they recognize him as the creature he’s become.

“Ah!” Her smile is meant to be reassuring, but even she can tell it falls flat. “Apologies for the intrusion! I didn’t expect you both to be awake.”

“Kocho-sama…” Shiori’s voice trembles. “That…”

Tomioka stares back at them without blinking, which almost makes it worse. The fact that he’s a complete mess does him no favors either. It’s like the blood on his face draws more attention to the sharpness of his fangs and the kanji in his eyes. The woman doesn’t so much as stir.

“I haven’t introduced you,” Shinobu says, gesturing over to Tomioka. “This is Tomioka Giyuu. He’s my—partner.” Was, was, was. “He’s the Water Hashira.”

“Kocho-sama.” Takehiko’s eyes flick between the candle and Tomioka, like he’s tempted to use it against him. “That’s a demon.”

“Yes! That’s a new development. He’s been a demon for the last three months now.”

Her words don’t lessen the panic the pair feel. If anything, her nonchalance might be worsening the situation.

Her arms drop back to her sides, and her voice turns serious. “I understand that this must be a shock,” she says. “Yes, Tomioka-san is a demon. But he won’t cause harm to you or anyone in this village. I can promise you that much. He isn’t the one behind these attacks.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I killed two demons tonight,” she says. “Tomioka-san helped a little.”

Behind her, Tomioka snorts.

“I know this may be hard to accept, but Tomioka-san’s presence has been approved by Oyakata-sama. If you don’t believe me, send a message to the Corps, and they will confirm. Tomioka-san is permitted to stay by my side.”

Shiori exchanges a look with Takehiko. 

“I understand that you might be uncomfortable with a demon under your roof.” That is an understatement. Both of them look petrified, though her words have helped to ease the tension out of the room by the smallest amount. “If you want me to leave, I understand. I’ll send Kakushi here to take care of this girl, and I’ll be on my way. I’ll take Tomioka-san with me.”

Before either can say anything, Tomioka cuts in for the first time. “Kocho can’t leave,” he says. “The demon responsible for taking people from this village is still alive.”

Shinobu resists the urge to facepalm. Curse him and his unerring honesty. She suspected that might be the case. Neither demon appeared to be the charismatic type, the kind of person that could draw humans from their homes with little more than their words. When the woman had been cornered, she’d spoken of a him , someone who wasn’t present tonight. But having Tomioka confirm it to two people who are uninvolved is unhelpful.

“And you would know?” Takehiko demands. “Given you are one?”

Again, Tomioka doesn’t give the clear answer Takehiko wants. His eyes flicker over to the face of the unconscious woman. “There isn’t ice in her lungs,” he says, vague as ever. “So she’ll live.”

Takehiko follows Tomioka’s line of vision, and the profile of the woman startles him into awareness. 

“Sano Saki?” 

“You know her?” Shinobu asks. “Is this one of the sisters you mentioned?”

“Yes.” Takehiko is distracted for the time being, and he takes a step closer to confirm his suspicions. “Maybe it’s Saku… No. I’m certain it’s Saki. Saki’s features are a little—harsher.” He glances back at Shiori. “I’m right? This is Saki?”

Shiori peers over her husband’s shoulder. Recognition filters through her, the same way it did for Takehiko. “Yes. This is Sano Saki. She disappeared last week. How did you find her?”

“She was in the village. Running from two demons.” Though that isn’t quite correct. She was running from him, the third demon still at large. This isn’t good. Does this mean her sisters are—? Shinobu grits her teeth. “It helps to put a name to the face.”

“Will she be alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” Shinobu answers absentmindedly. She’s already scanned her injuries: a broken arm, broken leg, possible concussion (though she thinks this is unlikely), various cuts and bruises. She’ll reset the bones tonight, brace the limbs, and then call the Kakushi to finish the rest tomorrow. “She’ll need rest and minimal movement for a while.”

Takehiko gives her a solemn nod. “I see.” His gaze travels over to Tomioka. “I don’t like having a demon in my home. But if the Demon Slayer Corps has approved this…then I can bear with it for one night.”

Shinobu nods. “Thank you. Really. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

“You can have the kitchen to work,” Shiori says with a weary smile. She lights a lamp to let more light into the room. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you both.”

Before they leave, Tomioka murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.”

The two slip out of the room, and gratitude swells in her chest at their consideration. They’ve done more than she ever would have. If a demon asked to remain in her home—

Nezuko’s face comes to mind. With a sigh, Shinobu pushes the stray thoughts out of her mind. She needs to focus. 

“I’m going to grab a futon,” Shinobu says. “Then you can lie her down, and I can get to work.”

Tomioka nods, and Shinobu takes that as her cue to leave. There are several spare futons in the guest room she’s taken for the night. She snatches one and returns to the kitchen. Tomioka hasn’t moved an inch. He still stands there, still as a statue, holding Saki in his arms.

Shinobu rolls out the futon. “Place her there.”

Tomioka does as instructed, and she’s struck at how careful he is, even going so far to support her head. 

“Thank you,” Shinobu says. “Now—”

Right as she begins to remove her haori to roll up her sleeves, Saki’s eyes open. Before Shinobu can explain anything, the house fills with a blood-curdling scream.

Chapter Text

The scream pierces her ears and her heart. It takes her two full seconds to process the sound coming out of Saki’s mouth, and another for her to react.

“Saki?” Shinobu has to raise her voice in order to be heard. “Sano Saki?”

Saki stops screaming long enough to hiss, “You’re one of them.” Her words aren’t directed at Shinobu, but Tomioka. Her feet dig against the futon, trying to put distance between her and him, but the movement must cause her pain. Her face scrunches as she tries. “You’re one of them. You’re here to take me back!”

“Saki-chan?” Shinobu raises a hand to snag her attention away from Tomioka to no avail. “Please calm down. We’re here to help you!”

“Demon,” she hisses, her teeth bared. “Demon.”

She either knows because she’s been told, or she’s made an accurate guess. She isn’t reacting to Tomioka for no reason. Like Takehiko and Shiori, she knows exactly what Tomioka is, and she wants to escape. 

Shinobu takes another step forward, this time deliberately moving in front of Tomioka to block him from Saki’s view. “Saki, please. You’re not in danger.”

“His eyes are the same! They’re the same!”

Shinobu glances back at Tomioka, who doesn’t meet her gaze. His eyes are closed, and after a moment, they open again. The kanji is now gone. But the damage has already been done. 

The only demons that have kanji in their eyes are the Kizuki. If Saki recognizes the number ranking, that would mean she’s crossed paths with an Upper Rank. If the demon terrorizing this village is an Upper Rank, then they’re all in worse danger than she imagined—and she’s out of her depth on her own. 

She’s not going to be able to pry anything out of Saki like this. Her supplies are spread out on the table, and she quickly picks out a needle with a clear fluid. 

“Kocho?”

“Shh.” Before Saki can crawl away, Shinobu pierces her forearm with the sedative. As expected, Saki’s body lurches in a last ditch attempt to free herself. It takes a few seconds for the effects to kick in, and when they do, she once again becomes limp. Her eyelids flutter shut. “Okay.”

“Why did you do that?” Tomioka’s crouched on the floor beside the futon. 

“Because I can’t help her if she’s panicking,” she says, “and you can’t help her if you’re causing her to panic.”

Tomioka’s eyes bulge. He points at himself. “I’m helping?”

“Yes. And talking. I have questions.” She sinks to the ground beside him and removes her haori. After rolling up her sleeves, she points at Saki’s broken leg. “We’re setting these now. Much better to do it while she’s unconscious!”

Tomioka’s eyes widen even more, even though she didn’t think that was possible. “You’re scary, Kocho,” he says, and the words remind her so much of their first encounter that her heart twitches. “How am I supposed to help?”

“You’re stronger than I am. I usually have an extra set of hands. Today, that’s you!”

Tomioka glances up at the ceiling, almost as if wondering what god wished this misery on him. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky indeed!” She chooses to ignore his sarcasm. He’s chosen an inappropriate time to showcase his sense of humor. She reaches for his hands, ignoring the noise he makes as she drags him closer to Saki’s figure. “Let me show you.”

Shinobu feels along the limb first. The bone is definitely broken, and she needs a second to locate where the break occurred. Once she does, she guides Tomioka’s hands to the correct spots. It’s ironic that she’s using his inhuman strength to heal what’s broken instead of ruining it further. She’s even more thrown as her own hands—small and human—cover Tomioka’s, unmarked with scars or calluses, and so capable of snapping Saki’s bone into further disrepair. 

The claws that are meant for killing instead allow her to move them where she needs them to go, and though he’s perfectly capable of shoving her away or crushing her own bones, he lets her tug him along. That uneasiness from this morning is back, twisting her stomach into knots.

“Right there.” Her voice cracks, and she coughs to clear her throat. “There. Now move it with me. Just—apply more pressure. Easy.”

Tomioka’s far stronger than anyone in the near vicinity. Even without meaning to, if he misuses his strength by a fraction, Saki could end up worse off. Just as she’s careful in her guidance, he needs to be equally wary of overdoing it. 

“Keep going,” she murmurs, her hair falling into her face. “Easy. Gently.”

Tomioka’s hands move under hers, and she can feel the exact moment the bone sets where it needs to. Saki’s leg twitches against her will, and the two release her immediately.

“Now, the arm,” Shinobu says. 

She redirects his grip towards Saki’s arm, following the same process. She takes a second to locate the break, then guides his palms so that she’s covering them with her own hands. The arm is more fragile. There’s less muscle mass, less room for mistake. 

“Now,” she orders. Tomioka adds the necessary pressure and moves in time with her. “Careful. Careful.” How many people have died because of these hands? How many lives were saved? 

Shinobu glances up for the briefest of moments to catch his expression, and her jaw slackens. She’s seen how Aoi works above the operating table—how that intense focus controls her entire frame. It is the tell of an excellent doctor to be able to remain calm under the most stressful of circumstances: when someone’s life hangs in the balance beneath your hands. 

Tomioka stares at Saki’s arm with laser-sharp precision, and it’s then that she’s aware that she isn’t the only one worried that his strength will be excessive—that he’ll snap the bone further instead of mending it. His mouth is parted, and his brow is furrowed in concentration—similar to the face she’s certain she wears now. He’s using an extreme amount of effort to be gentle.

Her gaze falls downward. “You’re doing great, Tomioka-san.” Perhaps her instructions have frayed his nerves as well as hers. She can relax a little. “Nearly.”

Right as she feels that the position is set, she gently unfurls Tomioka’s fingers from around Saki’s arm. “Nicely done, Tomioka-san,” she says cheerily. Without pause, she starts bracing both limbs as Tomioka sits back on his heels. “It seems you haven’t forgotten all of your knowledge in first aid.”

His hands lie open in his lap. “I didn’t do much.”

“You did more than enough.” She tries to blow the stray strands of hair from her face as she leans over Saki’s unconscious form. “I can take the rest from here.”

“Do you need me to do anything else?”

“Nope! Just stay here.”

Tomioka doesn’t move a muscle. He’s almost statuesque as he sits at her side, hands cradled in his lap, watching her work. She can feel his eyes on her without having to check. The weight of his gaze is heavy regardless of whether she acknowledges it or not. If it were any other time, she might have called him out on it, just to watch him flounder. But tonight, she needs to focus, and as much as she enjoys pestering him, she has other priorities. 

Besides, there is a difference between him watching her out of boredom versus interest. She isn’t sure how she knows, but she has a gut feeling it’s the latter. 

A flap of wings alerts her to En landing in the window frame. “THE DEMON’S BACK,” En complains.

Another crow lands beside En, nearly knocking her outside. Kanzaburo’s eyes light up when he realizes who else is here. “GIYUU’S BACK,” Kanzaburo says, flapping his wings with excitement. “GIYUU.”

Tomioka’s eyes flicker over to Kanzaburo. “Kanzaburo.” He nods at the old crow. “Hello.”

“GIYUU.” Somehow, Kanzaburo must understand that this is a delicate situation, because he doesn’t invite himself inside, no matter how tempted he is to get close to Tomioka. He’s able to content himself with watching Tomioka from afar for the time being. “YOU’RE BACK.”

Tomioka doesn’t know how to respond to that. He turns back to Shinobu. “Where does Kanzaburo go?”

She’s nearly done with the arm. It’ll be time to brace the leg next. “Lately, he’s been staying at my estate,” she answers. “Don’t worry. He’s well cared for when you’re not around.”

Tomioka’s head dips. “Hm. That’s good.”

It is good—good that Tomioka is able to harbor some concern for his crow. The more Tomioka understands human sentimentality, the more she feels assured that the cure isn’t a lost cause, and more than that, that the prototype might be working. 

“Tomioka-san.”

“Yes?”

“I have a question.”

“Okay.”

As she settles into the procedure, she relies more on her muscle memory, and with that, her mind can relax. The questions that have been sitting nearly burst at the seams, waiting to be asked, and this is as good a time as any. With Tomioka, there’s no certainty in when the two will see each other again. Each encounter might well be the last. If she remains silent, she may never get the chance to ask what’s on her mind. 

“How did you know that there’s another demon?” Shinobu asks. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. Tomioka stiffens. “I believed it was the case because Saki mentioned another person. But you… You knew it immediately. Is that because of the bond?”

There is visible hesitation in his eyes. He swallows, almost bracing himself before he answers, “Yes.”

“Then you must lead me to that demon,” Shinobu says. “My mission will be incomplete until the threat to this village is completely gone.”

“I can’t do that.”

Her head snaps towards him so quickly she nearly gives herself whiplash. “Why?” she demands, sounding every bit the rash teenager she once was. She takes a moment to steel herself. “Why?”

His shoulders sag, and he refuses to meet her gaze. “I can’t.”

“Is it because of the bond?”

“Not exactly,” Tomioka murmurs. His gaze flits up towards the ceiling again. “I’ll do anything else. Not that.”

His response makes her pause. It almost sounds like he’s… pleading. “Tomioka-san?”

His mouth presses together tightly. He won’t budge on this, she realizes. Somehow, she’s found an invisible line he’s unwilling to cross.

“Tomioka-san,” she repeats. “I am a Hashira. If you won’t tell me, then that’s fine. I’m going to keep looking.”

Suddenly, he faces her, almost frantically. “You can’t.”

Her expression darkens. “Are you going to stop me?”

Tomioka’s at a loss for words. For whatever reason, his posture is tense and tight, and each sentence out of his mouth sounds as though it’s been clawed out of his throat. While he doesn’t want to meet her eye, when he does, they’re almost wild and unseeing. She doesn’t understand, but somehow, she knows one truth—he’s distressed.

Shinobu softens her voice. “Tomioka-san, I don’t understand. You’ve never stopped me from killing demons before.”

“...I know,” he whispers.

She returns her attention to Saki momentarily. With both of her limbs braced, all that’s left is to clean the cuts left across her skin. This requires far less care, though she’s not any less thorough with this. 

“Then help me to understand,” Shinobu insists. “Why are you upset with me?”

“Not with you,” Tomioka corrects, shaking his head. “I—I can’t—” His speech breaks off. “I can’t—don’t—die—”

She was right. He’s pleading—to her? 

Beneath her hands, Saki’s chest rises, and Shinobu twists back in time to see her eyes pop open. Like before, as soon as they latch onto Tomioka, panic twists her apart.

“No,” Saki mutters. “No, no…”

She’ll have to finish her conversation with Tomioka another time. She offers Saki her best reassuring smile before the situation slips out of her control. “Saki-chan,” Shinobu says. “It’s nice to meet you. I apologize for the rude introduction before! My name is Kocho Shinobu.”

Her words, at the very least, distract Saki long enough to turn her attention to Shinobu. “Hello,” she says slowly. Her voice cracks like she hasn’t had anything to drink in days. “Who are you?”

“Kocho Shinobu,” Shinobu repeats. “I’m a doctor. I brought you here to the Shimizus’ home.”

The memories return to Saki with time, and recognition crosses her features. Her head sinks back against the pillow. “I…remember you now,” she says. “You were the one chasing those demons.” A pause. “Are they dead?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. They were taken care of.”

“Are you sure? These demons… They don’t die no matter how hard you hit them. They heal themselves. They recover. If you didn’t see them disintegrate then—”

A pang of pity hits her. It’s clear in Saki’s voice that she’s terrified. Shinobu wonders what the past week must have been like—who she must have tried to kill—if she already knows the horrors of demon regeneration and immortality. 

“I can assure you they’re dead,” Shinobu says, splaying a hand over their heart. “I’m with the Demon Slayer Corps. I’m the Insect Hashira, one of the Corps’ highest ranking members. I was sent to take care of the threat here.”

Saki frowns as she scans Shinobu from head to toe, and Shinobu knows immediately what Saki must see: thin arms, short stature, small hands, small, small, small. Too small to be capable of eliminating any threat. She’s proven correct when Saki says, “It’s not enough. You won’t be enough to kill him.”

A vein in her forehead throbs. No matter how many times people underestimate her for her size, she never gets used to it. That hot rush of anger and frustration returns just the same—every single time. “Saki-chan, I understand your concern, but…”

Saki’s no longer looking at her. Her attention has been led astray, and has returned to Tomioka. “That demon—” She points at Tomioka. “He has the same eyes as this one.”

So Shinobu was right again. This demon is an Upper Rank. As much as she hates to be reasonable, one Hashira will not be enough to defeat this demon. Saki was right to be doubtful. 

“This demon,” Shinobu says, her tone grave. “What number did he have in his eyes?”

Saki’s eyes return to hers, but this time, she shrinks back. Shinobu wonders what sort of face she must be making to cause Saki to cower from her. But she needs to know. She needs to hear the confirmation of what she suspects. 

Saki’s throat jumps before she answers, “Two.”

There’s some time between Saki’s confession and the continuation of their conversation, mostly for Shinobu’s sake. The fury that fills her is evident on her face, so much so that she understands she needs to control herself before she’s in the position to ask any questions or process her next move. She excuses herself for a moment to fetch a pillow from her room for Saki. In the time that it takes her, she focuses on her breathing, forcing it to slow to an even pace, before returning to the kitchen.

In the meantime, Tomioka’s taken a quick bath. He’s changed out of his dirty clothes, and the blood from the demon has been washed away. He appears far more human already, and she wonders if it’s more for Saki’s sake than anyone else’s.

“Here you go, Saki.” Shinobu helps Saki sit upright and places the pillow against her spine so that she can face the two of them. Although she is still tense with Tomioka in the room, she’s stopped trying to escape, and she lets Shinobu help her up. “Is that comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you,” Saki says while shooting furtive looks over at Tomioka.

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says, leaning over him. At his name, he turns towards her. “Saki-chan must be thirsty. Can you brew us some tea?”

His look turns incredulous. She can hear his thoughts without him having to verbalize them: Does it look like I know how to brew tea?

Her hand grips his shoulder in what is meant to be a reassuring gesture. In reality, her nails dig in to show how serious she is. Please do it, otherwise Saki won’t tell us anything.

Tomioka releases a long-suffering sigh. He stands and does as asked, wandering over to the counters in search of a kettle. With a little more distance between them, the tension visibly dissipates from Saki’s shoulders.

“What is he doing here?” Saki demands. “He’s a demon, isn’t he? Aren’t you supposed to kill him?” 

Shinobu kneels beside Saki, gathering her haori to the side. “Tomioka-san is a special case. There are some…exceptions where he’s concerned.”

“Exceptions?”

“Tomioka-san is a Hashira. Well. Former Hashira, I suppose.”

“So you’re not going to kill him?” Her tone is accusatory, like refusing to behead Tomioka here and now is a failure on her part. 

She understands her judgment. She does. Kanroji herself said that their treatment of the former Hashira would be unfair. They never offered any other demons before them the chance at salvation, only unwavering death. She doesn’t expect an outsider to understand, to know how difficult it is to even begin considering Muzan’s death when they’re at a disadvantage in numbers and technique. But Shinobu’s had to make peace with difficult choices if it means bringing them one step closer to victory—one step closer to Muzan’s downfall. With Tomoka’s help, the Corps might know peace. It isn’t her call to discard that.

“No.” Her smile is as sharp as her blade, the unspoken intentions clear. This is not a road she’d like to travel down further. “Tomioka-san is my partner. Besides”—she shrugs—“I like his company.”

In the background, a ceramic cup clatters, and she swears she hears Tomioka hiss under his breath. 

“I’d like to ask you some questions instead.”

Saki visibly gulps. Without anything to hold, her hands fumble for something to grasp, anything to help keep her grounded. In the end, all she can find is the sash of her kimono to grip. Despite the fact that she’s full of nerves, there’s a steadfast determination in her eyes. Though she must have survived many horrors with Upper Rank Two, she’s willing to suffer through reliving it, even at the cost of disturbing her own peace. Shinobu can tell.

Even so, she waits for Saki to say, “Okay,” before she dares ask anything. 

“If you need to take a break at any point, let me know.” The edge to her voice has softened. There’s no reason to pressure her any further. “I know this might be hard for you.”

“No.” Saki’s jaw clenches. “I can do it.”

Pleased, Shinobu beams at her. “Great! To confirm, you are Sano Saki, yes?” She waits for Saki’s nod. “You disappeared a week ago with your two sisters.”

At the mention of her sisters, Saki’s face darkens. “Yes.”

“Did you leave voluntarily or were you forced?”

“It was…voluntary,” Saki admits. 

Shinobu’s eyebrows rise, though this revelation doesn’t come as much of a surprise. Saki’s mother’s words implied as much. If the demon responsible for luring these sisters away from their family is indeed Upper Two, then his actions match the description Kanae provided her—that he was charismatic, particularly when speaking in a gentle voice. 

“There’s a shrine in the forest that’s been abandoned for some time. But two months ago, someone cleared the overgrown shrubbery, cleaned up the shrine, and a man appeared in the village soon after. He called himself Douma.” Shinobu suppresses the fury that wells up inside her at the simple mention of his name. “He would never visit for long. Just make short stops. It turned out that he’d taken up residence in the shrine.”

“Do the rest of the villagers know of his existence?”

Saki shakes her head. “Not likely,” she says. “From what I can tell, he singles people out. He only came at night and very sparingly. But whenever he did, he always sought out my sister. My twin. Saku.”

Takehiko did mention that two of the sisters had been twins. “Do you know why?”

“I used to think it’s because he thought she was pretty.” Saki’s mouth twists with disgust now, as if this assumption is so far from the truth that she can’t believe she ever considered this as a possibility. “He brought her gifts and tried convincing her to visit the shrine now that it was cleaned up.”

Most demons are forced to rely on brute force and strength to claim their meals. Their appearances have transformed so far beyond what would be human that they cannot blend into society and coerce their victims towards them. However, this is not the case for this Upper Rank. Although he’s a demon masquerading as a human, the public is oblivious to the fact that this sheep has claws. It must be effortless to draw innocent young women towards him if he’s retained any natural charm. She wants to gag at the idea that Upper Two might have any kind of allure, but she would be naive to discard that thought completely. Otherwise, how would he have convinced so many people to join him?

“What did you think of him, Saki-chan?”

“I thought he was annoying,” Saki says, her words brusque, and a startled laugh leaves Shinobu’s mouth. “I hated him from the start. I could tell my sister thought he was charming, but I found him arrogant.” Her shoulders slump. “It didn’t matter, though. He somehow convinced both Saku and our younger sister, Shoko, that they should come with him into the forest to the shrine.”

Shinobu doesn’t like where this is leading. The tea kettle whistles sharply, but the interruption does little to ease the dread in her heart.

“I tried to tell them not to go,” Saki says. She wraps her arms around herself, making herself appear so much smaller. “I begged them. But Saku said there was no harm in visiting. In the end, I couldn’t stop them, so I made them take me with them.”

“Then what happened?” Shinobu asks. 

“He took us to the shrine in the forest. It was almost unrecognizable with how busy it was now. The buildings that were falling from decay now housed dozens of people. And worse, they all spoke to Douma as if he was some kind of savior.”

The more Shinobu hears of this demon, the more her hatred grows. It’s long become a rotten, festering feeling, but over the years, she’s felt as if that rage built itself beyond repair. Sometimes, that loathing felt uncontrollable, like it threatened to spill into every conversation, every interaction, she ever had until it consumed her entire being. Like this blind hatred was all she was made for, and as soon as she killed this Upper Rank, she’d vanish from existence.

It’s a dark thought to dwell on, so she tries to avoid it however she can. She focuses on the ways she can be useful to others—through medicine, through training, through fighting, through developing the cure. Anything that convinces her she was made for more than this all-consuming resentment. 

But right now, that anger is more difficult to control. She hates this demon with every inch of her long-festered heart, and yet, every day, she learns how that hatred still has room to grow.

“Continue,” Shinobu orders.

“The people there believe they’re part of an ‘eternal paradise.’ That he’s going to show them the way to salvation.” Her lip curls. “It’s sickening. It’s like a cult.”

“It is a cult,” Tomioka corrects, inputting his thoughts for the first time since the change in conversation. Without turning around, she hears him pour two cups of tea. “He’s well aware of that. He believes he’s saving them.”

Shinobu tsks. “Saving them?” she sputters before she can restrain herself. “How can he believe that?”

He sets the kettle back on the counter with careful hands before carrying over the two cups of tea. Thin clouds of steam rise from within, filling the kitchen with a fragrant scent, and the room feels more relaxing in an instant. He holds out the first cup to Saki, who regards him warily in turn.

“Aren’t you thirsty?” Shinobu prods, the same way a child would poke at a rock with a stick.

Her question causes Saki to deflate, and she accepts the proffered cup from Tomioka. “I am,” she admits. 

Tomioka hands the second cup to Shinobu, and although the gesture surprises her, she’s quick to recover and take it from his hands. “Thank you, Tomioka-san.”

Saki lifts the cup to her lips, but she’s unable to take more than a sip before she sputters. “Gah,” she cries. “What is that? Why does it taste like that?”

Shinobu peers into her own cup. By all accounts, it looks like a normal cup of tea, but she did ask a demon who doesn’t remember what he once ate or drank that wasn’t blood or flesh to prepare it. It might have been an ill-conceived idea.

Tomioka frowns, and Shinobu can tell right away that he’s sulking. He looks like a puppy that’s been kicked while he was down. “I’m sorry.”

She sips from her own cup and realizes what’s wrong. It’s far too bitter. Tomioka might well have taken his tea like this when he was human, but for someone else, it’s hard to stomach. 

“Ah, I see!” Without tearing Tomioka down further, she flashes him an encouraging smile, one that aims to alleviate his disappointment. “I think you forgot to add honey, Tomioka-san.”

“I did?” At her reassuring nod, he repeats himself, slightly more certain. “I did.”

“It’s alright.” Shinobu retrieves Saki’s cup, and hands them both to Tomioka. “I should have reminded you. That’s my fault.”

Tomioka disappears in search of a pot of honey. When Shinobu twists back towards Saki, the woman’s gaze flits between her and Tomioka with a level of interest that hadn’t been there previously. 

“Is something wrong?” Shinobu asks.

“No. Nothing.” Saki shakes her head slightly. “Anyway, even though I found the place creepy, my sisters were enamored. They liked the sense of community, and they convinced me to stay the night there, then another. Douma always gave Saku special attention, and I couldn’t pry her from him no matter what I tried.”

“What did your younger sister—Shoko—think of Douma?”

“I don’t really know,” Saki admits with a frown. “I could never get through to either of them. They would shut me down whenever I spoke badly of him. I think…if I had to guess, Shoko might’ve thought he was interested in Saku. Like he might marry her one day—or something.” She shudders at the thought. “They both seemed very… blinded.”

Tomioka returns and passes the two cups back to them. Saki peers inside at the contents before taking a delicate sip this time, and her eyes light up at the first taste. The honey must have done the trick, adding that hint of sweetness. Her next mouthful is a loud gulp.

Following her lead, Shinobu sips at her own, and the honey curls on her tongue, reminding her of sunny days on Kanroji’s estate. “Thank you, Tomioka-san.” She pats at the spot to her right with her free hand. “Come sit.”

Tomioka visibly hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Mhm.” She’s more insistent this time. “Sit.”

Tomioka settles down beside her, his hands clenched together in his lap. His spine is ramrod-straight, almost as if he’s deliberate in trying to stay still, as if that might lessen Saki’s concerns about him. 

“Where were we?” Shinobu asks, attempting to steer the conversation back on track. With Saki distracted with her tea, the three of them are able to sit together for the first time tonight without either party erupting with nerves. “Ah. Your sisters, right?”

“Yes.” Saki slurps another mouthful. “I don’t think there was anything I could’ve said to convince them that something was wrong with Douma. They would have never believed me. They thought I was the cynical one, that I wasn’t being open-minded enough.” A frustrated huff leaves her mouth. “I know I can be pessimistic, but it’s because of them. They’re always doing things like this. The two of them are like a team, doing things on a whim without considering the consequences. They’re naive. They don’t think.”

The last statement causes tears to spring to Saki’s eyes without warning. There’s a glassy sheen as they threaten to spill over, and her grip tightens on the handle of her cup, like it’s the only thing tethering her to the present. 

It’s almost painful how much of Saki’s sentiments resonate with Shinobu’s. She loved Kanae with all her heart, and yet, she’d be the first to admit that her older sister had a tendency to be naive as well. She saw the world as a much brighter place than its reality. Despite being a demon slayer, she didn’t think that it was unfathomable that there could one day be peace between demons and humans. Her dreams and fantasies seemed so beyond rationality that it frustrated her—and that frustration only grew when Kanae ignored her protests. 

She felt as though she had to make up for Kanae’s optimism with crushing realism. There could be no future where demons and humans coexisted; demons had a hunger that couldn’t be reasoned with, and the only way to deal with their kind was through ruthless decapitation. There could be no future for someone who couldn’t make their own decisions; they had to learn without coins or orders to speak for themselves. There could be no happy ending for someone like her; her anger would consume her as a demon consumes flesh, wholly, completely. 

It wasn’t that she hated Kanae’s unwavering hope. It was that she worried it would kill her. 

“I’m sorry,” Saki whispers as the first tear slides down her cheek. “I’m trying really hard not to cry, but…” Shinobu passes over her handkerchief. “Thanks. Sorry. Uh. My sisters are a bit innocent, so I’ve always felt like I had to take care of them. But in the end, I wasn’t enough.”

It isn’t over. But she’s seen this film before. She knows how it ends. There can be no other way if Upper Two is involved.

“Two days ago, Saku went to Douma’s room late at night. It wasn’t the first time, but I was still restless. I stayed up, but everyone started going to sleep, and she still hadn’t returned.” A pause. “So I went to his quarters. And—” A choked sob catches in her throat. Saku presses her wrist against her eyes. “And—the bastard. He was holding her in his arms, like they were embracing, but…he’d already eaten a chunk out of her neck.”

Shinobu clenches her teeth to the point that it’s painful. Her hands tighten into fists at her side. Saku was young. She’d barely lived. Though she made careless mistakes, she hadn’t deserved to die for them. She’d been taken advantage of, her feelings toyed with. All at the hands of the same demon that took Kanae from her.

Beside her, Tomioka is painfully still. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Shinobu says. The words are never enough, no matter who they come from, but it’s worse to not say anything at all. “Saku didn’t deserve that.”

Saki can’t respond. She’s reached her breaking point, and the tears spill with no signs of stopping. She buries her face in her palms, ragged sobs shaking her form every few seconds. This may very well be the first time she’s spoken with someone about Saku’s death, and in turn, it might be the first time she’s come to terms with it. In the aftermath, she would have been in shock. This grief is fresh, and the wound is new, and no amount of comfort will bring her twin back from the dead.

“We’ll give you a minute,” Shinobu says in a low voice. She’s not sure Saki can hear her over her cries, but this moment feels private. She needed to be alone after Kanae. Her fingers catch onto the edge of Tomioka’s haori, and she tugs him upwards with her. “Come now, Tomioka-san.”

He doesn’t resist, letting her drag him into her room. She shuts the door behind him, trying to ignore how Saki’s sobs have strengthened since they’ve left. 

Without turning around, Shinobu asks him the question that’s been on her mind since Saki announced which number was in the demon’s eyes. “Is that why you won’t lead me to the demon? Because it’s Upper Two?”

She hears Tomioka swallow in the quiet. “I can tell something happened between you and Douma,” he murmurs. “You look…enraged whenever he’s mentioned.”

“Hm.” She hasn’t mentioned Kanae to him yet. He doesn’t even know she had a sister or that he knew her once, too. She’ll tell him eventually. But right now, there is already one person trying to stop the internal bleeding. There doesn’t need to be two. “Do I?”

Tomioka doesn’t grace her with an answer this time, and she finally turns to face him. His arms hang by his sides, almost as if he’s at a loss for words. 

“I’m well aware that Upper Two is powerful,” she says, an edge to her voice. It’s been a while since her anger has been directed at him, and she hates it, because he isn’t being unreasonable to suggest that she’ll die to that demon. Kanae believed it too. “But I’m still a Hashira. I can’t turn a blind eye. I have a responsibility.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He’s incapable of meeting her gaze for once. With a sigh, he continues, “Kocho, it’s not about what you’re capable of. I’m not strong enough to beat Douma. I’m not strong enough to beat Shinazugawa or Akaza. I’m not strong. I’ll be useless to you. Akaza can’t even beat Douma. Believe me, he’s tried. I won’t be enough to guarantee your safety.”

Shinobu reels back in shock. She’s conscious of the fact that she’s at a disadvantage. It had been her gut instinct to assume that Tomioka withheld information from her because of loyalty to his superior, but his reasoning is far more different that she imagined. His worry stems from his own self-deprecation, the fear that he can’t match up against Upper Two, and the fear that she might die because of him.  

He isn’t acting in loyalty to the Kizuki. He’s acting out of fear—desperation—that he’ll send her to her death. 

Has he weighed her life with more importance than his all this time?

Her shoulders slump, the fight dissolving as quickly as it appeared, and she shakes her head in pure exasperation. “Tomioka-san.” She lets out a startled laugh, and Tomioka’s eyes widen in an emotion akin to wonder. “I never expected you to worry about me.” The edge to her voice has all but disappeared. “I can take care of myself.”

Once again, he can’t meet her gaze. “I do worry about you.”

Warmth pools in her stomach. She can’t remember ever feeling this way before, so pleased that someone frets over her. She always hated being coddled. But for Tomioka, an Upper Rank that’s forgotten everything about her, it means something different. It feels different. 

“Thank you for worrying about me then. But you should worry more about yourself.”

Tomioka gives her a one-shouldered shrug. 

“I guess I’ll have to worry about you more,” Shinobu concedes, “to make up for it.”

“Kocho.”

If she strains her ears, the cries from the next room have gone quiet. As much as she hates to pick at an open wound, she needs to plan for the next day accordingly based on Saki’s observations. She doesn’t have the luxury of time. If Saki can provide any more insight, she needs to know. She needs to be prepared. Just in case.

“I think we can go back into the kitchen. Let’s—”

Before she can reach for the door, fingers ensnare her wrist. She flinches without meaning to at the scrape of claws against her skin, and immediately, Tomioka releases her, eyes wide, like he moved without thinking.

“Sorry,” Tomioka says. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Truly, she’s more annoyed with herself. Each time he touches her, she can’t help but shrink away. It’s like she’s a rookie, terrified of even spotting a demon, instead of a Hashira. “Did you want something, Tomioka-san?”

“No.” His lips are flat, and she can tell he has something on his mind. Whether or not he’s willing to share is up to him. After a few heartbeats with no movement from either of them, he relents. “You’re shaking. That’s all.”

Shinobu raises her hand to her line of vision and realizes with a start that he’s right. Although it’s almost unnoticeable, her fingers carry the barest tremor. Is she that rattled by Saki’s tale? Only the immature fail to control their emotions, and tonight has proven time and time again that she must be the most immature of all. 

She hides her hand by her side, out of Tomioka’s sight. “You’re right,” she says. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Kocho—” She thinks he might say more, might press further, but she’s in no mood to hear it. In hearing Saki’s story, she can feel the bandages on her own wound unraveling.

She returns to the kitchen without hearing what he has to say.

The tears have subsided for the time being. Though her cheeks remain tear-stained, her eyes red and puffy, Saki appears relieved when they reappear, as if she’s managed to cry herself out, and now, being alone is worse than having the company of strangers. She drains the last of her tea while Shinobu and Tomioka take their seats opposite her again.

“I’m sorry,” Saki says through gritted teeth. “I didn’t mean to start crying so much.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Saki.”

“Still. I’m supposed to be helping you.” She lets out a deep sigh. “Where did I leave off?”

“Let’s go back to what happened after you realized what Upper Two was.”

“Right.” Saki’s eyebrows furrow as she falls deep in thought, recalling the memories of that tragic night. “I was furious with him. I lost my mind. I wanted to kill him for what he’d done. Saku wasn’t moving, and I was barely aware of my surroundings.” A pause. “I broke the leg off a chair and tried to stab him with it.”

“Oh!” Shinobu can’t help but exclaim. That vicious anger, that thirst for revenge—she knows it all too well. Demon slayer or not, she would have done whatever it took to avenge her sister. Clearly, Saki is the same. “Were you able to?”

“Yes,” Saki says, frowning. “He let me. He even laughed and said he admired my confidence. He said he wouldn’t be so cruel as to let two twins stay apart, so he’d eat me too, just to make sure I’d be able to stay with Saku forever.”

This time, Shinobu is aware of how her hand trembles at her side. 

“I was scared for my life. I’ve never felt like that before.” Saki’s eyes turn glassy, almost as if in a daze. “I threw myself out the window thinking that there was nothing I could do. I pierced him through the heart, and all he did was laugh. So I ran. I ran through the forest all the way back to the village. I left Shoko behind. I couldn’t think. I was so scared.” The tears well in her eyes. “I’d never seen the demons tonight before. I didn’t realize he had accomplices.”

Shinobu looks to Tomioka for insight. 

“Douma probably never saw them before either,” Tomioka clarifies. “He might’ve just called upon the nearest demons through the bond. They would have had to listen given his ranking.”

Interesting. Muzan can communicate with the Kizuki, the Kizuki can communicate with each other, and the Kizuki can communicate with weaker demons as well. It’s like a spider web of connections, constantly growing, information being leaked throughout. 

“I…” Saki’s voice sounds strained, like talking so much has torn through her vocal cords. “I need to go back. I need to get Shoko.”

Before Shinobu can say anything, Tomioka interrupts, “You can’t. It’s lucky you survived this time. If I were you, I’d leave this village and put as much distance between you two as you can. If she’s alive—which I doubt she is—then she won’t listen to you. Douma’s probably already convinced her that Saku is gone because of you.”

His honesty is searing like a hot iron, and though she can’t fault his reasoning, any tentative acceptance towards Tomioka Saki might have had melts away in an instant. Her arm snaps upward, her palm open wide, halfway to slapping Tomioka across the cheek. Shinobu is just quick enough to catch Saki by the wrist and urge her back into her original position before the contact is made.

“How dare you!” Saki snarls. Her nails dig into Shinobu’s shoulder, even as Shinobu keeps her in place with two hands on her arms. “How could you even say that to me? Do you even understand, demon? My sister is dead! That demon killed my sister! She’ll never come back. She’s gone. How dare you tell me that I should abandon Shoko too?”

Shinobu doesn’t look back to see the effect Saki’s words have on Tomioka. Instead, she focuses on the grieving sister in front of her. 

“Saki,” Shinobu says, her voice stern but gentle. “We are both sorry for your loss. I understand how you feel, and I know that you want to make sure Shoko doesn’t suffer the same fate. But you said it yourself. That demon—he doesn’t die easily. If he hears you step foot on the property, if he knows that you’re there—which he will—he will kill you. You’re not a demon slayer. You’re not a swordsman. Tomioka-san isn’t trying to be cruel. He’s telling you this so you don’t rush into death’s open arms.”

“How can you understand?” Saki snaps. Her hair falls into her face, covering her frantic eyes and bared teeth. 

“I understand,” Shinobu says. “Better than most.”

“I doubt that.”

“You think Saku is the only person that demon’s killed?” Shinobu laughs—a bitter, harsh sound that makes Saki reel backwards. It’s such a far cry from her usual sweet tone of voice that it surprises even her. “I had a sister. Her name was Kanae. She was a Hashira like me. Better than me even, because she was strong and fearsome and formidable, and that didn’t matter at all.” Her voice lowers to an almost inaudible hush. “It didn’t matter. When that monster killed her, she died like Saku—terrified as she bled out.”

She feels rather than sees the fight leave Saki. She relaxes in her arms, and Shinobu takes that as her cue to loosen her grip, removing her arms. Saki sinks back against the wall. There’s a haunted look in her eyes, and only then does Shinobu consider that she may have gone too far.

She inhales through her nostrils. “Tomioka-san has a point. If Shoko is alive, she might believe Douma over you.”

“I—I know,” Saki stammers. “I know, but—”

“You’re unequipped to go back there. You have a broken leg and a broken arm, and you are in no position to be moving at all.”

“But—”

“But I understand,” Shinobu murmurs. “If it were my sister, I would still want to try.” She regards Tomioka out of the corner of her eye, but to her surprise, his hands cover his face. Twisting back towards Saki, she continues, “I’m going to keep investigating. I can’t promise you that Shoko is alive, but if it’s within my power, I will do something. Okay?”

Saki’s shoulders sag. She must be exhausted. She probably hasn’t slept at all for the past two nights. “Okay.”

“Get some sleep. You need to rest.”

Shinobu rises to her feet, expecting Tomioka to follow her. But he remains seated on the floor, like he is unaware that she’s moved. She loops her hand through his elbow, and slowly, he stands, but his hands don’t move, even despite her tugging.

“Good night, Saki-chan,” she says over her shoulder as she drags Tomioka into her room. 

As soon as the door is shut, Tomioka’s knees buckle, and he collapses in front of her.

Chapter Text

He crumples without warning, and even she isn’t fast enough to catch him before his knees reach the floor.

“Tomioka-san!” Shinobu cries, alarmed. His hands haven’t left his face, even as she tries to urge him to remove them. He stays upright, at least—a small comfort, especially when he still refuses to meet her eye or speak. “Tomioka-san! What’s wrong? Is it the bond? Do you need another pill?”

There’s no answer. Her composure frays the longer he stays quiet. 

“Tomioka-san,” she repeats. Her voice is softer now, but no less insistent. She’s right next to his ear, one hand on his forearm. He’s always been stronger than her, and it’s particularly annoying at this moment; she can’t make him budge at all. “I need to know what’s wrong. Please. If something hurts, please tell me. Is it the bruise?”

She remembers the mark left by Muzan once the words leave her mouth, and her other hand moves of its own accord towards the collar of his yukata to expose his chest. Halfway, one of his hands moves to stop her, gripping her fingers in his.

One of his eyes is now exposed, the kanji back in view. The pupil is blown wide—almost as if distressed. He isn’t looking at her, but at some invisible point in the distance beyond this room—at something she cannot see.

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu urges. “Please tell me.”

Demons are no strangers to fear or pain or anger. She’s killed enough to know that they can often appear most human-like near death, when their will to survive is pushed to the limit, and their desperation takes over. But she doesn’t understand what would have caused Tomioka to react this way, to appear so distraught. They were having a conversation, and then, suddenly, it was like his body…shut down.

Her eyes bulge. Is this the cure? Did she do this to him?

“Let me get you blood,” Shinobu says. If the prototype is the problem, then she’ll need to find another source of blood for him. Takehiko or Shiori might be willing to help if she asks. She stands to do just that, but his vice-like grip on her hand keeps her there. “Tomioka-san, I’ll get you blood, just—”

His breathing has grown more ragged in the last few seconds, like he’s struggling to inhale. Do demons need to breathe? She doesn’t think so, and yet, from the way his lungs rattle, she wonders if it might be so. While one hand is wrapped around Shinobu’s fingers, the other continues to cover his other eye, and with horror, she notices that blood trickles down from his forehead. A beat too late, she realizes that the claws from his other hand have broken the skin.

“Tomioka-san!” She reaches for the other hand, but falls short. “Stop that. Stop hurting yourself.”

A strangled noise leaves his throat. “That demon…killed my sister,” he pants, his voice as rough as gravel.

His words make her freeze. Saki said those words only moments ago. 

“That demon—killed—sister,” Tomioka repeats, more insistent this time. She can’t tell who he’s talking to—her or himself. From her position, he’s echoing Saki’s words. He shouldn’t be having this much of a reaction to them.

“Yes,” Shinobu says, trying her best to sound reassuring, despite how rattled she is. Comforting lower ranked slayers and civilians is easy. How does she even begin to react when a fellow Hashira splinters in front of her? “Upper Two killed Saku, Saki’s sister.”

“That demon,” Tomioka repeats through gritted teeth, still holding her hand with a bruising grip, “killed my sister.” The words come out more easily now, as if he’s returning to coherence. 

She points at herself. “My sister?” Her voice cracks.

This question is the first to pull Tomioka out of the trance he’s fallen into. His grasp on her loosens a fraction, enough for the blood to feel like it’s recirculating, and he stops digging into his forehead with his claws. The scratches he’d made heal over within seconds, and the blood dries against his cheek. His visible eye latches onto her, and all she can do is stare back.

“That demon killed your sister,” Tomioka murmurs, like he’s testing the words in his mouth. But he frowns almost immediately. “No. The demon killed my sister.”

My sister? It’s embarrassing to admit but Shinobu can’t recall if Tomioka ever mentioned siblings. She assumed he had no family to speak of. Most Hashira didn’t. But he must have had family once. He’s never been open with his past, so she doubts she would’ve known, but she should’ve pieced it together. His haori must have belonged to someone else once.

“The demon killed my sister.” Tomioka’s voice is hollow, and there’s a pang of sympathy in her chest. “That demon killed my sister. I had a sister.” He speaks faster, almost as if chasing the memories before they abandon him. “I had a sister. She was killed by a demon.”

Shinobu can do nothing but squeeze his hand, just to remind him that she’s here. “You remember?” 

“I… Not really. I can’t remember her face or her name.” A choked noise leaves his throat, like it hurts him to speak. “I can’t remember her. But I remember—” His eyes squeeze shut. “I feel like I said those words before. I feel like… Is that possible? Did I have a sister?”

His eyes open, looking to her for answers. For once, Shinobu’s at a loss. She doesn’t know for certain. 

“I…I’m not sure,” she answers. “You never told me you had siblings.”

“I—I can’t remember her. How could I not remember my own sister? If I had a sister, I should remember her face or her name or anything, right?”

“You would’ve lost all of your memories of her,” she replies, “when you became a demon.”

Tomioka frowns. “No. That’s…not possible. I would’ve remembered something that important.”

Shinobu leans in close until their noses are mere centimeters from each other. She needs him to understand the truth. Muzan can take away his memories all he likes, but they’re never truly gone forever. This is exactly what Muzan fears—emotion, sentimentality, all signs of what he considers weakness. 

But as Tomioka’s eyes turn glassy, she can’t agree with him. This isn’t weakness. Not at all. If Tomioka were weak, he’d continue to press forward in oblivious bliss, letting the painful memories of his sister fall to waste. Instead, despite forgetting her, he grieves for her. Despite all of his claims that he has no need for his human memories, he hates himself for losing those memories. 

“Are you sure?” Shinobu presses. From this close, the distress in his eyes is even more noticeable. “That’s why you remember other things about being a human, right?”

Tomioka flinches. At the same time, he attempts to wrestle himself from her grip, and she lets go. “I—”

“Don’t let yourself forget again,” she orders. “What else do you remember about her?”

“I…”

“It can be anything.” Anything that works as a tether—a hair clip, the hordes of butterflies, a false smile. “When you think of your sister, what do you remember?”

“I can’t—I can’t…”

“Okay.” This requires a softer approach. She kneels beside him, her hand firmly wrapped around Tomioka’s once again. His shoulders continue shaking, but she chooses not to touch him further. This feather-light contact will do. “If it’s difficult, then can I tell you what I remember about my sister?”

Tomioka gulps. “Kanae.”

“Yes. You knew her. You two were both Hashiras at the same time.”

“Oh.” A heartbeat passes. “I…doubt she liked me.”

“Then you clearly don’t remember Kanae!” Shinobu beams, an attempt to emulate her older sister, as if the gesture will jog Tomioka’s memory. “Kanae adored everyone. She was endlessly kind to everyone, even if they didn’t deserve it. She had high opinions about you, Tomioka-san.”

Slowly, the other hand lowers from his face. It falls against his side. While his eyes are still unfocused, she’ll take what she can get. “I don’t remember her.”

“That’s okay. She would’ve forgiven you for that, too. She used to tell me to go easy on you, and not to tease you too much.”

Tomioka frowns. “So you didn’t listen.”

“Ha! Your sense of humor is returning.” Shinobu runs her thumb along his knuckles. “That’s a good sign. Anyway. I was a lot worse when I was younger. I could be rude and obnoxious.”

“Hm.” His shoulders lower a fraction, and each small shift is like a hard-earned victory. “Did things change after she died?”

Yes, she wants to say. But words fail her, and all she can do is nod. “I changed. Because my sister was gone, and I felt like I had the responsibility of honoring her memory, so at the very least, she could rest peacefully.” She points up at her mouth with her free hand. “I thought that if I smiled like she wanted me to, and took care of the estate like she did, and became a Hashira strong enough to kill an Upper Rank—maybe she wouldn’t despise me for being unable to carry out her last wishes.”

How could she stay the same when her tether to this world was gone? How does she come back from that? Without Kanae, it’s like no one is here to keep her on this earth, so all she can do is push herself along this bitter path of revenge in the hopes it gives her meaning. 

A furrow appears between Tomioka’s brows. She doesn’t mind telling him more, but she’s keenly aware that their conversations are never truly private. There’s always the chance of someone listening in. Maybe…maybe once the bond has deteriorated with the cure, she’ll tell him. 

“It’s been so long,” Shinobu muses. “I feel guilty sometimes. She practiced Flower Breathing, and even though I spent so long watching her train in the garden, I can’t remember how she used each form. It’s terrible but I’m so glad Kanao—my younger sister—practices Flower Breathing, too. I can’t remember how Kanae’s swordsmanship looked like, but when I watch Kanao, I’m less pained about it.”

Tomioka is quiet, ruminating over her words.

“I haven’t had my memories erased, but sometimes, we forget,” Shinobu says. “The little things? Those are unimportant compared to the emotions. If you grieve your sister, you remember her, and if you can grieve for her, then that love isn’t lost.”

There’s a sadness to his gaze she can’t begin to fathom. She’s seen this grief countless times—in Saki’s face, in Kanao’s, in Aoi’s, in Tanjiro’s. It never becomes easier to soothe, and no matter how many times one counters this wound, remembering how to staunch the bleeding doesn’t get better with time and experience. 

“I think,” he whispers, his voice hollow, “she died for me.”

Her heart drags to a stop. She doesn’t stop trailing her thumb along the back of his hand, just so he knows she’s listening.

“If I try to remember my sister, all I can think about is the guilt.” His teeth clench, almost painfully. “If my sister did exist, then I think I’m the reason she’s gone. She must have died…protecting me.”

If his sister was anything like Tomioka, then that wouldn’t surprise her at all. Tomioka’s heroism and sense of justice must have come from somewhere—must have been nurtured from a young age. But her mind is having difficulty reconciling the fact that their pasts are so similar. In all of her wildest dreams, she would have never pictured that they were so alike. If what Tomioka remembers is true, he lost a sister, and the guilt continued to eat him alive while he was still human, just as her grief and guilt gnaws at her insides, too. 

The guilt is so potent that it follows him now, as a demon who has forgotten everything. 

A sob works its way out of Tomioka’s throat, so raw and heart-wrenching that it tugs at her own heartstrings. His entire body rattles with the force of trying to hold it back. “I—” His voice cracks. “I’m a terrible brother. How—how could I have forgotten about my sister?”

She can reassure him as much as he’d like that it’s not his fault, but it won’t work. If her assumptions are correct, and Tomioka is remembering correctly, then it’s possible that he’s carried around survivor’s guilt ever since his sister died. What the other Hashira saw as him being aloof and uncaring was the result of unbearable pain. Though on some level, she recognized his actions as stemming from grief, she would have never imagined the depths to the immense pressure and self-loathing he experienced. 

She would have never imagined that he might have felt the same as her. 

That lone thought is what compels her to move forward, to wrap her arms around his shoulders. At the sudden contact, his breath hitches, but after a second, the sobs resume, and this time, she can feel the ache each one leaves as they sweep through his body, leaving him shaken and wounded.

“Tomioka-san,” she says, her mouth near his ear. “I don’t think you’re a terrible brother.” She tightens her grip on his shoulder blade. “I think you loved your sister so much that you wore part of her haori every day, just so you could carry her with you. I know, because I do it too.”

Another tremor wracks through him. Tentatively, as if he’s unsure if she’ll allow him, his arms rise up around her ribs to meet her in an equal embrace. She’s never been this close to him, but right now, his chest presses up against hers to the point she can feel every beat of his heart and every intake of breath. His hair tickles her cheek, and she buries her face in the side of his neck as his grief consumes him.

Each sob, each gasp—she’s aware of each one. His palms press against her back, achingly gentle, and the tears that slip from his eyes soak against the collar of her uniform. It’s no matter. Right now, Tomioka is her focus. The grief feels fresh and new, and she can’t abandon him when he’s so heartbroken he can barely stand to move.

“If your sister was ready to die to keep you alive,” Shinobu whispers, “then she loved you, and the fact that you can grieve her without remembering her means you loved her too.”

Another sob tears through him, but each one sounds like it brings him relief instead of further sorrow now.

“Your sister must have wanted you to live. That would have been more important to her than anything. That’s what I think.” Her own throat has thickened, but she won’t let herself cry. “So don’t dishonor her memory by forgetting her sacrifice. You…have to live. Because she…can’t.”

Tomioka’s sister must be proud of him. The brother she sacrificed everything for went on to protect hundreds of human lives. Though, in the same vein, he might have taken just as many. It’s unfair that Muzan twisted his sense of justice this way. It’s not right.

Tomioka should have been able to live as a human, protecting the lives of those too weak to protect themselves. He shouldn’t have had that choice stolen from him. 

Even so, she wonders what his sister might think of him now. If that love has changed, or whether she’d encourage her brother to live still, hoping that the lives he saves moving forward will lessen the blood on his hands. 

Several minutes pass before the tears begin to slow. Shinobu hasn’t moved, her arms still wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Kocho,” he whispers, so low that even in the dead of night, she almost misses it. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. We’re Hashira. You said that to me once. It’s our responsibility to support the Corps, but it also falls on us to support each other.”

A sharp intake of breath. “I’m sorry I can’t remember.”

“It’s alright.”

Just when she thinks he might release her, his weight increases instead, and Shinobu is saved from crashing into the floor by Tomioka’s quick reflexes. His hand cups the back of her skull, the barrier between her head and a possible injury, but he removes it once he’s assured she’s unharmed. Beneath his body, she’s sprawled on the floor, her hands planted against the mats for purchase. 

He’s close. Unbelievably close. Even though the two were hugging mere seconds ago, this position is decidedly more unnerving. He’s slotted between her legs, his face almost at equal level with her own, and as it stands, she can barely move as his entire weight settles on top of her. His head knocks against her shoulder, his shock of hair brushing her cheek. She can’t move—can’t readjust herself. Her neck is mere centimeters away from the mouth of an Upper Rank, and she’s trapped.

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says through gritted teeth. She attempts to wriggle out, but she can’t shift at all. “You’re crushing me.”

His arms are thrown across her almost haphazardly. She half-expects him to at least acknowledge her words, but he doesn’t so much as move. The two are chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach, and she’s finding it hard to breathe. She’s always been aware of how much taller—how much bigger—Tomioka is compared to her. The other Hashira all drown her in size, proving over and over that height and physicality give them an edge she can never attain. 

Unlike Uzui or Himejima, she’s never felt miniscule standing next to Tomioka, but she’s rethinking that now. He’s more like a bear than anything else, overwhelming her as he’s draped across her without so much as an apology. 

“Tomioka-san.”

Shinobu stretches her neck to catch a glimpse of his face. He’s turned towards her, his mouth agape, dried tear stains running down his cheeks, but that isn’t what surprises her most. His eyes are shut and his features are smooth, as relaxed as any human while sleeping. 

He fell asleep. Or he passed out. Either is possible. She should have realized that his breathing was too level to be normal, but she would have never come to this as the obvious cause. Nezuko sleeps to regain her strength, but as far as she knows, no other demon ever has. Tomioka never has.

And yet, he’s sleeping on top of her, so utterly exhausted from confronting his pent-up grief that his body gave out on him. 

Shinobu drags a finger along his cheek, just to ensure he isn’t trying to trick her. He doesn’t so much as stir. 

It is utterly foolish for an Upper Rank to fall asleep this close to a Hashira. If she wanted to, she could reach for her sword. But she supposes, in the same vein, it is just as foolish for her to let him pin her to the floor like this, and it is definitely idiotic for her to let him rest his head against her shoulder, so terribly close to her flesh. If he wanted to, his fangs could sink into her skin in seconds, and she would be powerless.

This is quite rude, Tomioka-san, she thinks, half in jest, as she reaches for the tie keeping his hair in a ponytail, and tugs it free. It’s the only thing she can do to make him more comfortable. But with how he’s pressed against her, lodged between her knees, she has a feeling he’s already perfectly at ease. 

She’ll have to sleep in her uniform tonight. She pulls out her butterfly clip and sets it out of reach, allowing her hair to fall to her shoulders. Tomioka still slumbers all the while, and once she settles back in place, all she can do is follow his lead.

Good night, she thinks, trying not to dwell too long on how she’s ended up in this position. She’s tired, and if she has any chance of seeing her vengeance through, she’ll need a full night’s sleep.

Shinobu wakes as all demons do—with the moon. 

When she stirs, the weight from last night has disappeared, and the curtains in her room have been shoved open, trails of moonlight filtering through the gaps. Tomioka is nowhere to be found, though there are some low voices speaking right outside. He shouldn’t be far. 

With that in mind, she takes her time redoing her hair and washing her face. Her limbs are a little sore, and she puts in the effort to stretch in the privacy of her room. Once she’s done, there’s a pinch in her stomach that demands attention, but that can wait. Now that she’s up and about, the voices are louder, and she can pick out a few familiar ones.

Shinobu makes it out to the engawa to find Takehiko and Saki sitting at the edge. Saki’s supported with a pillow against her spine and her leg, but despite the discomfort she must feel, the young woman only looks relieved. It must be some comfort to be free from last night’s dangers. Takehiko is sprawled, as relaxed as any of the stray cats that roam his property, and he lifts his head at the sound of Shinobu’s footsteps.

“Good morning,” he says. “Or should I say good evening?”

“It’s morning for demons,” she replies. Speaking of demons… “Where is Tomioka-san?”

Takehiko points towards the right. She follows his line of vision to one of the bushes on the edges of his property. To her surprise, Tomioka is crouched near the leaves, his arm outstretched, his hair loose at the nape of his neck. She doesn’t realize what he’s doing until a furry arm pokes out of the bushes and slaps at him with a hiss.

“He’s been trying to pet the cats since the sun went down,” Takehiko says with a laugh. “They all run from him, though. Can animals sense demons?”

“Yes, some do!” A sense of nostalgia sweeps over her. A few years ago, Tomioka tried to earn the affection of Yae’s dog as well, with little to show for it. She turns her attention to Saki. “How are you feeling, Saki?”

Saki presses a hand to her side as she straightens. “I’m doing okay.”

“I can give you some painkillers before I leave.”

Her eyes bulge. “You’re leaving?”

Takehiko looks similarly surprised by her statement. “I thought you said there was another demon.”

“There is.” An Upper Rank. Upper Two. The very one she’s sworn to kill. “Saki’s information last night was very helpful. I should be able to find the shrine by myself.”

“But you said that demon was dangerous!” Saki cries out. “You said your sister couldn’t defeat him.”

“It is dangerous. It requires at least three Hashira to take down an Upper Rank of that caliber.”

“Then…”

“I don’t intend to fight him,” Shinobu says. “But if I’m able to investigate and bring some valuable information about his movements and location back to the Corps, it’ll be worth it. Taking Upper Two out of the equation would be a tremendous victory on our side.”

A shadow falls across the three of them. Although she stands on the engawa, there isn’t much difference in height between them as Tomioka hovers over them, his lips pressed into a tight line. Some dried blood sticks to his forearms, the result of his curiosity, but the cuts have already healed over.

“Tomioka-san!” Shinobu greets him, ignoring the dour look he sends her way. “Won’t you sit and let me tie your hair up?”

He blinks at her, and for a second, she thinks he might refuse. But soon enough, he sits down at the edge, a healthy distance between him and the others, and she’s able to reach his shoulders. 

“Sorry,” she says. She digs her fingers into his tangled hair, and almost immediately, her hand gets stuck. It requires a bit of patience to undo the nest, but eventually, the strands fall easily around her. She’s never touched his hair before. She’s unsure what possessed her to offer to tie it up for him now. She probably only wanted to take that disapproving look from his face, his thoughts as apparent as day. “I thought taking out the tie would make you more comfortable last night.”

He hums. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” 

Now that it’s less tangled, it’s easy to gather at the nape of his neck, and she gently pulls the tie around his hair. She used to help all of her girls with their own hair when they couldn’t handle it themselves. It brought her such joy when they asked her to help, but it’s been some time, and they’ve all learned how to manage themselves in her absence. It’s relaxing to let herself slip back into this old habit, even if Tomioka is neither a sister nor helpless.

“There you go,” she says. 

Tomioka twists back to look at her. His mouth is pursed again. Her distraction was only temporary. “You can’t go after Douma.”

Shinobu frowns. “I’m not going to kill him.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“We still don’t know what happened to Shoko.” After all, she promised Saki she would do something about her younger sister. She can’t let an Upper Rank do as he pleases, even if her chances of survival are low. At the very least, she needs to determine his whereabouts, then she can consider summoning reinforcements. “I can go to the shrine and check. If she’s alive, maybe I can convince her to come back with me.”

Tomioka’s eyes narrow. “Do you think you can just walk through? It’s a cult, Kocho. They’re going to be wary of anyone Douma doesn’t let in himself.”

A flicker of annoyance pulses through her. This must be how Saki felt last night when Tomioka countered all of her emotions with the cold and severe truth. The rational side of her recognizes that he has a point. If Tomioka’s correct, then the humans surrounding Douma see him as their savior, and they will not be welcoming to a stranger who appears out of nowhere. He has a point, and yet, the alternative is that she does nothing, and that cannot be allowed.

“I’ll figure something out,” she says, an edge to her voice. “I’ll pretend to be a recruit. Upper Two likes women, doesn’t he? I doubt he’ll turn away someone as fragile-looking as me.”

An odd expression crosses his features. “You’re not fragile.”

Shinobu opens her mouth to refute his claim before clamping it shut. There’s a tiny part of her that can’t help but be pleased, even though she’s trying her best to be irritated by Tomioka. 

“Maybe that would work,” Tomioka continues. “But he’s Upper Two. He’ll tell by your presence that you’re no ordinary human. Besides, you’d have to give up your sword and uniform to play the part. Are you willing to leave yourself defenseless?”

A vein in her temple throbs.

“Then there’s the problem that Shoko might not leave with you. If she’s indoctrinated in the cult, she’s loyal to Douma, and she won’t listen to a stranger.”

Shinobu huffs. She knows her anger is misdirected. Tomioka knows Upper Two far better than she does. He’s right to point out the flaws in her plan. “What do you expect me to do then?” she snaps. “Run away? Do nothing?” 

She can’t.

A tense quiet falls between them. At some point, Takehiko and Saki both disappeared inside, and the two of them are alone. There’s the occasional meow from one of Takehiko’s strays, but otherwise, the silence that settles over them is tight and suffocating. It’s like the oxygen has been sucked from the atmosphere, leaving her with little to breathe. 

His gaze follows her as she takes a seat beside him, pulling her legs to her chest.

“Kocho,” Tomioka says, his voice softer. “Do you really think you can go there without confronting him? You say that you won’t fight him, but Douma eats more often than I do. He eats his followers. Do you mean to tell me that when someone disappears, you’ll stand by and do nothing?”

Her lungs twist. 

“That’s not the kind of person you are,” Tomioka says. “You’re too selfless for that. If Douma hurts or kills anyone, you won’t be able to stop yourself. You’ll fight him even if you might die, and I won’t be able to help you.”

Damn him. Damn him—for knowing her so well. It hurts because in her heart, she knows he’s right. If she watches Upper Two hurt an innocent human, she will dive headfirst into battle, consequences be damned. Even though it isn’t the right timing, and she won’t have another slayer near to behead him, she won’t be able to let someone die. 

“Be quiet, Tomioka-san,” Shinobu mutters, resting her chin on her knees. She doesn’t even want to look at him right now. 

“Sorry,” Tomioka whispers. “Your plan isn’t terrible in theory. It has a lot of holes, but I can probably smooth most of those over for you.” He looks down at his hands—at the claws. “The problem is that if things go south, the two of us won’t be enough to beat him.”

A Hashira who is unable to behead demons and an Upper Rank who might be killed by the bond at any moment—what a pair they make, she thinks. 

“What if I called in reinforcements?” 

“Aren’t the Hashira spread thin?”

“For an Upper Rank, we can get two to come,” Shinobu says. Three Hashira…should be enough. If Tomioka helps, then they should be able to defeat Upper Two. “If I promise not to engage with Upper Two until reinforcements arrive, would that make you feel better?”

Tomioka shrugs. “Not really. I don’t believe you’ll be able to stop yourself.”

She glares at him. “Tomioka-san.”

He glances sideways at her, his lips twitching. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he might be about to smile. “You hide your anger way less these days.”

At that, she schools her features back into her usual serene smile, like her mask hadn’t slipped at all. But it’s too late. Tomioka doesn’t press further, but he doesn’t have to. He’s seen right through her, without her realizing that she let her annoyance show to begin with. 

“What do you think, Tomioka-san?” she asks, her voice high and sugary-sweet. She turns until her knees bump into the sides of his legs. “If I promise to call for more Hashira, would you accompany me to the shrine?”

“Why don’t you let me go look for Shoko myself?”

“To-mi-o-ka-san.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Tomioka says with an aggrieved sigh as he looks away. A few heartbeats pass, and Shinobu worries he’ll refuse her again until he asks, “Will you follow my lead? Even as a Hashira, will you be able to trust Upper Five enough to put your life in my hands?”

This is the true test of her resolve, the question of how much she does for Tomioka is out of obligation compared to cooperation. Does she help him out of Oyakata-sama’s will or because—on some deeper level—she cares for his well-being? It’s terrifying to admit that she might have sympathies for a demon, and worse still, an Upper Rank. As a Hashira, the very act should be a betrayal against the Corps.

But in the deepest recesses of her soul, above the all-consuming hatred she’s harbored against demons for years, she’d be a fool to deny that there isn’t some fondness there for Tomioka. Despite all he’s done, she can’t see him solely as a monster as she would have once. 

She wants him to recover his memories. She wants him to become human again. She wants him to live—to honor the lives he took and find peace in his grief. She wants, wants, wants—

She wants to believe he won’t break her trust. She wants to believe he values her life, perhaps more than she does her own. 

Oyakata-sama trusts Tomioka to lead them to victory. Kanae would have believed in his dream. How can she continue to fight against it when she wants to rely on him again—just as he relies on her?

The edges of her smile relax a fraction, which makes it that much more genuine. “I believe you don’t want me to die,” Shinobu says. “I trust you won’t let me die.”

Even though he’s the one who poses the question, Tomioka reels back in clear surprise.

“What’s wrong, Tomioka-san?” Shinobu tilts her head, the perfect-picture of an innocent damsel. “We’re partners, aren’t we? Why wouldn’t I trust you? Don’t you trust me?”

“I do trust you,” Tomioka says, and the honesty cuts through her like the sharpest of knives. This time, she’s the one gaping. “But it’ll be different for you. You’ll be vulnerable. If I mess up…”

“You won’t do that.”

“But if I do…”

“Tomioka-san. Do you take me for a liar?”

He pouts, trapped by her line of questioning.

“Then it’s settled!” Shinobu says, clapping her hands. “I’ll be placing my life in your capable hands, Tomioka-san.”

This statement seems to leave Tomioka more rattled than anything else she’s ever said. She didn’t even know she was capable of having this much of an impact on his composure. “I have conditions,” he says.

Shinobu smiles, the perfect picture of tempered fire—deadly, and only just contained enough not to burn. “Anything,” she promises. So long as it ends with the severed head of that monster.

His first condition is that they should arrive at the shrine close to daybreak. The better to slip through the cracks, he insists. Upper Two will be too concerned with the looming sunlight to hone in on her hidden strength and formidability. With that said, she only has enough time for a meal before she bids her farewells to the Shimizus and Saki.

“You’re leaving already?” Shiori asks, her eyes wide, having only just heard the news a second ago. She’s the last within the household to be told. Shinobu immediately gave the news to Takehiko and Saki after her conversation with Tomioka outside.

“Yes,” Shinobu says. “Thank you again for your hospitality. Truly.”

Shinobu’s dressed in one of Shiori’s spare kimonos, a little too long at the hem for her height, provided by Takehiko. She would rather keep her uniform, but it gives away her identity instantly. The single kanji for Destroy would do little to keep her safe. Instead, she’s playing the part of the fragile young woman she promised she would: dressed in ordinary clothes, her weapons out of sight. 

Tomioka stands at her side, having changed back into his dark blue yukata. A bag hangs at his arm, containing her uniform. He drained half of her supply of blood before leaving her room with the intention of traveling light. In all regards, the two of them appear to be a young pair wandering through the village—ordinary, normal, boring. Tomioka’s markings are a little distracting, but not unexplainable. 

“We owe our lives to the Corps.” Takehiko bows deeply. “We are always happy to help where we can.”

“Thank you,” Tomioka says.

Out of all of them, Saki looks the most uncertain. She’s seated in a chair by the door, a closed book in her lap, but her gaze continues to follow them even as they murmur their final goodbyes.

“Saki-chan,” Shinobu says. “I cannot promise anything, but if Shoko is alive, I will try my best to save her.”

Saki chews on her lower lip. “Thank you,” she says. “I…”

“Keep your head up. Don’t lose heart. You are a sister, first and foremost. That will never change, but that is not all you are.”

A glassy sheen appears in her eyes, but she wipes at them with the back of her hand before the evidence can show. “I know that.”

“Good.” Shinobu squeezes her shoulder in reassurance. The next few weeks will be the hardest, but if Saki can survive the months that follow, when everyone else has finished mourning and her sister is all but forgotten in their eyes, then she can endure this earth-shattering pain. It would be unfortunate if Saki were to follow in her footsteps and become as absorbed in revenge as her. “I wish you the best of luck.”

Tomioka sidles up to her. She doesn’t think he’ll say anything.

In the end, Saki is the one to address him first. “I don’t trust you,” Saki says, glaring. “But I trust Shinobu-san. If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you myself.”

He blinks, the hesitation gone. “I understand.”

“Good.” She blinks rapidly, like the tears she shoved away have reached the door once more. “Good luck.”

Shinobu waves goodbye from a distance. The stray cats follow them to a point, mewling at their heels, but at some point, they give up. The more space she puts between her and the wisteria house, the better. They don’t have to bear witness to her twisted and self-serving desire for vengeance.

The second condition is less of a condition and more of a request. It might be smarter to leave some blood aside. After all, there’s no guarantee when they’ll be able to escape, and the longer they have to last without anything to sustain Tomioka, the more danger they’ll be in. If he’s starving, he becomes a risk to himself and others. Even knowing this, when he asks her to let him finish the last of the supply before heading into the forest, she decides to agree.

She almost decided against it, but the memory of Kanae’s pale face, the blood trailing down her skin as the life seeped out of her, convinced her otherwise.

She almost considered another alternative, just for the sake of improving their chances: letting Tomioka eat the decaying flesh of a human corpse.  

As it happens, her heart is far more rotten than she anticipated. Even though this disgusts her at her core, she almost offers—for the hope that they’ll be able to beat that monster. She’s realized that there is little she won’t do. If this strengthens the possibility of success, then she’s willing to damn herself—and Tomioka further—without regret. 

She once asked Tamayo how she survived before learning how to medically alter her body to survive off the smallest amounts of human blood. There had been no getting around the truth that the years after she broke free of the bond were pure agony. Even today, Tamayo speaks of that time with a certain detachment, like she’d give anything to forget it. Animal blood, corpses—anything that isn’t a living human had been enough. 

Even so, the guilt that plagues her now is potent enough to turn her stomach. From a few feet away, he continues to suck at the last droplets from the final bags, oblivious to her turmoil. She’s willing to let Tomioka feast on innocent corpses to further her vengeance. What does that say about her? That she’s cruel and conniving and selfish? 

No, she decides. Tomioka’s agreed to blood. It will have to be enough. Giving in, letting him defile a corpse after death—that makes her as much of a monster as that demon. She has to draw the line somewhere. None of the other Hashira would even think of this as an option, but in all of her terrible desperation, she’s stooped this low to even dwell on this possibility.

The sounds of him feeding have stopped. When she turns around, Tomioka pushes himself to his feet on unsteady legs. His eyes meet hers, and they’re as dazed as they were that day he licked the blood from her cut, controlled by a force greater than himself. Blood stains his fangs and the corner of his mouth, the evidence clear. 

“Done?” she asks. Her smile does little to hide the layer of panic that settles over her. They now have nothing to fall back on. If something goes wrong, if Tomioka loses control… She has to place an unbelievable amount of faith in his restraint now. 

She did promise she would trust him. She can’t go back. 

Tomioka nods, though the motion is slow. Everything about him after he feeds is sluggish and unhurried, like a human after consuming any large meal. That isn’t what draws her attention most. It’s how disoriented he looks, and yet, he is still able to see right through her.

“Are you able to get more blood?” Tomioka asks.

“I’ve already sent En.” En departed before they left with a letter for Tamayo and a new sample of blood from Tomioka in case there have been any changes. She might have sent Kanzaburo, if she could trust the elderly crow to be able to locate Tamayo in time. “But for now, this will have to be enough.”

His lips flatten. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“What’s done is done,” Shinobu says. Her hand reaches out of its own accord, and her thumb smears the blood that’s lingered in the dip of his mouth. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly. This might be the closest her hand has gotten to his fangs. “We’ll accept the consequences as they come. At the very least, you aren’t hungry, right?”

“Okay,” he agrees. His answer comes as an exhale against her hand. Even though it’s nothing to be startled by, she withdraws her arm anyway. 

“What’s your next condition?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re closer to the shrine,” Tomioka says. 

The forest outside the village is layered with thick mist, enough that she understands why so many demons might decide to lay their roots here. The fog that follows them reminds her of Tokito’s technique, and it proves to be as impossible to see through. It’s fortunate that Tomioka doesn’t even hesitate on account of his heightened senses. As long as he’s right in front of her, she can follow after him without much trouble. 

After a half hour’s walking, Tomioka halts and turns to look at her. “Kocho.”

“Are we close?” Her stomach is already a bundle of nerves. She isn’t sure she’s felt like this since some of her first missions as a demon slayer. She needs to calm down. The Upper Rank isn’t even within her sight yet. 

“Yes,” he says. He holds out his hand. “Third condition.”

Shinobu stares at his open palm. “You want…to hold hands?”

“That’s not what I meant.” His arm falls back to his side. “Your weapons.”

Right. If she wants to be inconspicuous, she can’t march in as a threat. Kanae’s haori and her uniform are already in Tomioka’s bag. Her sword and her daggers are all that mark her as a slayer.

“Very well,” she confirms. She hands over her sword with some amount of reluctance. Although she agrees with Tomioka’s reasoning, she doesn’t like being vulnerable. Not since that demon attacked her family’s home. Even if she couldn’t behead a monster, a knife can be the difference between delaying your death or welcoming it with open arms. For a Hashira invading the home of an Upper Rank, it feels like a death wish to relinquish her protection. “Here.”

Tomioka gives her a flat look. “And the rest of them.”

Shinobu sighs, but complies. One by one, her daggers fall to the earthen ground in a growing pile. 

“And the poison.”

At that, she hesitates. The poison isn’t intended as a weapon. At least, not yet. But she can’t let Tomioka know that it’s for personal consumption. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. It’ll be seen as a threat to any demon. She removes her box of vials and hands it to him. 

His gaze flickers down to her sandals. “You can keep the knives in your sandals.”

“How generous!”

Carefully, Tomioka retrieves all of her weapons. Some, like her sword, are attached to his waist. The rest disappear into his bag, out of sight. Now, she is well and truly defenseless. All she has to protect herself are her wits and the Upper Rank at her side. It’s frightening, and still, despite the anxiety that bubbles within her, there’s a finality to her actions. There’s no other choice.

“Should I give you my butterfly clip, too?” Shinobu asks, already reaching for it. 

“Why?”

“Kanae wore one, too. If he recognizes it, he’ll realize I’m a slayer immediately.”

Tomioka considers it for a second. “You can keep it,” he says. “He might recognize it, but I doubt it. Douma isn’t sentimental. These similarities won’t catch his notice.”

Relief washes over her. Without her weapons, it’s like her identity has been stripped away. With her clip, she is still recognizable as a member of the Butterfly Estate. She still shares this token with all of her sisters. Who she is hasn’t been completely lost. 

“Alright,” she says. “Anything else?”

Tomioka coached her on how she should act during the trek. His instructions were to be expected: act unassuming, appear as lost and fragile as possible. The leader of a cult will be sympathetic to the cries of a young woman, and he won’t be willing to let an irresistible meal slip from his grasp. If she plays the part of a helpless traveler, she should be accepted in. 

Meanwhile, Tomioka will arrive tomorrow as himself. He will greet Upper Two with the reverence that is expected between Upper Five and Upper Two. To play to his good graces, he’ll appeal to Douma’s ego, insisting that he wishes to learn from his superior how he might atone for his mistakes and gain strength in order to avoid disappointing Akaza further.

Douma relishes that he beat Akaza for the position of Upper Two, Tomioka said.

Akaza was Upper Two? In their fight, Akaza had been carnage incarnate. Tomioka struggled to avoid his blows, even as an immortal demon. If Akaza was defeated, then she truly cannot afford to underestimate this Upper Rank. He lost?

Tomioka hummed. A while back. Akaza is still annoyed by it, and Douma still gloats. If he thinks he might annoy Akaza by keeping me around, he’ll do it.

The hierarchy of the Kizuki sounds a great deal like the gossip between teenagers. It’s confusing, and frankly, she doesn’t want to interfere. If Tomioka can play his role, she can play hers. She’s had years of experience pretending to be someone other than herself.

“You’ll have to last until nightfall,” Tomioka says. “Just—lay low.”

“I’m perfectly capable of concealing my identity, thank you.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m worried about. It wouldn’t surprise me if Douma took one look at you and decided to eat you immediately.”

Bile rises in her throat. “Oh.”

“I have to stay away so he can’t detect me through the bond.” Tomioka glances upwards at the trees. Only the highest branches can be seen through the mist. For a human, she feels trapped, and they’re not even within the cult’s clutches just yet. “But if I sense something’s wrong, I’ll come.”

“That’s reassuring.” Coming from anyone else, she might have interpreted it as a joke. But from Tomioka, it’s as serious as any sentiment he’s ever had. She believes him, and his resolve soothes the twist in her stomach a fraction. 

“I’ll stay close. Just—stay alive.”

Shinobu offers the best reassuring smile she can muster. She wonders if the anxiety she feels is reflected in her expression. Is Tomioka as nervous as her? He’s more chatty than usual—that’s for sure. “I’ll do my best.”

“See you tomorrow,” Tomioka murmurs. 

The corner of his lip twitches, and at the sight, her mind draws a complete blank. The bubble of nerves dissipates. It’s like she’s lost all feeling in her limbs. There’s no other way to make sense of it. In all her life, she’s only seen Tomioka smile a handful of times. If she counted, she might be able to do so on one hand. These moments have always felt so significant, and each time, her mask always slips, like the shock is too much to bear.

The first time, it felt like something she shouldn’t see. How could she understand how a bowl of salmon daikon could turn this otherwise stoic man into a beaming mess? The other times have felt like illusions, like tricks of the light. She almost couldn’t believe them. But this one—this time—this is no trick of the moonlight or the mist. 

Tomioka is smiling at her. 

If she draws attention to it, he might stop, and that’s the last thing she wants. It’s like seeing a rare flower; she wants to admire it blooming longer. “Tomioka-san,” she says, her voice hushed. “Are you trying to reassure me?”

Unfortunately, her question breaks the spell. He twists away from her, hiding his face from view. “You don’t need it,” he says. “Goodbye, Kocho.”

Without another word, he leaps into the trees. The branches heave beneath his weight, and as they shake further and further away, she senses his departure. She’s half-tempted to call him back and summon her to her side. Without him, she’s well and truly alone, a terribly frightening prospect. 

But this is something she has to do. Nee-san, watch over me, she asks. She doesn’t let herself hesitate more. She continues on the path ahead—towards the monster’s shrine.

Chapter Text

The demon disintegrates in a cloud of ash and dust. Before she even hits the ground, its lifetime has ended, and the threat is removed. 

Mitsuri lands on her own two feet a little ways from where her sword struck the demon’s neck. Behind her, two siblings crouch together by the stone wall, clinging to each other with all of the force they can muster, sobs shaking their bodies. A trio of lower-ranked demon slayers surround the two, watching on in awe as she defeats the demon in a matter of seconds. They were the ones originally tasked to take care of this creature, but an hour ago, Urara—her crow—came to her asking for her help. The situation had turned for the worst, and the slayers were in need of a Hashira.

Of course, Mitsuri had been more than happy to lend a hand. It’s what she’s here for. It’s her duty as a Hashira to help the less experienced slayers. The more death they can prevent, the better the Corps will fare. So as soon as Urara called upon her, she sprinted here, and without a word, she unleashed a technique to eliminate the demon. 

“That’s the strength of a Hashira, huh?” one of the slayers whispers to the others.

Mitsuri decides not to answer him. She has another priority. She sheathes her sword with a smile and approaches the two siblings still cowering against the ground. “Hello.”

The older of the two pries his face away from his younger brother’s hair in order to look at her. His own face is tear-stained and swollen, but he’s otherwise unharmed. He’s had an awful fright. It must have been a terrifying and exhausting night.

“Don’t worry!” Mitsuri assures him, crouching low. “I’ve taken care of the demon, so you have nothing to be afraid of!”

The younger brother continues to cry, sniffling against his collar. The older brother still shakes, but at Mitsuri’s words, he attempts to regain control of his breathing. “Thank…you,” he says. There’s a quiver in his voice, one that might continue to exist for some time, but for tonight, he can remain assured that he’s safe.

“You’re welcome!” She beams. She wants to reassure them both, but the only cure to this terror will be time. Time and affection from the ones they love. “My comrades will help you get home, okay?”

The older brother nods shakily. “Thank you.”

Mitsuri rises to her feet and directs her attention towards the other slayers, who straighten upon realizing that she’s looking at them. “Can you take care of them?” she asks. “The Kakushi will be here soon to assist.”

“Yes, Kanroji-sama.” The demon slayer in front must be ranked higher than the others. That’s the only reason she can think of as to why he recognizes her. He bows at the end of his statement. “You can rest assured we’ll take care of everything from here.”

Warmth floods through her entire body, from the tips of her toes up to her fingers. This is what it means to be a Hashira—to offer unfaltering support. The last few months stuck within the walls of her estate have been an agony unlike any other. Even if it was for her own safety, she wasn’t able to relax knowing that countless slayers would lose their lives without the Hashiras’ protection. Being able to return their calls now brings her relief. 

In the past few days, she’s answered three summons from other slayers pleading for aid, all while completing her own missions. Each time, the gratitude she’s received from the villagers and her comrades alike have felt like precious gifts. Here, she has purpose. Within the Corps, her strength is valued, and her absence is noticeable. She’s able to help, and knowing that is a joy that cannot be compared. 

“Thank you,” she says. “Continue to do your best. The Hashira are counting on you!”

A faint blush dusts across the slayer’s cheeks. “Yes, of course!”

Mitsuri waves goodbye and leaves the remaining slayers to finish the mission themselves. There is little left for them to do: they’ll escort the siblings home, check for any injuries, and then report back to Headquarters. It won’t require her supervision. Besides, she skipped dinner in order to make it here on time, and she’s starving. Her stomach threatens to growl any second.

If she’s lucky, the ramen vendor she ran past might still be open. She’s more than willing to buy out his remaining stock. 

Mitsuri retraces her steps back to where she remembers the vendor being located. There is more activity on this side of the village. The attack took place close to the residential homes, but the restaurants and shops on the outskirts still have enough people around that a demon wouldn’t risk drawing attention here. When she spots the light surrounding the ramen vendor, she’s close to leaping in excitement. 

“Hello!” Mitsuri greets as soon as she’s close enough. “Are you still open?”

The vendor’s eyes widen. At this time in the evening, it’s likely rare for him to receive customers. No one else has stopped like she has. “If you’re hungry, I am,” he answers. 

“Perfect!”

She takes a seat at the stand, setting her sword down at her side. It doesn’t take long before a steaming bowl is slid in front of her. The aroma of the pork bone broth tickles her senses, and her tongue salivates in her mouth. She barely gets the chance to thank the vendor for the food before she digs in. Within seconds, her plate is cleaned, the vendor is gaping in shock, and she’s ready to request another.

“I’ve never seen anyone eat as much as you,” the vendor says after handing over her sixth bowl. Some time ago, she would have taken this as an insult, but she only senses admiration in the vendor’s tone. “I wouldn’t have to have any other customers if everyone was as eager as you.”

“Thank you very much!” Mitsuri says cheerfully. 

The truth is she’s nowhere close to full yet. She’s still keen to have several more servings as long as the vendor is willing to indulge her. Her stomach has always been bottomless, and the energy required to be a Hashira is no small task. Besides, there’s something distinctly comforting about ending a night of successful missions with a warm meal—like returning to her family’s home at the end of a long day of work. 

The vendor offers her another serving. Mitsuri reaches out for the new bowl, ready to continue, when a slight shift in the surroundings catches her attention. Her hands still against the ceramic. The food-induced haze lifts as her brain refocuses. Someone’s here. Someone powerful enough to have gotten this close without her notice.

“Something wrong?” the vendor asks.

She can’t let this man know anything is amiss. She brings the bowl down in front of her before reassuring him with a bright smile. “Nothing!”

As delicately as possible, Mitsuri wraps her fingers around the scabbard. Can she unsheathe it in time?

As soon as the question pops into her mind, she finds her answer. Another set of fingers covers her own, firm and unrelenting as they keep her hand pressed against the surface of the seat. Mere seconds before, her body had been relaxed and at ease, but now, her spine is tense as she sits up, ramrod-straight. Her hand is still trapped against the other. The only way she might be able to free herself is by force.

“Relax, Love Hashira.” Iguro’s low voice cuts through her thoughts, momentarily distracting her from her concentration. He speaks in a quiet, velvety tone to avoid the vendor eavesdropping. “I’m not here to kill you today.”

Mitsuri blinks. He hasn’t removed his hand from hers, which feels threatening enough. But then again, if he wants to, he’s capable of crushing her bones in a split second. If he hasn’t done it yet, that must be a good sign. 

With some amount of hesitation, Mitsuri cranes her neck back to look at Iguro. 

He stands over her for once, Kaburamaru clinging to his neck, and his multicolored eyes pierce hers from where she sits. Even if she wasn’t trapped, she’s unsure she would be able to move. His stare is impossibly heavy; she has more sympathy for all of the slayers that would complain to her that Iguro’s sharp looks were hard to bear. He never met her with that kind of animosity, so she’s never learned to withstand it. Now, she’s frequently on the receiving end of his harsh glares. 

“Iguro-san.” Her gaze flickers down to her hand. She can push him off, but that might start a fight, and the innocent vendor might get caught in the crossfire. He hasn’t tried to attack her yet. Maybe it’s worth seeing how long that lasts. “What are you doing here?”

Iguro holds his hand over hers for a few more heartbeats, as if he’s testing whether or not she’ll continue to pick up her sword. In the end, he lets go. After a few seconds of deliberation, Mitsuri removes her hand from the scabbard as well. 

Instead of answering her question, Iguro turns to look at the vendor. “I’ll have what she’s having,” Iguro declares.

It should be impossible for the vendor not to notice Iguro’s peculiarities. There are snake scales on the side of his neck, his nails are sharpened into fine claws, and his eyes are marked. Surely, the vendor must feel his presence—like holding your hand between the jaws of a snake, and hoping against hope it doesn’t pierce you with its venom. 

But the vendor barely regards Iguro with a look before beginning to prepare his order. 

Iguro slides into the seat beside her. It’s hardly big enough for two people, and she almost shrinks from him on instinct. Luckily—or not—Iguro keeps his distance. 

She almost can’t believe he’s real. She can’t believe he’s here. Isn’t this dangerous? Isn’t the bond Shinobu warned her about a problem? Will he combust into flames just for speaking to her? Or is this a trap, and he plans to lure her away before killing her without a witness? She has to be careful. She can’t afford to let him trick her. After all, he’s made it clear he has no memories of her, and no memories of his human life. If she lets herself get stuck on her own emotions, she might pay the price for it. 

“Can you—not stare?” Iguro asks.

Mitsuri doesn’t realize she is until he points it out. “Sorry!” she squeaks out, focusing her attention back on her bowl. What is she supposed to do? Does he expect her to make conversation? Is she supposed to ignore him? 

She needs time to think. She starts eating from her current bowl, mulling over her options in the meantime. 

Unfortunately, the bowl doesn’t last forever, and she sets it aside with the rest on top of an ever-growing pile. When she twists back, she feels a pair of eyes on her, only to find Iguro watching her. As soon as he realizes she’s noticed him, though, he turns away with a click of the tongue. 

“So. Um.” She should try to start the conversation again. After all, she still doesn’t know why Iguro is here. “What are you doing here?”

Like before, he ignores her, and her shoulders slump. She had a million ideas on how this conversation would go. She thought if she ever saw Iguro again, she would approach him differently. She’d say the right things and ask the right questions. She wouldn’t make him run away again. She would understand him, the way Shinobu understands Tomioka. But this has proven to be a challenge. How can she learn what to ask if Iguro intends on keeping her at arm’s length the entire time?

The vendor plops Iguro’s order down in front of him. To her surprise, Iguro wrinkles his nose at the dish, like it isn’t what he wanted at all. “Here you go,” he says. “I’m going on break. Be back in fifteen.”

Mitsuri squawks at the vendor’s retreating back. Did he notice the awkwardness, too? 

“Here,” Iguro says, the first intentional word since he first sat down. He pushes the bowl over to her. “You can have it.”

“Oh! Thank you.” A thought occurs to her a second later. “But it’s yours?”

Iguro offers her an incredulous look. “Does it look like I’m going to eat it?”

Without questioning his olive branch further, Mitsuri begins slurping down the noodles. It gives her at least a few seconds to think, because what is she supposed to make of the fact that there are two possible reasons Iguro ordered a dish he wouldn’t eat. One, he didn’t want to draw unhealthy attention from the vendor, or two, the most unlikely, he requested it intending to give it to her all along. If she dwells too long on the latter, her brain might short circuit. 

Even while trying to make this bowl last, its contents aren’t infinite. Once her chopsticks reach the bottom, the dread in her stomach returns. There’s nothing left to do but push the empty bowl aside and return her attention towards Iguro.

He doesn’t even bother looking at her. His eyes are fixated on the lantern hanging above the stall, his hand subconsciously stroking the top of Kaburamaru’s head. He appears lost in thought, and she hates to interrupt him again, especially when he doesn’t seem to wish to engage her in the slightest.

Was it like this for Shinobu and Tomioka? Is it meant to be this hard, breaking through his defenses?

She half-wishes she could rewind time to learn how she managed when the two were both human. It hadn’t felt quite so impossible then, had it? From what she remembers, Iguro had always been warm and helpful. Was there something she’d done in particular to welcome that?

Mitsuri steels herself. The second she decided to join the Demon Slayer Corps, she resolved to never be anyone but who she truly was. She would no longer hide her strength or her insatiable hunger, and she would not force herself back into that shell of her former self. She cannot afford to be quiet, not when their tomorrows aren’t guaranteed, and death hangs around the corner. Even if Iguro doesn’t wish to speak to her, she can’t die without being honest with him.

“Iguro-san.” At the sound of his name, his eyes slowly slide over to her. She perks up. “I’m really glad to see you!”

Her words startle him. His shoulders lower a fraction, like his instincts urge him to shrink in on himself. He doesn’t respond, but that doesn’t matter anymore. She can speak enough for the both of them.

“I was worried about you after Asakusa. I wasn’t sure if Muzan would hurt you and the others, so I’m glad to see you’re alright.” She tilts her head. “I mean, I was positive you were fine. Tomioka seemed okay, but I feel better seeing you in person.”

Iguro blinks owlishly at her. “You saw Tomioka?”

“Oh!” Mitsuri covers her mouth with her hands. She doubts Tomioka is allowed to hang around Shinobu without consequences. This might be Iguro, but he’s still loyal to Muzan first and foremost. He can use anything she says about Tomioka against him. She needs to be more careful. “Um.”

“Never mind,” Iguro says. “Don’t tell me.” He rests his chin in his palm. “You need to watch what you say. He’s always listening.”

“Right!” Her face warms. Shinobu’s told her about the bond. Tomioka gets by through poison, but Mitsuri doesn’t have any on hand, and she doubts Iguro would be willing to subject himself to wisteria anyway. “Sorry.”

A pause. “It’s okay. You wouldn’t know. It’s why I can’t stay long. I’m not supposed to be here.”

Then why are you here, Iguro-san? she wonders.

With a sigh, Iguro reaches into his pocket and places an object on the table between them. It takes her a second to recognize the item as fabric, and a second more to realize that they’re socks. Bright and long pink socks—the same color as her hair.

“What?” Mitsuri blurts out before she can help it. “What is this? What are these? Are these for me?”

Her heart swells in her chest. Her cheeks haven’t recovered from her earlier embarrassment, and now, she has no chance of ridding herself of the blush that consumes her. 

Like the first time Iguro gave her socks, he’s turned away. Kaburamaru watches her, almost nodding in encouragement.

“Are these for me?” Mitsuri presses.

Iguro hums, the faintest sound, and she squeals before she can help it.

“No way!” she shouts. 

The sound carries through the night, and she hopes she doesn’t wake anyone up, but she can’t hide her excitement. She’d been so distraught when she’d ripped her original pair. She’s been walking around in just her sandals in the meantime, but she’s felt the loss in every breeze that brushes through her legs and every scratch she gains as she fights. She never imagined that she would ever receive a replacement when Iguro’s memories of his promise are gone. And yet, for some unfathomable reason, he’s followed through regardless. She doesn’t know what to make of this—or how to handle the happiness growing inside her at this gesture.

When he was human, this gift made her unbelievably grateful. As a demon, her heart might burst out of joy. 

“Iguro-san, Iguro-san,” Mitsuri says in a sing-song voice. “I’m so happy right now! Thank you so much!”

Iguro hums.

“I’m going to put them on now.”

His head snaps towards her. “Now?” he blurts.

But she’s already spun around in her seat, the socks grasped in her hand. She slips off her sandals, barely noticing how Iguro gapes at her, and she puts on the first. She drags the sock all the way up, past her knee to her thigh, then does the same with the other, beaming all the while.

When she returns her gaze to Iguro, his face is beet-red. “Iguro-san?”

“Yes?” His voice is strained. His eyes—they look to be fixated on her socks, and how they cling to her thighs. 

“Thank you,” Mitsuri repeats, flashing him a blinding smile. “I didn’t think I would get another pair.”

He lifts his gaze, tearing his focus from her legs. “I tried to find green ones to replace the ones you had.” Frustration colors his voice. “But I couldn’t.”

Of course. He wouldn’t be able to remember where he bought the first pair. “It’s okay,” she assures him. “The color doesn’t matter. It’s a gift from you.”

Iguro hums before standing up. The sudden motion causes her head to jerk upwards as well. “That’s all I came here for,” he says, swinging his legs over the seat. “I should go.”

Go? No. No, she has so much left to say. She doesn’t think she’s even come close to encapsulating how grateful she is. If he leaves now, there’s no guarantee she’ll ever see him again.

“Farewell, Love Hashira,” Iguro says.

Without another word, Iguro takes off down the unlit street at a rapid pace. Have I even told him my name? Mitsuri wonders as she gets up, jamming her feet back into her sandals. Did he buy me socks without knowing my name?

“Wait!” Mitsuri calls. “Wait, Iguro-san.” 

She starts to chase him down the street, but within seconds, her stomach cramps. She just finished all of that ramen. She shouldn’t be running anywhere. 

“Iguro-san! Wait. I can’t run on a full stomach. Wait for me!”

Although she tries to speed walk towards him, she has to keep a hand against her side to keep from doubling over. To her surprise, when she lifts her head, Iguro has slowed down. He’s half-turned in her direction, like he’s indeed chosen to wait for her.

“Yes?” he asks once she catches up.

“Iguro-san.” She heaves, fighting through the urge to collapse. “I don’t think I ever told you my name. I’m Kanroji Mitsuri. Thank you again for the socks. I will treasure them.”

The silence between them lasts a few seconds as Iguro digests her words. “Kanroji,” is the first thing he says, as though testing out the sound of her name in his tongue. “You don’t need to treasure them.”

He said that before, too. He might not remember his human self, but he’s still there, lodged beneath the surface.

“You said that before, too,” Mitsuri says.

“Before?”

“When you bought me the first pair.”

His eyes widen. “I bought you the green socks?”

“Yes,” she replies, albeit a bit more hesitantly. She doesn’t want to frighten him off. “You did.” When he doesn’t add anything, she continues. “I feel bad. I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t know I was coming. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know.” Mitsuri shakes her head. “But still.”

She has nothing to offer him, except this. She reaches inside her haori and draws out an envelope. It’s wrinkled and folded several times over, the evidence of how many times she’s opened it to pore over the contents, to read his words as if he was beside her, speaking them aloud. She’s almost sad to part with it. In those long months, this was all she had to comfort herself—all she had left of Iguro. 

His letters reassured her in the aftermath of his disappearance. When reading them over, it was like he wasn’t completely lost. This letter is the last he ever sent her, right before he vanished the next day. Though she wants to treasure this too, part of her hopes this will bring Iguro the same comfort it brought her—the reminder that she wasn’t alone.

“Here,” she urges, thrusting it into his hand. “Take this.”

Hesitantly, his fingers clamp around the corner of the envelope. “What is it?”

“I… uh. It’s the last letter you ever wrote me.”

“We wrote each other letters?” He waits for her nod of confirmation. “You carried this with you all this time?”

“Of course.”

Iguro flips the envelope between his hands. One side is empty, but the other has his handwriting: Kanroji Mitsuri. “We…were close enough to write letters to each other?”

“Yes,” Mitsuri stammers. She exchanges letters with Shinobu occasionally, and Rengoku wrote to her while he was still alive. But out of all her pen pals, Iguro has always been the most consistent. “I think so, at least.”

“Hm.” Iguro’s eyes narrow at the sight of his handwriting. “Are you sure you want to give this to me?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“I don’t remember the person who wrote this. He might as well not even exist anymore. I’m sure that these words will mean more to you than they will to me.”

He has a point. Iguro might read the letter and feel no connection to the person he was or who he wrote it to. “Maybe,” she agrees. “But…maybe you’ll see that you haven’t changed much at all.”

His nose wrinkles, and he releases a sigh before tucking the envelope away. He’s taking it. He might be reluctant, but he hasn’t thrown it back in her face. That’s good.

“Fine,” he says. “I need to go now.”

“Okay. I won’t keep you.”

Though he insists he needs to leave, he lingers a moment longer than he should. In the end, he murmurs, “Goodbye,” and before she can even blink, he vanishes.

Mitsuri is left staring at the spot he vacated. They might not have had a proper conversation, but she believes she understands this version of Iguro slightly more than before. The thought makes her pleased.

The dull flicker of a candle inside the house he leans against is the only light he has to help him read the contents of the paper. His eyesight has always been faultless, but even so, he’s had to pore through the writing three times now. The words have had trouble sticking in his head. Kaburamaru’s head nudging his chin does little to comfort him. 

Kanroji,

How are you? I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write you back. I’ve been trying to avoid sending my crow away as much as possible. I want to be prepared for anything, and trying to track down the Upper Rank that killed Shinazugawa doesn’t come without risks. The last thing I’d want is for Yuan to accidentally give my location away.

Who is Yuan? Another slayer?

But it’s been too long. I hope you’ve been keeping well. I know you said you were worried about Mochi because he missed a few meals. Is he better now?

Who’s Mochi?

Cats are resilient creatures, so I’m sure he’s fine. Either way, I’m positive you’re taking good care of him. I actually saw a few children playing fetch with some stray cats yesterday and thought of you. You probably would’ve enjoyed watching them. The cats made these kids throw their toy balls all day, but they’d never bring them back. They would chase the balls that were thrown, and never return them. The children had to do the fetching themselves in the end.

Is Mochi a cat?

As far as news goes, there isn’t any. I still haven’t found Shinazugawa’s body. It’s like the Upper Rank that got him disappeared. I think something is wrong. I don’t like this feeling.

How are things on your end? If you ever need assistance, please do not hesitate to ask. I’ll help.

I hope to talk to you in person soon. Maybe we can try out that new restaurant you told me about in your last letter?

Iguro Obanai

Is he losing his mind? 

This is a letter he addressed to Kanroji. No matter how he approaches the matter, that much is clear. It’s signed by him, addressed to her. Although she hadn’t divulged the details of their relationship, she claimed they were friends. The handwriting is unmistakable. These are his words, penned by his human self long before he ever became Upper Six.

The voice of the person who wrote this might as well be a stranger. He can’t imagine himself having written these words. But there is no doubt in his mind: he wrote this letter. 

And yet, Kanroji spoke of the exchange of letters between them as friendly correspondence. From an outsider’s point-of-view, which he may as well be, this is more than friendly. He can’t picture himself ever being so calm and considerate with a woman. He’s always felt on edge around them, an unease he can’t escape. But this letter reeks of affection.

His human self—whoever he was—was enamored with the Love Hashira.

But for some reason, despite his feelings, the subject was never broached. Kanroji hadn’t lied. Even if he senses the unspoken intentions behind his writing, she was truthful in calling them friends. Which begs to reason—why hadn’t his human self confessed?

There is no suitable reason he can guess at. That man might as well be dead. Obanai merely wears his body and utilizes his strength. Any choices or feelings he might have had in the past are so intangible that it isn’t worth dwelling on them.

Still, after reading the letter three times, he can’t shake the words of his former self—the genuine concern, the earnest hope that they’d reunite. He wanted to be able to discard the Love Hashira once he gave her the socks he spent an inordinate amount of time picking out, hoping it would shake the troublesome feeling in his gut. Instead, it’s like she’s seared himself into his mind. 

This isn’t good, he thinks. He wanted to be rid of her. He shouldn’t care. If he couldn’t bring himself to confess before becoming a demon, that isn’t his problem any longer. They don’t have anything to do with each other anymore. The socks were meant to be a clean break.

Then why did you get her the first pair? a icy voice demands from the back of his skull. It sounds like Muzan. Or the second? Why didn’t you kill her and chew at her limbs and suck the marrow from her bones?

Obanai folds the worn paper of the letter and jams it into his pocket. There’s no good that can come from rereading it a fourth time. 

The streets are abandoned in the dead of night. The moon is his sole companion, and as he straightens and steps away from the wall of the house he leans against, it shines down on the opposite alley. 

Immediately, Obanai stiffens. 

“You’re harder to find than Tomioka, you know?” Shinazugawa drawls as he ambles out of the alley. The green marking on his cheek is the only splash of color against his black-and-white attire. If he didn’t know any better, he might mistake him for a ghost. “When you don’t want to be found, that is.”

He has no reason to hide anything from Shinazugawa. He never has. The first thing he remembers of this life is waking up in a feverish haze in an empty room in the Infinity Castle with Shinazugawa hovering over him, cleaning the blood off his face. Somehow, Obanai’s always known in his gut that he trusts Shinazugawa—as much as demons can afford to trust each other, anyway. 

But this—this secret of his past can’t be shared with Shinazugawa. Shinazugawa has never faltered like him or Tomioka. He’s shown Muzan unwavering loyalty. If it weren’t for him and Tomioka, their master would have a higher opinion of Shinazugawa. He’s sure of it. Admitting his failures threatens to fill him with shame. 

“Sorry,” Obanai says genuinely. He hadn’t wanted Shinazugawa to waste time searching for him. “I had to handle something.”

“Mm. But the Love Hashira isn’t dead, is she?”

Fear strikes like a stake to his heart. It reaches him like the cool steel of a slayer’s blade at his neck. But no one is here. No one is around, save for him and Shinazugawa. 

“Did you touch her?” Obanai asks, each word tight. Demons don’t need to breathe, but his lungs feel like they’re ready to burst. Each second that ticks on wears down on the remains of his composure. All he can imagine is Kanroji’s unmoving corpse, eyes drawn. 

A beat passes. “Would it matter?” Kaburamaru hisses at that. 

“Did—you—touch—her?” he repeats. His anger curls around each word. He’s never been angry with Shinazugawa before. Tomioka, yes. It’s difficult not to be with his aloofness and general disregard for his own life. But he and Shinazugawa have always seen eye-to-eye. 

He isn’t sure where his anger comes from. Is it frustration? Concern?

Shinazugawa doesn’t answer quickly enough. Before he can rein in his temper, Obanai’s fist slams into Shinazugawa’s skull. Kaburamaru shrieks at the shock of it all. Half of his skull bursts, the soft flesh of his brain dripping down what remains of his face, the blood burning red-hot over the rest of his skin. There isn’t a single sound out of Shinazugawa except for the hiss under his breath, like a whistling tea kettle. 

He retracts his arm with wide eyes. What possessed him to do that? What is wrong with him today?

“Sorry,” Obanai blurts. Shinazugawa’s blood still coats his knuckles. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

The flesh stitches itself back together with a harsh tearing sound. His right eye still protrudes more than it should, but for the most part, the damage has been healed. “Yeah, you fucking did,” Shinazugawa snarls. He may very well return the favor and punch Obanai. It would be the first time they’ve traded blows. “The fuck, Iguro?”

“Sorry,” Obanai repeats. His arm moved of its own accord, like the fear and anger combined had been strong enough to take control in a way only Muzan could. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No shit. Fuck. You and Tomioka both need to chill the fuck out before bashing in my skull.”

“My bad.” The rush of anger has subsided for the time being. He clenches his hand at his side out of Shinazugawa’s view. “Sorry, Shinazugawa.”

“For the record, I didn’t touch her.” He presses the heel of his hand against his eye as if willing it to return to its original position. Blood continues to leak from the wound. “But what the fuck? Tomioka’s bad enough. Now you’re running around playing house with the Love Hashira? What do you think he’s going to do once he realizes? Where do you think this is going to lead?”

Obanai barely catches the rest of Shinazugawa’s questions. His brain latches onto the first sentence like it’s a lifeline. Kanroji’s alive. The confirmation brings him relief unlike any other. It’s almost enough to ease the tension out of the rest of his body. “She’s alive?”

“Probably not for long,” Shinazugawa says, “if you continue whatever this is.”

“This is nothing,” he says swiftly. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Just dinner together and gifts? Is that nothing?”

Obanai squints. How long was Shinazugawa following him? He must be out of it to not have noticed him. It’s a foolish mistake on his part. He should’ve done better to ensure there were no witnesses to his lapse in judgment. 

“I told you I handled it,” Obanai replies. “It’s done now. It’s over. I needed to put it to rest.”

Shinazugawa tears his hand away. The bleeding has stopped. The eye has returned inside his skull. But his baffled expression hasn’t changed. “Put what to rest?”

Her words. The thoughts of her. The longing. The feelings. The desire to see her again. He’s buried it all so deep inside himself he won’t let it become a problem again. He’ll make sure of it. He won’t endanger her again with his presence. If he loved her in the past, it’s the least he can do. He will leave her alone.

“Nothing,” he says. “Forget it.”

“I can’t forget it,” Shinazugawa presses. “We don’t know where the fuck Tomioka is. If he’s off with the poisoner, we’re all fucked. I can’t deal with you going down that same path.” A sigh leaves his lips. “What’s going on with you? I don’t understand. You’ve been weird ever since we tried to turn that girl into a demon.”

Everything he says is correct. Tomioka’s damned them enough. He let his human, naive feelings overtake his sense of reason. “I won’t let it happen again.”

Shinazugawa stares at him, almost as if trying to see if he’s being honest. Obanai means it. He won’t fail Muzan again. This mistake is the result of his human carelessness. Nothing more. There is nothing more between him and Kanroji.

A few seconds of silence pass between them. Then, Shinazugawa says, “I can kill her for you.”

That flare of fury builds up within a second. Even if Shinazugawa offered to be kind, the thought of Kanroji killed by his hands fills him with unshakeable anger. Like before, his arm moves before he can help it. But instead of slamming into his head, Obanai grips the collar of Shinazugawa’s shirt to drag him close. All he sees is the slight shift in Shinazugawa’s gaze before his own eyes bore into his.

“Don’t you dare,” Obanai hisses. There is no mistaking this for anything but a threat. He can’t restrain his rage even if he wanted to. He glowers at Shinazugawa with an intensity that shocks him, as if he’s able to glare straight through him—past his eye sockets and into his brain, to the demonic blood cells circulating his system. As if he’s able to see everything, and pin Shinazugawa where he stands with the weight of his gaze. “Don’t you touch her. Ever.”

Shinazugawa’s eyelids flutter like a human trying to stare into the center of the sun. “Fuck,” he says.

His grip tightens. “Shinazugawa.”

“Fuck. Let go. My arm. My fucking arm.”

Obanai’s eyes flit downward towards Shinazugawa’s right arm. There doesn’t appear to be anything wrong. He’s certain he can see right through the skin down to the bone.

“Fuck. Let go.”

This time, Obanai releases him, and Shinazugawa reels back with a shout. Shinazugawa’s other hand grips at his bicep as he draws in a series of rattling breaths. His eyes are wide, almost as if on the verge of panic.

“What the fuck, Iguro?” Shinazugawa demands. He’s still breathing heavily. “What did you do to my arm?”

“Your arm?” He hadn’t touched it. He only pulled Shinazugawa close. He meant to threaten him, not harm him. “I didn’t touch your arm.”

“Then why,” Shinazugawa pants, “can’t I feel it?”

Obanai blinks as he inspects the limb further. By all means, it looks unharmed. A demon, and an Upper Rank, no less, should be able to react to any damage beneath the surface within seconds. He can’t see any visible danger or cause for Shinazugawa’s outburst.

“I don’t know,” Obanai says.

“You did something—when you looked at me. Is that a new technique?”

“No,” he says, sounding less sure. It’s nothing he meant to do. “You should be able to heal.”

Shinazugawa’s shoulders heave. “No shit.”

Silence elapses over them, and two excruciating minutes pass before Shinazugawa is able to move his right arm at all. When he finally does, the relief is evident in his voice. “Finally,” he says. “Fuck. A little warning next time?”

“That wasn’t me,” Obanai insists. At least, he doesn’t think so. He blinks, and then, he can no longer see beyond Shinazugawa’s skin. “Just don’t fucking ask me that again.”

“I was trying to be helpful.”

That’s the worst part. Shinazugawa is offering to do what he believes Iguro can’t stomach handling himself. It’s what he should be able to do. “Whatever,” he says. He doesn’t want to think about it—or Kanroji—tonight. “Are we okay?”

Shinazugawa shoots him a disbelieving look. “You’re the one attacking me!”

Obanai sighs.

In a quieter voice, Shinazugawa adds, “You really can’t see her again, you know. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but if you don’t want her to die… I don’t know why you care. You and Tomioka are weird.”

“Quiet.” He doesn’t want to hear what he already knows. It’s like he said. It’s done. Over. He won’t see her face or hear her high-pitched voice again. “Don’t compare me to Tomioka.” A pause. “Let’s just keep looking for him.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“Let’s go,” Iguro says. “I’m fine.”

He receives a dubious look, one he deserves, before Shinazugawa sprints ahead in a cyclone of wind. 

All Obanai can do is follow after him, Kaburamaru curled up tight around his neck, willing any lingering thoughts of Kanroji to rest. In his pocket, the letter weighs him down. 

The bond is a flimsy thing under the influence of Kocho’s wisteria poison. If it were stronger, he might be able to easily pick out the border where Douma will sense his presence. As it stands, with the wisteria swimming in his system, it requires far more concentration than he’s used to, and he spends more time than he’d like leaping from tree to tree, the mist clouding his vision, surveying the territory Douma’s made his own. 

Giyuu hates this. He hates that he left Kocho on her own to face the man that took her sister from her. He should be with her. He shouldn’t have left her side. 

But if they want any chance of catching Douma by surprise, this is the only way. If Kocho wants her vengeance, this is what he can do for her. 

Maybe he should’ve suggested that he go first. Kocho could arrive later, and he would be there to ensure she’d be safe. Maybe he should’ve held off on draining the last of their supply of blood. There’s no telling how long they’ll be infiltrating his cult for. Maybe he should’ve asked her to call another Hashira sooner. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

The truth is there’s no perfect plan. There is no avoiding Douma, and there is no reward without risk. If Kocho intends to save Sano Shoko, they’ll be in danger no matter what. In the end, all that will matter is how their strength matches up against Upper Two, and whether or not he can protect Kocho’s life. 

He just wishes he didn’t feel so helpless. 

Giyuu emits a sigh as he lands in the branches of another tree. By now, he’s mapped out the perimeter. He’s as close as he can get without alerting Douma to his presence. If anything goes wrong, it’ll take him seconds to make it to the shrine. He has to hope that time will prove enough. 

The collection of branches and leaves overhead block most of the sunlight from seeping through the cracks. The mist gathers enough that it leaves the forest damp and dewy; water droplets cling to each fiber of grass and leaf. It’s a demon’s paradise, secluded from human civilization and sheltered from the fury of the sun. It’s no wonder Douma’s been able to consider this his territory for so long. 

Thanks to the foliage, he doesn’t need to hide. The sunlight might prickle, but he can remain within the shadows of the trees enough to stay outdoors. This suits him better. Like this, he can get to Kocho quicker.

Giyuu’s about to settle against the trunk when a tug on the bond beckons him, firm and insistent. His eyes shut out of exasperation. Not now. Any other time. If it were anyone else, he might be able to ignore the call.

The tug comes again, still determined. Giyuu.

Giyuu pries one eye open. Kanzaburo has settled on the end of his branch, fluffing his feathers. 

“GIYUU.” Kanzaburo offers him a quizzical look, like he can tell that Giyuu is on edge. “IS SOMETHING WRONG?”

He releases a sigh. There was no way Kanzaburo could accompany Kocho. A Kasugai crow is a dead giveaway, so it was decided that Kanzaburo would stay with him for the time being. Unfortunately, it looks like their time has been cut short. He’ll have to ask him to make himself scarce. 

“Kanzaburo,” Giyuu says, swinging both of his legs over the branch. “I’ll be back soon. Keep an eye out in case anything happens.”

“OKAY, GIYUU.” Kanzaburo straightens. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

“Someone’s calling me.” Tentatively, he reaches out a hand. The cats at the Shimizu residence had all shied away from his touch, somehow sensing his otherworldly nature. But Kanzaburo knows him for who he is. He inclines towards Giyuu’s fingers, and to his delight, his crow lets him stroke along his feathers. “I won’t take long. I promise I’ll come back.”

“OKAY, GIYUU.”

“If you notice something is wrong, call for me. No matter what.”

“OKAY.” Kanzaburo caws. “STAY SAFE.”

Stay safe, Giyuu thinks as he launches himself out of the branch and lands in the grass with a thud. Normally, such a sentiment would be wasted on him, but it might be needed in this case. There’s no telling what—or who—Akaza wants from him. 

Giyuu finds Akaza staring down into the depths of a stone well, worn over the years with moss and vines, a small distance from where he left Kanzaburo waiting. Inside, the water runs smooth and clear, likely intended for shrine-goers. For some reason, Akaza doesn’t tear his gaze away from the faint ripples within at the sound of his approach.

“Giyuu,” Akaza greets without turning around. 

Without seeing his face, he can hear the smile in his voice. It’s funny. Around the other Kizuki, Akaza is as stoic and serious as others complain Giyuu is, but around him, he’s never been less than enthusiastic. To this day, he doesn’t know what he’s done to earn Akaza’s attention or positive opinion. Even after all he’s done, Akaza hasn’t forsaken him, which he can only see as a good thing. Without Akaza, Giyuu probably would have died long ago.

“Akaza,” Giyuu returns. He stops a few footsteps away. “You called me?”

“I was wondering where you were,” Akaza says, finally tearing his eyes from the pools within the well. “Here you are.”

“Did you need something?”

“You make it sound like I only call you to spar or handle dirty work.”

Giyuu sighs. Any other time, he wouldn’t need to speed up their conversation. But Kocho might be meeting with Douma any minute, and he needs to be on guard. “You made it sound like it was urgent.”

“It’s not.” Akaza shrugs. “I just haven’t seen you in a while.” He cocks his head to the side, his mouth quirking upwards. “Where have you been?”

“Around,” Giyuu answers noncommittally. He’s grateful that he’s never been much of a talker; he doubts he’d be able to keep up much of a lie with Akaza. “You’re acting strange, Akaza.”

“I could say the same to you.” Akaza rests his palms against the eroded stone. Although the sunlight doesn’t reach them here, there’s enough light that shines on the markings that climb up in rings around his limbs. “I was just checking on you. I thought you were avoiding me again. The last time you did that…”

A furrow appears between Giyuu’s brows. The last time he did that, it was to protect Kocho. On all accounts, Akaza is right to question where he’s been, especially since he’s broken all rules in sticking by Kocho’s side, helping her kill Douma. Without the wisteria poison she gives him, his thoughts would be privy to Muzan, and he’d be dead. Muzan might have forgiven him once, twice, but there’s only so far he can go in turning a blind eye to Giyuu’s treason. 

“I’m not avoiding you, Akaza,” he lies. “Not for the reasons you think.” He rubs a hand against the nape of his neck. “It’s probably for the best if you avoid me. I don’t want Muzan-sama to punish you when I disappoint him again.”

Akaza frowns. “How many times do I have to tell you that it doesn’t bother me? Demons heal. We’re immortal. You don’t have to beat yourself up over it.” He flashes a smile, bright as quicksilver. “Don’t waste your time on these miniscule, human concerns.”

Giyuu casts a glance to the side. Most of the wild animals circulating through the forest keep their distance from the two of them, but he can spot the flurry of wings in the overhead branches. “I’m sorry.”

“And stop apologizing.”

“Sorry.”

“Giyuu.”

“You don’t have to take responsibility for me, Akaza.” Especially now, when his actions have the ability to condemn Akaza as well. “You made me into a demon, but you don’t need to…” He trails off. He almost used the word atone, but that doesn’t make sense. Akaza has never regretted turning Giyuu into a demon. He’s reassured him of that numerous times. “You don’t need to watch over me.”

Akaza’s shoulders relax. Ignoring his statement, he says, “Your fighting spirit looks better.”

His eyes bulge. He can’t see his own fighting spirit, after all. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Akaza extends his arm, his fingers curled into a fist. “I’d offer to spar, but he’s too close.”

For once, he isn’t Muzan. Akaza is all too aware of who is near, which makes Giyuu even more surprised that he came this close at all. Akaza and Douma do not get along, mostly because the former despises the latter. He doubts Douma has high opinions of Akaza either, but there’s something about Douma’s character that Akaza has never been able to tolerate.

He might have felt indifferent towards Douma before, seeing him as nothing more than a target to surpass if he wanted to live up to Akaza’s hopes. However, knowing him as the demon that killed Kocho Kanae, he understands Akaza’s hatred more. When he thinks of Douma now, he remembers Kocho’s furious expression and how devastating it looked.

“It’s alright—” Suddenly, in the distance, the faint glimpses of Kocho’s fighting spirit flare. His breath catches in his lungs as he tries to avoid drawing Akaza’s attention. Has something happened? Should he run to her? 

“Giyuu?”

As quickly as it changed, her fighting spirit reverts to its usual shape, like the slow flaps of a butterfly’s wings, and his body relaxes. She’s alive. Whatever happened must have been a momentary surge of emotion. Nothing more. 

No matter the anger Kocho feels towards Douma, he has faith that she can conceal her true emotions. For the sake of furthering her revenge, he wonders if there’s a line she won’t cross. She can pretend for a few days, and by tonight, he’ll be with her again.

“Nothing,” Giyuu stammers. “No sparring today. I haven’t eaten in days.”

Akaza raises an eyebrow. “Then you should eat. Why don’t we go together?”

“No.” This conversation needs to end. Quick. It had been easier playing along when nothing had gone awry, but that sudden change in Kocho’s fighting spirit has rattled him more than he wants to admit. Right now, he should return to Kanzaburo’s side and be prepared in case it happens again. He can’t do that with Akaza hovering. “I’ll take care of myself.”

Akaza frowns again, and Giyuu’s chest pangs. Akaza might have come to investigate if Giyuu’s a traitor to the Kizuki, but on a deeper level, Giyuu knows Akaza came because he was worried—because he knows what will happen if Giyuu disappoints Muzan a third time. 

He’s unsure whether Akaza is a good person. He used to believe so without a doubt, but he also used to believe it was acceptable to eat humans and that it was his duty to kill the Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps without a second thought. Since meeting Kocho, all of his universal truths have been shaken, her influence sinking into each of his thoughts. He knows what she thinks of Akaza—a despicable monster. The question is whether or not he agrees.

Akaza killed one of the Hashira—a Rengoku? He turned Giyuu into a demon, meaning he likely fought Akaza to the death as a human. He’s unwaveringly loyal to Muzan. The answer should be simple. 

“Fine, fine,” Akaza concedes. “I’ll leave. It’s clear I’m not wanted.” He pouts, but it doesn’t last long. “Let’s spar next week then.”

“Maybe,” Giyuu says. There’s only so much he can refuse. 

“I’ll hold you to it.” 

He has no doubt about that. The last time he promised Akaza a sparring session, Akaza tackled him off the edge of a cliff as soon as the sun set without so much as a warning. 

Akaza’s expression turns solemn, and the abrupt severity is enough to set his nerves on edge. “Be careful,” he warns. “I wouldn’t stay here for too long.”

The lie tastes bitter on his tongue. “I won’t.”

Without another word, Akaza flashes him another blinding grin before dashing into the forest, the fallen branches cracking beneath his feet. He waits until his fighting spirit has dimmed before retracing his steps back to Kanzaburo. 

Akaza is a despicable monster. That’s what Kocho would say. He can’t condemn her for that, but he’d be a hypocrite to agree. 

If Akaza is a monster, what does that make him? 

After all, when Giyuu first became a demon, his master’s blood pumping through his veins to the beat of an invisible drum, begging him to kill, to bury his teeth into flesh, to consume from humans much weaker than him, it had been Akaza who stopped him halfway.

Akaza was the one that broke his arms when he was about to rip off the head of a young man no older than him. Akaza was the one who suggested sparring to get stronger, instead of eating so frivolously. Akaza was the one that talked him out of the spiral he worked himself into, nonsensical mutterings of something he was supposed to find, something he was meant to bring back to someone that he couldn’t remember.

“I was supposed to bring it back,” he said. “I was supposed to go back to—”

Where? Akaza hadn’t known, and neither did he. Not anymore. 

He knows why he almost said that Akaza wished to atone. When Akaza found him after Giyuu tore his way through a string of houses, feasting on every human he encountered, he looked as miserable as Giyuu felt. Like Giyuu had done something wrong, though he only did as the blood in his veins demanded.

If Akaza is a monster, he’s something worse.

Chapter Text

The closer she gets to the shrine according to Saki’s careful instructions, the harder her heart pounds. Before, it had been easy to mask her nerves in front of Tomioka. She was blinded with anger on Saki’s behalf, and more than that, she wanted to spare another young woman from the pain she endured. 

There were countless times in the years after Kanae’s death that gratitude swept over her with the reminder that she still had her younger sisters. She may have lost Kanae, but at least she had them, and because of that, those years of grief became a tad more bearable.

But right now, Saki has nothing and no one. If Shinobu fails, Saki will face that unbearable hurt tenfold without anyone to hold her hand through it. If she succeeds, at least the two sisters can cling to each other. At least they won’t be lost. 

It becomes more difficult to convince herself that this idea is a good one the further she dives into the forest. She might as well be like Saki, lost and alone. The slim reassurance that Tomioka is near hangs by a thread. But as he’s reminded her several times, he’s only Upper Five. Upper Two might need a second to yank off her head. Possibly less. Tomioka’s presence is welcome, but it doesn’t guarantee her safety. She’s been so focused on easing Saki’s pain that she hasn’t given enough thought into what it means to walk straight into the tiger’s den. There is nothing to protect her. 

Still, there’s no turning back now. She promised Saki. She will simply have to make sure she doesn’t die. Not yet. Not when no one is around to sever his head if she’s gone.

Swallowing the nerves that threaten to bubble out of her throat, Shinobu continues up the grassy path. Branches crunch beneath her feet with each step. The mist still clings to her like a glove, soaking through the ends of her hair and wetting her neck. There’s a noticeable shift in the air with her next step, one she’s spent years learning to listen to. The hair on the back of her neck rises. 

He’s here. Upper Two is nearby, just as Saki said.

Shinobu releases a shaky breath, the last shreds of her anxiety whipping away with the wind. With a smile, she moves through the trees, picking up on faint traces of conversation. A few of the trees seem to part within the path, revealing the shrine beyond their leaves. 

A young woman stands beneath the gate, her open palm extended upwards towards the sky. Above, several small sparrows hop along the redwood, as if debating whether to land in the woman’s hand. It takes her a second to recognize that her hand is full of birdseed. 

At the sound of Shinobu’s footsteps, the woman turns without lowering her arm.

Her heart had been like a hammer mere seconds ago. Now, it stills, and her chest becomes an empty cavity waiting to be filled. This woman must be around her age. Her face carries the ease of youth, her features still round, and her bangs have been cut in such a way that makes her suspect they’re her own handiwork. None of that causes her to freeze. It’s the resemblance that startles her. If she didn’t know any better, she might mistake her for the spitting image of her dead sister. 

“Hello,” the woman greets, none the wiser to the storm of emotions brewing inside Shinobu. Her voice is sweet, carrying none of her own falseness. “May I help you?”

Shinobu blinks. This woman is not Kanae. For one, her eyes are blue, and her hair a few shades too light. Kanae was taller. At least, she thinks so. But it’s been so long; there’s no telling how many of her memories have been marred by time. 

Either way, she needs to recover. If this is enough to cause her to waver, she shouldn’t continue forward. “Hello,” Shinobu murmurs, painting on a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m so sorry to bother you. Is there an inn nearby?”

The woman hums. “In the town at the edge of the forest. But it’s quite a distance.”

“Oh.” Shinobu raises a hand to her cheek, as if mourning her own foolishness. “Dear me. Thank you kindly. Can you point me in the right direction?” 

She tilts her head. “The town is much too far.” Her gaze scans Shinobu from head to toe, taking in how her socks have been dirtied with soil from her trek. “Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Only temporarily.” Shinobu lowers her voice. “It’s embarrassing. I…left my home, and I can’t return.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, no.” She drops her arm at last. The birdseed scatters at her feet, and the sparrows descend upon the spread. “Well, we have enough space if it’s temporary.” She claps her hands together to shake off the remnants. “You can stay here at our shrine. The sun is about to rise. I’m sure you’ve traveled a long way.”

“Are you sure?” Shinobu pouts, but this has all gone according to plan. “I couldn’t possibly impose.”

“I’m sure Douma-dono won’t mind! Let me take you to him. If he says it’s fine, you can stay as long as you need.”

That furious hammering of her heart returns in full force at the sound of his name. It’s like her hatred is all that keeps her alive—all that forces her heart to beat. So long as she exists to kill him, she’s permitted to breathe. “Well, alright,” Shinobu agrees. 

“I’m Makoto.” Makoto beams at Shinobu as she leads the way beneath the gate and up the stone path. The higher they climb, the more the shrine building comes into view. Collections of flowers poke out within the patches of dirt leading towards it, bright splashes of color that might convince anyone to come inside. “What’s your name?”

“Shinobu,” she answers. It’s better to omit her family name as it’s how Tomioka refers to her. “It’s nice to meet you, Makoto-san.”

“Likewise.”

At this time of night, there are few people scattered outside the building. Some tend to the gardens on the outskirts while others sweep the paths. One man stacks wooden plaques in case visitors wish to offer their wishes or prayers. None of them glance too long in her direction as she passes with Makoto. 

“Let’s enter this way,” Makoto says in a hushed whisper. Instead of taking her through the front, she guides Shinobu through a sidedoor. “We don’t want to wake anyone up.”

Shinobu follows along while absorbing everything she passes. There are a few rooms with doors left ajar where many members sleep in rows of futons. There’s a thick cloud of incense in one of the prayer rooms, poignant enough to rot her nostrils. Tanjiro would hate the smell given his sensitive nose. A few bathrooms. Empty rooms likely used for gatherings. 

From a stranger’s point-of-view, everything appears normal. There aren’t any blaring alarms, save for how the curtains completely block out the sun. But there’s a sense of wrongness that shakes her, and it’s made worse with the presence that she can’t ignore. 

It’s been some time since the aura of an Upper Rank managed to unnerve her. The first time she encountered Tomioka, her legs nearly gave out. This time, it’s like the demon’s eyes have followed her from the moment she stepped foot inside the building and his breath brushes against her neck. She has to fight the urge to cower from it.

She knows when Makoto stops in front of a door at the end of the dark hallway that this is his room. The twist of her stomach warns her before Makoto can.

“We should be quick,” Makoto urges. “Douma-dono doesn’t like to be disturbed during the daytime.”

Shinobu offers her best affirmative smile, though she feels it wane. No going back, she thinks, steeling herself. She needs to focus, to remain calm. When Makoto slides the door open, she walks forward with the knowledge that she’s placing herself between the tiger’s jaw.

A collection of candles sits across the far wall, the only flickers of light in the otherwise dark room. Several items rest at his feet, a various collection of jewelry or gold or prized possessions for a demon they revere as a god. That same stench of incense from before has permeated the air inside this room as well. It requires some effort on her part not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. 

Shinobu saves the worst for last. In the center of the space, lounged across a pillow, rests the demon she’s hated for years. In every scenario she imagined them meeting, she never would have pictured such a calm, peaceful setting, especially when every nerve in her body is alight with a flame she struggles to contain. The sudden rush of fury stings at the back of her throat, and all she can do is smile—smile like this is an ordinary man, and not the very monster who took the last member of her family from her.

To Makoto, she’s certain he looks like an ordinary man. Although the black crown he wears on top of his pale head of hair is excessive, he wears hakama pants and a turtleneck like any normal human. Compared to most demons, there is little to distinguish this man as the vile creature he is. He lacks horns or notable markings or additional limbs. Even his eyes, bright like rainbows, elevate him as an otherworldly being. He matches Kanae’s description to a T. 

When he smiles, there is only the slightest hint of his fangs. “Hello, Makoto-chan!” he says cheerfully. He sits up straight, his grin almost blinding. Makoto squirms under his attention, though she probably doesn’t feel half of the disgust Shinobu does. His eyes flicker past Makoto to where Shinobu stands, and it takes every ounce of her control to stay still, to keep that smile perfectly poised, when all she wants is to claw at his face. “I’m surprised you’ve come to visit me. You know it’s almost sunrise, and I like to be left alone.”

“I know, Douma-dono… But we had a visitor. She asked me if I knew of a place to stay, and I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

Douma claps his hands, the sound startling the two of them. “Makoto-chan, I’m just kidding! You know I could never be mad at you.” His gaze falls on Shinobu again. “Of course your friend is welcome to stay with us. Won’t you introduce me?”

There is a malicious gleam in his eyes as Shinobu takes another step forward, bowing her head while swallowing the bile in her throat. Tomioka had been right to worry; there is nothing to reassure her in his stare, nothing but a hunger she recognizes all too well. Despite his smile, his expression lacks warmth. Kanae’s words on her deathbed return to her then: I felt sorry for him.

How? she wants to ask. She hadn’t then because she could tell their time was short, and all she wanted to hear were the important descriptors to ensure she could remember the demon when her sister was long gone. But she wonders now. How could you feel sorry for this monster?

One of his hands reaches for hers, and Shinobu is helpless to do anything but let him clasp her palm in his. His skin is ice-cold, so very unlike Tomioka’s warmth. His claws bite into her fingers. “And what is your name?” he asks, his voice sugary-sweet.

Two can play at that game, she supposes. With a soft smile, she says, “I’m Shinobu.”

“Shinobu,” he repeats. “Is that your first name? What about your family name?”

“Ah. You see…I don’t think I have the right to use my family name anymore.”

“And why is that?”

Shinobu gives him a hapless shrug. He still grips her hand, though the urge to rip it back grows with each passing second. “I left my home a few days ago.” She drops her voice to a soft hush. “I found a lovely man who wished to marry me, but my parents did not approve. I believed he loved me and wanted me as his wife, so I told him I would follow him anywhere.” Her smile drops in faux sadness. “But when he was meant to take me away, he never appeared.”

“Oh, no,” Douma says. His thumb strokes at her knuckles in what is meant to be a reassuring gesture. Instead, it gives her the vile urge to break his hand. “That’s horrible. What kind of man would abandon a young lady like that?”

“I’m not sure,” Shinobu says with a frown. “I thought he was a good man. I’ve embarrassed my family. I can’t face them.”

Only if she finds a way to take this demon’s life—then she can proudly face her family in the afterlife. 

“I can’t go back,” she continues. “I can’t bear it.”

“Shinobu-san…” Makoto whispers in sympathy from behind her. 

At last, Douma releases her hand. The relief as it returns to her side is insurmountable. “I see,” he says. “I’m sure your family would forgive you.”

“But I can’t face them! I don’t deserve their forgiveness.”

“I understand. In that case, you are more than welcome to remain here—until you believe you’ve earned their forgiveness.” 

To her surprise, Douma rises to his feet, and immediately, her attention is drawn to how completely he drowns her in size. Even without his demonic strength, there is no fair match-up between their body types. She’s used to being the smallest person in the room. But with Himejima or Uzui, there’s also the steady assurance that their strength means safety. Here, his strength means carnage. It’s another reminder how painfully outmatched she is. 

His hands rise to either side of her face in a gentle caress, and against her will, her body freezes. Although his touch is gentle and delicate, every ounce of her body screams out in warning. Yet, all she can do is stay still—stay still as the monster holds her head in his hands, almost as if inspecting her.

“Shinobu,” he says. She hates how he says her name, like he’s earned the right to tease her. His grin deepens. “You really have the most beautiful eyes. Violet. Stunning.” 

She swallows past the fear. She can’t be sure if Makoto is still in the room or whether she’s left Shinobu alone in the monster’s den. 

“They’re gorgeous,” Douma says. “It must have taken a foolish man to have stared into your eyes and still leave you. I could just eat them up.”

It wouldn’t surprise me if Douma took one look at you and decided to eat you immediately, Tomioka said. He wasn’t wrong. She’s seen enough ravenous demons to recognize the hunger in his gaze. 

Is there something else he sees? Can he tell that her figure is well-toned, that her hands have the calluses of a swordsman? Can he sense that invisible fighting spirit and taste her hatred? 

You killed my family, she wants to scream. You took my sister from me. I will kill you if it’s the last thing I do.

Douma drags his pointer finger down her face, right at the edge of her eye, and for the briefest of moments, she worries he’ll follow through with his urges—that he’ll tear her eye out now, and swallow it in front of her. Each heartbeat in her chest comes slowly. She only relaxes when he pulls away, removing his hands from around her jaw.

“I’m sure you’re exhausted!” Douma exclaims, as if his actions were completely normal. “Makoto-chan, you’ll make sure Shinobu-chan is well taken care of, yes?”

Makoto is still here, though she retreated to one of the corners of the room once Douma stood up. She bows her head and murmurs, “Yes, Douma-dono. I will take care of her.”

“Good.” He turns around, and even Shinobu can tell that their conversation is over. “I trust you dearly, Makoto-chan.”

A faint blush dusts Makoto’s cheeks as she leads Shinobu out of the room. 

She can’t get out of that room fast enough. It’s only once the door has slid shut that her body seems to remember how to breathe. 

“You’re lucky,” Makoto says as the two retrace their steps back down the hall. Her heart rate returns to its normal pace the further they get from his room. “Douma-dono likes you.”

Lucky. She supposes that’s what Makoto—and the rest of his followers—would think. She can’t see it as anything other than the worst kind of fortune. There isn’t any part of her that wants that man to see her as anything special. In the end, all she wants is to be remembered as the one who killed him. That is all.

“Does he?” Shinobu asks, playing along.

“Yup!” Makoto stops to retrieve an additional futon and pillow from one of the closets in the hallway. “If Douma-dono likes you, he won’t mind keeping you forever!”

It’s meant as reassurance. The Shinobu Makoto thinks she knows will not be forced to return to a family that she’s shamed. So long as she has Douma’s favor, he will accept her. But Makoto’s words make her feel as though ice cold water is running down her back. If she dies facing him here and her soul stays in the shrine forever, she will never truly be free from this heart-aching anger.

Makoto’s kind demeanor is no act. That much she can tell.

Makoto takes Douma’s orders to heart and helps Shinobu lay out her futon in an empty room instead of forcing her to sleep with the others in the communal rest area. When asked about this, her response is that she deserves to rest for a few hours without being disturbed, and the rest of the shrine is due to wake up with the sun. She helps pull the curtains tight to keep any light from creeping through and brings Shinobu a glass of water before leaving her to her own devices.

Beneath the covers, she tries her best to relax enough to fall asleep. It’s hard enough hearing the commotion of everyone else rousing themselves awake. Several pairs of footsteps walk outside her door, and each time, it strikes her out of the stupor she works herself into. Voices of all kinds speak outside the walls. There are people of all ages here: children, young adults, elderly. He’s lured them all.

Relax, she repeats to herself. You won’t be alone for long. Tomioka will be here tonight.

It’s a flimsy attempt to reassure herself. After all, even when Tomioka arrives, they won’t have the freedom to talk or be alone. He will have to pretend like he doesn’t know her in order to maintain their cover. Still, it will be enough having him near. Though the shrine is brimming with energy and life, there is a lonely ache in her chest as the first hints of sleep arrive. 

“Hello? Hello-o-o?” Someone is speaking. Their voice is sharp, like Aoi’s, though it’s rare that Aoi would ever be so blunt with her. “Are you awake?”

“Akane-chan,” another voice interrupts. This one is more familiar—Makoto? “Don’t be rude. She’s traveled a long way to be here, and I’m sure she’s exhausted.”

“She already slept all day. If she misses dinner, she’ll starve.” At once, the intruder sounds closer. “Hello?”

The covers are warm, so much so that she can hardly bear to remove herself from them. The curtains haven’t been drawn either, leaving little light inside the dark space. It takes some effort on her part to lift her head from the pillow and pry her eyes open, blinking through the remaining sleepiness.

“You are awake!” A young girl no older than Kanao stands over her with her hands on her hips. She might be about to be reprimanded, judging by how fierce her expression appears. “I thought so. Get up. Do you intend to sleep all day?”

Makoto kneels at the end of her futon, offering an apologetic smile. “Forgive Akane-chan. She’s only worried that you missed two meals today already.”

The girl—Akane—harrumphs and storms out of the room without another word, her ponytail bouncing with each stride. 

Her presence is like a storm, and given her lingering exhaustion, she’s barely able to keep up. Once she’s alone with Makoto, her brain has the chance to adjust. 

“Did you say it’s time for dinner?” Shinobu asks.

It must be. Her door has been left open a crack after Akane’s departure, and through the gap, several figures pass by, chatting amongst themselves. There’s enough liveliness in the air to make her think that, like sleeping, mealtimes are something done with the entire community in attendance. 

Nodding, Makoto asks, “Are you hungry?” 

Her stomach pinches. When did she last eat? It must have been her final meal at the Shimizus’.

Shinobu hums her affirmation and kicks off her covers. 

“I brought you a change of clothes. I’ll wait outside for you if that’s alright.”

There’s a clean kimono waiting for her at the edge of her futon. Makoto must have taken Douma’s comment about her eyes to heart. The fabric is a vivid purple, only a shade lighter than the color of her irises, decorated with the design of flower petals along the base and the sleeves. It’s a little long when she fits herself into it, which is to be expected at this point. She rarely meets anyone the same size as her unless they’re a child. It’s unavoidable that she’ll have to take extra care not to slip.

It takes a second more for her to twist her hair up with her clip. By the time she’s done, Makoto still waits for her outside, and she smiles at the sight of Shinobu in the new kimono.

“Oh, good,” she says. “It fits. It was the smallest I had.”

Shinobu nods. The appearance is not where the resemblance to Kanae stops. Apparently, the two share the same heart of gold, the same unending kindness she can only fake. “Thank you,” she says sincerely.

“I can ask someone to mend the hem for you if you’d like,” Makoto assures her. “I don’t want you to fall.”

“It’s alright! It’s nice to wear clean clothes to begin with. I don’t want to put you through all that trouble.”

Makoto gnaws on her lower lip, making her wonder if she’ll go through with her idea anyway, regardless of what Shinobu insists. “Dinner should be ready,” Makoto says instead. “Shall we go?”

Shinobu isn’t sure what to expect as Makoto leads her down the hall to one of the larger rooms within the shrine. But nothing can prepare her for the sheer crowd that’s taken up space inside, split across several long tables that reach from wall to wall. The roar of conversation splits across her eardrums, and she almost doesn’t catch Makoto’s words when she asks Shinobu to follow her. 

Everyone has their own plate of food, though several more entrees cover the surface of the table. A boy reaches across his sister for a piece of broccoli; a girl hands her friend a piece of salmon; an older man shovels rice into a bowl for a girl no higher than her waist.

The meal preparation must require a great deal of time and effort, yet no one is left to starve. Everyone seated makes sure that the ones near them get their fair share, and that no one leaves hungry. Within seconds, she understands how deep the ties of this community lead. Whether it’s because of Upper Two’s guidance or not, she can’t tell, but the webs within his cult must stretch far enough that everyone considers their neighbors family. 

Perhaps it is because they all share a common devotion. 

There is a table at the front, smaller than the others and separated from the rest. Two cushions have been arranged to look out at the rest of them. Though he isn’t here, this must be where Douma sits. It’s ironic that a demon might join his followers for a mealtime he can’t partake in. 

Makoto leads them to the table near the right wall towards the corner. There’s just enough space for them to squeeze in, though as soon as the people nearby notice their presence, they shift on their own to accommodate them. “Sit! Anyway, it depends on his mood. Sometimes, he’s busy.”

Busy serving Muzan or busy enjoying his personal meals? There’s no way to tell. 

“I see,” she says, settling down. Makoto takes a seat at her side, and before Shinobu even gets the chance to draw a breath, Makoto sets a plate down in front of her and begins shoveling food onto it. “Oh! I can serve myself, Makoto-san.”

“My, my,” the woman to Shinobu’s left murmurs, watching Makoto serve her. She must be in her thirties. There’s a wedding band on her finger. “This girl is no bigger than a twig. Take some of mine for her, Makoto-chan.”

The dig at her size twinges for a second. It isn’t her main concern, not when Makoto’s made a Kanroji-sized portioned meal for her. This is too much.

“Makoto-san,” Shinobu urges. “I can’t eat all of this.”

“Then only eat what you want!” Makoto says, satisfied enough to begin serving herself. “I’ll finish whatever you don’t.”

Shinobu frowns. It takes a bit of prodding from the woman on her left before she even begins to tackle her plate. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Makoto-chan?” the woman asks. “I’ve never seen her before.”

Makoto pops a piece of beef into her mouth. “Right! Everyone.” She gestures wildly at the surrounding group. The faces all blur together in her mind, the same picture of curious expressions aimed at her, but she’s at least able to recognize Akane a few seats down. “This is Shinobu-san. She’s staying with us here for a while until she’s ready to return to her family.”

She offers a bright smile. “Nice to meet you all.”

“Nice to meet you,” the woman says. “I’m Yukina. If you ever need help with anything while Makoto-chan isn’t around, let me know. I’ll take care of you.”

“That’s—nice.” 

“When did you arrive?”

“Late last night.”

“Oh. That would explain why I haven’t seen you. Does that mean you haven’t gotten the chance to meet Douma-dono yet?”

She wishes that were the case. 

Makoto, thankfully, jumps in. “She met him last night,” she says. “He was the one who said she could stay.”

“That’s nice.” Yukina props her cheek in her hand. Although there is a warmth in her gaze, there’s also a level of scrutiny there that she’s unprepared for. It doesn’t feel malicious, more like she’s trying to press her buttons in order to get her to open up more. 

She’s used to people leaving her be. Most don’t pry, knowing what became of her and her family. But to these people, she’s a stranger. She understands why they might be wary. Like Tomioka said before, this is a cult, and while Douma’s given her his approval, there is always a level of caution towards outsiders. It’ll take some time before she’s earned their trust. 

“You said you were waiting to return to your family?” Yukina asks. Once Shinobu confirms with a nod, she continues. “Did something happen?”

Her smile turns bitter. “A failed engagement,” she says, hoping that’ll be enough to brush her background under the rug. “I fell in love with the wrong man.”

Yukina gasps and claps a hand to her mouth. “That’s terrible! Oh, my dear, and you’re so young! Of course Douma-dono would let you stay. He would never turn anyone away if they had nowhere else to go.”

More like he would never turn away a delicious meal, but pointing that out wouldn’t help her. “I’m very lucky,” she says. 

“Don’t dwell on it.” Her expression softens, and like this, she’s able to see her more as a pushy, nosy older sister. That subtle change in demeanor helps her relax in her seat. “You’re pretty and young. I’m sure any man here would be happy to have you as his wife.”

Shinobu hopes that her smile doesn’t bear any cracks. Although this cover story is convenient, she’s long given up on fulfilling Kanae’s dying wish for her to leave the Demon Slayer Corps and settle down. Love is beyond her reach. She’s never felt close to an inkling of it. If it exists, it’s chosen not to bless her, and that doesn’t bother her. The only room she has in her heart is designated for her family. Anyone else simply wouldn’t be able to fit.

Not that anyone would be able to love her as she truly is. They would not be able to face her endless void of hatred and anger. She can already imagine the looks of horror she’d receive if she spoke her truest, rotten thoughts. Who would love someone like that?

“Well,” Shinobu says. “I don’t think love is in the cards for me. At least, not for now. I want to make my family proud. That’s my priority.”

Yukina’s eyes crinkle. “It’s a good priority.”

She thinks so, too.

“Shinobu-san.” Makoto pokes at her side. “You should eat.”

With that reminder, Shinobu continues to bite at the selection in front of her. The mound of food on her plate lessens with the passing minutes, and though she’s one of the last to still be eating, the hum of conversation hasn’t ceased. This might be one the few times the entire community gathers. Meals like this one must be sacred in their own right. 

“Makoto-san,” Shinobu asks after wiping her mouth on her napkin. Makoto, meanwhile, has cleared her plate and returned for seconds. “Can I ask something?”

“Sure!”

“Does…” She hesitates. Uttering his name with such reverence feels like the worst kind of betrayal, the same as it is to hear Tomioka refer to Muzan with such respect. “...Douma-dono ever join everyone for meals? I notice there’s a spot that seems to be placed for him, but…”

The rest of her question goes unsaid, but there’s not much to add. The plate and seat are both empty at the front of the room. Perhaps it’s done as a formality.

Makoto nods. “Sometimes!” she says, and Shinobu’s stomach drops. She hoped that she might be able to rely on Upper Two being a recluse. The less she sees of him, the easier it might be for her to leash her anger. It seems that she won’t be so lucky in this regard. “Not always, though.”

“I see.”

“Ah.” Yukina leans her head in closer. “Are you curious about Douma-dono, Shinobu-chan?”

Not in the way Yukina thinks, at least. “Not exactly,” she answers. “I just found him…a little intimidating.” Before this can be construed as a negative observation, she adds, “He has quite the presence.”

“Don’t worry!” Makoto reassures her. “Douma-dono can be a bit dramatic at times, but he really is well-meaning.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Yukina says, “I don’t think there’s anyone here that’s completely at ease in his presence. I mean, Douma-dono is perfect.” She releases a wistful sigh. “It’s hard even being near him when he can do no wrong. He makes us ordinary folk look like the worst sinners.”

If she’s indoctrinated in the cult, she’s loyal to Douma, and she won’t listen to a stranger, Tomioka said. 

As she leans back in her seat, his words ring true. She vastly underestimated how simple it might be for someone as charismatic as Upper Two to convince these people of his superiority—to pretend that he’s their savior. She’s spent years with the company of this festering hatred, so much so that she didn’t fully consider what it would be like trying to draw someone out of this spider’s web. 

She has her work cut out for her.

Suddenly, all of the noise in the room disappears, all conversations cut short. The entrance room slides open. Before he even crosses the threshold, she can detect his presence.

Shinobu twists at the same time as everyone else to watch Upper Two stride into the room, a serene smile on his face. His black crown is placed on his head as well, as if he needs any more reason to draw attention to himself. Her eyes shift behind Douma, and at once, her mask nearly slips.

There’s no stopping the relief that makes her breath hitch at the sight of Tomioka standing behind him.

She has barely enough time to process the comfort in not being alone anymore before the two of them reach the front table. Everyone’s eyes in the room are still glued upon the two demons, but she can pick apart a few hushed questions from the crowd.

Who is he? someone asks. Is he a friend of Douma-dono’s?

“My, my,” Yukina whispers at her side. “How handsome.”

Shinobu can’t be sure who she’s referring to—Douma or Tomioka. Either way, her own attention is pulled towards Tomioka, who follows in Douma’s footsteps and stands at the front of the room at his side. He wears his usual blue yukata, a gray haori pulled over him, but to her surprise, he’s let his hair out of his usual ponytail. A kitsune mask clings to the crown of his head, the details of its face delicately painted. Instead of concealing the ranking in his eyes, like Douma, he leaves his gaze open to all.

“Everyone,” Douma begins, his voice sickly-sweet. “I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine.” He rests his hand on Tomioka’s shoulder, though she might be the only one in the room who notices how his claws burrow in. “This is Giyuu-kun. One of my colleagues. He’s another one of Muzan-sama’s loyal followers!”

The collection of whispers earlier have ceased. It’s almost like everyone’s holding their breath as he speaks. Like each word is worth clinging to.

“He’s going to be staying here for a while!” Douma continues. “I trust that you will all treat him with the same respect you have towards me. In fact, although Giyuu-kun is my subordinate, if I’m ever busy, feel free to approach him for help.” He prods Tomioka’s back. It’s a good thing that Tomioka has perfected his own blank stare. Despite Douma’s goading, his expression doesn’t so much as flicker. “After all, Giyuu-kun is one of my best friends!”

What? This time, Tomioka does blink, but still, says nothing.

“Introduce yourself, Giyuu-kun!” Douma urges.

Tomioka purses his lips. A few long seconds pass, and while she’s used to his lapses in conversation, everyone—including Douma—looks quizzical at his lack of an immediate response.

“You can call me Tomioka-san,” he says at last. 

Shinobu gnaws on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. After all that, he still gave the most blunt response anyone might expect. 

“Nonsense!” Douma complains. He releases his hand, and his long finger pokes at the marking on Tomioka’s cheek. “You can call him Giyuu-dono!”

“Welcome, Giyuu-dono,” the entire room says at once, so in sync that Shinobu’s left floundering. If it wasn’t obvious before that she’s a newcomer, it is now.

Tomioka sighs. Even though he expressed his wishes to be called by his family name, the entire community follows Douma’s whims. His choices and words are law. If anyone steps outside of that law, they put themselves in danger, like Saki had.

Thankfully, it seems as though Douma’s had his fun. He drags Tomioka down to sit next to him. As soon as his attention strays, the rest of the community takes that as their cue to resume their previous chats. The roar of conversation rises once again, and though Shinobu’s tempted to stare at Tomioka a tad longer, just to make sure he’s alright, she forces herself to focus on the plate in front of her. 

“You’re lucky again, Shinobu-san,” Makoto says in a conspiratorial whisper. “Douma-dono rarely joins us during our meals, but you’ve gotten your wish tonight.”

Shinobu chuckles in agreement, though she wishes she could have been wrong this time. Still, knowing Tomioka is near, that he sits within the same room as her, is enough for her to bear Upper Two’s presence. 

“He really is rather handsome.” Yukina hasn’t torn her gaze away from Douma and Tomioka’s table. Her chin is propped in her hand as she observes them. “Gosh. I’d say he might even be more stunning than Douma-dono.”

So Yukina had been talking about Tomioka before. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, not when there was many a time at the Butterfly Estate when she heard the excited chatter among female slayers at the news that the Water Hashira was near. 

She knew what the whispers meant. She’s heard them since her sister was the head of the estate. 

Did you see Tomioka-sama in the hall? I didn’t realize how handsome he was!

These hushed conversations never stuck with her for long. After all, some of them lost interest when they realized Tomioka was less deft with conversation than he was with a sword. For others, this made him more appealing, though she isn’t quite sure why. In her eyes, she didn’t care how handsome he was. He was an airhead through and through, showing up unannounced with troublesome injuries and little explanation to follow.

“More handsome than Douma-dono?” a new voice interrupts, sounding scandalized on Upper Two’s behalf.

“Now, now, Shoko-chan,” Yukina says, flapping her hand. “I know you can’t stand a negative word about Douma-dono, but you can’t pretend his friend isn’t attractive.”

Her ears prick up. Shoko—was that her name? Shinobu cranes her neck forward to follow Yukina’s line of vision. Her eyes latch onto a young girl a few seats down that sips at the last of her soup. 

She was told Shoko was fifteen. The girl fits this description, and more than that, when she lifts her face, she wears the same intense expression Saki did. This might be a coincidence, or for once, a streak of luck. 

“Whatever,” the girl—Shoko—replies. Even her flippant manner of speaking reminds Shinobu of Saki. She can’t be wrong about this. Not when she has the same dark hair, the same brow shape, the same indignation in her speech. “I don’t think he’s anything special.”

“Be careful, Shoko-chan,” Yukina says seriously. “If Douma-dono’s asked us to accept him, then you need to treat him with the same level of respect.”

Instead of cowering beneath the subtle reprimand, Shoko huffs and covers her face with her bowl. A clear end to the conversation.

“Well, what do you think, Makoto-chan?” Yukina asks, trying her luck elsewhere.

A flare of indignation rises within her on Tomioka’s behalf. It shouldn’t matter whether he’s handsome, she reasons. Tomioka’s an airhead and daft and blunt and reckless. There are plenty of reasons one might dislike him.

Yet, those reasons are nothing compared to his kindness that perseveres even after becoming a demon, or his sense of justice that brings him to throw himself into danger on her behalf every single time, or his gentleness—in how he cares for Kanzaburo, for Saki, for her. 

It feels almost unjust to only consider his looks. But Yukina doesn’t know Tomioka, and she’s meant to pretend she doesn’t know him either, so she keeps her mouth shut. 

“Oh,” Makoto says, considering. She twists a lock of hair around her finger. “I don’t know. I think Douma-dono is very handsome…”

Shinobu can’t help but startle when Yukina turns her attention to her next. “Shinobu-chan,” Yukina drawls. “What do you think? You’d probably have the best opinion. You don’t know either of them. You can make a fair judgment.” 

If only she could. Choose between her sister’s killer, whose very smile ignites an ever-burning fire of rage inside her, or her comrade, who’s constantly sinking beneath the weight of his guilt, who’s seen her anger, and still wants to help her on her foolish journey.

Shinobu returns her gaze to the front table in order to buy herself some time. Douma speaks animatedly to Tomioka, but the latter barely seems to register his words. He stares down at his plate, his eyes almost unseeing. There’s a regal quality to the way he sits, she realizes. Though Upper Two wears the crown, Tomioka’s mask makes him appear like an untouchable youkai. 

He hardly ever wears his hair down. It isn’t well-suited when it comes to fighting. But it suits him now.

The unbidden memory of yesterday’s smile swims to the front of her mind. 

“Giyuu-dono seems more approachable,” Shinobu says, nearly cringing at having to call him Giyuu-dono. She forces herself to look away from the pair. “His voice sounds kind. I like kind people.”

“That doesn’t really answer the question—” Makoto starts to say. 

Yukina waves her off. 

The meal lasts for another hour, not because there is more to eat, but because the community has more to talk about amongst each other. The conversation stalls when Douma excuses himself and departs back to his room, but continues shortly after his exit. The unease that haunts her whenever he’s near recedes as soon as he’s gone, and her breathing comes more naturally. 

To her surprise, Tomioka stays in his seat at the front. Every once in a while, he lifts his head to survey the crowd. Anyone who doesn’t know him might think that he’s observing, but she knows what—who—he’s looking for. 

At this distance, she can’t tell him that she thinks she’s found Sano Shoko. He’ll have to wait. 

Eventually, there seems to be the unanimous decision that it’s time to clean up. Everyone starts cleaning up their trays on their own, and Shinobu follows the lead of the other women at their table. Makoto is about to lead the way when a figure puts themselves in her path.

“You,” Tomioka says, the single word blunt. Ahead of her, Makoto stiffens, and Yukina tosses a look over her shoulder, though she’s too far ahead to retrace her steps backwards. 

Shinobu tilts her head. “Yes, Giyuu-dono?” Her voice is the perfect pitch of innocence. She’s the only one that can tell Tomioka is resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Douma-dono said you’re new here,” he says. “I’ll show you the well in case you need it—or in case there are any emergencies.”

The well? This might be Tomioka’s excuse to get her alone. But it’s too soon. If Douma hasn’t asked him to do this, then he’s drawing attention to themselves too quickly. “I—”

“I’m happy to show her where the well is tomorrow morning!” Makoto offers. “You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

“It’s alright. Douma-dono said you can come to me for help. You can rely on me. Besides, I need to familiarize myself here, too.”

His statement is so straightforward and honest that Makoto falls silent. Shinobu half-wonders if she can tell the difference between Upper Two’s mocking words and Tomioka’s genuine sentiments. It’s clear as day to her. After all, Tomioka doesn’t speak often, so when he chooses to, he doesn’t waste his time with a lie.

Makoto’s gaze glides to her past Tomioka’s shoulder. “Shinobu-san?”

She reassures her with a soft smile. “It’s alright, Makoto-san,” she says. “I’ll go with him and be back soon.”

The room has nearly emptied out, save for the three of them and Yukina, who waits by the doorway. No one has left behind a single piece of trash. They’re efficient and spotless, like a well-oiled machine. 

With some degree of reluctance, Makoto joins Yukina, and the two depart back to the communal rooms to prepare for bed. 

Even though they’re still within the walls of the shrine, even though she shouldn’t dare to ask while he’s still near, the question leaves her lips. “You’re not following the plan like we were meant to. Did something happen?”

His hand latches onto the kitsune mask he wears, almost as if he’s tempted to remove it now that they’re alone. He speaks under his breath, like Upper Two might hear if he talks any louder. “A crow came for you.”

Chapter Text

There is no good that can come from a crow’s sudden arrival. 

She sent En along to Tamayo under the assumption that she’d let Oyakata-sama know that her mission has been prolonged. By all accounts, she wouldn’t be summoned for anything less than an emergency, and if something catastrophic has occurred, she’ll have no choice but to retreat, to abandon Shoko and discard her vengeance for another day. It is why her heart sits in her throat while the two of them walk through the forest, both of them dragging their heels. 

The quicker they make it to the well, the quicker they’ll have to return to the shrine. Unless she’s called back to Headquarters, Shinobu would rather enjoy the spare chances she gets away from that monster. 

“Is there really a well?” Shinobu asks after a minute. Tomioka’s been uncharacteristically quiet, even for him, and his silence only makes her own ring louder. “Or was that a lie?”

“There is a well,” Tomioka replies. “But seeing it isn’t urgent. That girl was right. It could’ve waited until tomorrow.”

Shinobu hums. The mist appears to have receded from the walls of the shrine, but once they’re past the gate, it clings to them like a second skin. The fabric of Makoto’s kimono sticks to her with sweat. There are the faint sounds of birds in the distance, though she doesn’t see so much as a flap of wings while they walk.

His small voice is the first to speak again. “How… how is it?” 

Her eyes widen. “The shrine?”

“All of it. The shrine, the people, him. Have you been okay?”

She feels as though she’s walking on air all of a sudden. “My, my. I was only gone for a day, Tomioka-san. I’m capable of looking after myself.”

Tomioka grips a low-hanging branch in order to pull himself up a dip in the dirt. Once he’s up, he reaches back a hand for her. She might have scoffed at the gesture once, but now, she slips her hand into his and allows him to help her up. It’s only fair. This way she doesn’t have to ruin Makoto’s kimono if she slips.

“I didn’t say that,” Tomioka says. “I asked if you were okay.”

It’s becoming harder and harder to brush him off with her typical breezy smiles, she realizes. It’s like he’s seen through the cracks of her mask once, and now refuses to let her hide herself away again. Each hard-hitting question becomes a punch to the gut, and even all of her years of experience in maintaining her composure aren’t enough to keep her from faltering under his attention. 

It’s rather infuriating that he’s come to know her so well. 

“I’m fine!” Shinobu insists, removing her hand. Immediately, she misses the warmth of his palm. “It’s nothing I wasn’t expecting, so it’s nothing that should bother me.”

Tomioka considers this a moment. “You can prepare yourself for the worst, but when it comes to pass, it’s never easy,” he says solemnly. His gaze flickers over to her, and she has no choice but to turn away. “You don’t have to pretend like this isn’t torture.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing I didn’t expect.” Nothing I’m not willing to endure. If she had any reservations, she would have never decided on this plan. “What about you? How did Upper Two take your arrival?”

Tomioka shrugs. “Better than I expected. He’s excited about the idea of being able to gloat to Akaza that I came groveling to him. I can tell.”

It would be unfortunate if Upper Two decided to gloat sooner rather than later. That might be something to keep an eye on. 

“As long as there’s no reason for him to be suspicious, that’s fine. You’ve been taking the pills, right?”

Tomioka sends her a flat look.

Shinobu raises her hands in surrender. “Just checking!”

“Of course I’m taking the pills. I’d be useless to you if I were dead.”

“That’s why I was making sure. No need to be offended, Tomioka-san! Or should I say Giyuu-dono?”

Tomioka shrinks away like the name is physically revolting to him. For someone like Upper Two, who thrives off being dramatic and grandiose, he probably savors the power he holds over the humans in his cult by demanding their respect. For Tomioka, the title might feel more like a slap to the face. 

“Ugh.” Tomioka attempts to hide his face, but she catches a glimpse of the frown he wears. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle hearing that several times a day.”

“Get used to it!” Shinobu urges. “I have a bunch of strangers calling me Shinobu-chan now.”

“Did he call you that too?”

“How did you know?” She splays a hand over her chest. “Could you hear the disgust in my voice?”

Tomioka releases an exhale that veers close to a laugh. “Almost.”

The binds on her chest loosen with each lighthearted remark. Without realizing it, her body has worked itself up with tension knowing that her sister’s killer sits within the same walls as her. Every smile she makes within that shrine costs her. But with distance between them and the building, with the fresh air circulating around them, the nerves vanish, and her lungs relearn to breathe without trouble.

“Is it much further?” Shinobu asks.

“We’re almost there,” Tomioka says. “Are you getting tired?”

“No.” She’s almost offended that he’s asking.

“Are you sure? I can carry you.”

Now she’s definitely offended. “Giyuu-dono, please leave me alone.”

Her words have the desired impact. Tomioka takes two long strides ahead of her without another offer leaving his lips, his face bright red. 

It doesn’t take much longer for a break within the stretch of trees to appear. Tomioka winds through the gap first, and she follows after him, taking care to step over the branches lest she rip the fabric of her borrowed kimono. 

The stone well in front of them has been eroded with time. Plants and moss have climbed up its rocks, finding permanent residence within the crevices. The water within, however, is clear and well-tended to. Her focus is only averted by the splash of pink on its edge.

“Urara!” Shinobu exclaims before she can help it. 

Kanroji’s crow waits patiently on the stones, her pink headpiece the only notable color within the brush of the forest leaves, a letter between her beak. Kanzaburo sits at her side, tidying his feathers, though he straightens as soon as he spots Tomioka.

“GIYUU,” Kanzaburo says, relieved. “YOU’RE BACK.”

Shinobu pouts. “Why isn’t Kanzaburo ever excited to see me?”

Tomioka gives her a strange look before taking a seat on the stone. Immediately, Kanzaburo leaps onto his shoulder and begins fiddling with the strings to his mask. 

“Tomioka-san,” she says. “This is Kanroji-san’s crow. You remember her, right?”

“The crow?”

“The Hashira.”

“Oh.” Tomioka regards Urara further. The crow shrinks beneath the gaze of an Upper Rank, her legs wobbling. “I suppose she does look very…pink.”

She can’t help but snicker, more out of amusement than anything else. “Urara,” she says, focusing on the crow in front of her. She holds out her hand, and Urara deposits the letter into it. “Is Kanroji-san alright?”

A few beats pass, and that trepidation she feels only strengthens. “I’M NOT SURE,” Urara says at last. “PLEASE READ THE LETTER, SHINOBU-SAMA.”

“Very well.” Shinobu begins to unfold it.

“MITSURI-SAMA ASKED ME TO BRING THE LETTER TO YOU, AND IF I COULDN’T FIND YOU, THE SULKY DEMON WOULD DO.”

Tomioka’s head snaps in Urara’s direction, and the crow wilts. 

The paper unfurls beneath her fingertips, and Kanroji’s familiar handwriting seems to bounce off the page.

Hello, Shinobu-chan!

How are you? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, but I imagine you’re as busy as I am now that we’re allowed to go on missions again. I sleep so soundly during the day from the pent-up exhaustion of fighting demons all night long!

Anyway, I wanted to ask you something. Please don’t tell anyone. I figured you of all people would understand, Shinobu-chan!

Uh oh. That doesn’t bode well.

Iguro-san visited me last night.

Shinobu’s eyes widen. She can see Tomioka regard her with curiosity from the corner of her eye, but she’s far too consumed with the letter to catch him up prematurely. 

He didn’t hurt me, I swear. He didn’t even threaten me. He…came to give me socks. I know it’s weird and doesn’t make sense, but do you think there’s a small part of him that recalls his human memories? Even a little bit? I mean, he had no reason to bring me new socks, but he did, and I’m so grateful, but I don’t know what this means or what he wants from me. Is this how you felt too?

Iguro-san didn’t stay too long. I figured that’s because of the bond, right? You said Tomioka-san gets around it using wisteria poison. Would you be able to help me?

I don’t think Iguro-san is too far gone. I think, like Tomioka-san, he can be persuaded, but if I can’t talk to him, I’ll never know for sure.

I hope you and Tomioka-san are doing well, Shinobu-chan!

Kanroji Mitsuri

Shinobu peels her gaze from the letter as soon as she skims past Kanroji’s signature. Her mind feels a bit like jelly with the information Kanroji shared, and she’s not quite sure what to make of it all yet. She isn’t a demon expert; she doesn’t know where to begin understanding Iguro’s motives or whether, like Tomioka, he’s capable of betraying Muzan.

This is what the Corps are working towards. She should be happy to receive this sliver of hope. It means Iguro—and Shinazugawa potentially—are not lost causes. But it’s difficult enough having faith that one Upper Rank has the capacity to help them. If she begins traveling down that road, does that make them vulnerable?

It took her a while to trust Tomioka. Even now, she does so with bated breath. But Kanroji is different.

Her affection towards Iguro when he was human hasn’t been lost despite his change in sides. Any chance that he might be close to the man he once was is enough for Kanroji to believe that he, too, can change. That he might also be capable of helping them bring down Muzan.

Unfortunately, she can’t rely on this without any proof. She certainly doesn’t want to put Kanroji in the line of fire.

“I will write her a reply,” she tells Urara, who nods. She turns towards Tomioka. “Tomioka-san.”

He’s been waiting for her to finish reading, and now that she has, he sits up straight. “Yes?”

Shinobu chews on her lower lip. “What do you think of Iguro-san?”

Tomioka tilts his head to the side. “Iguro?”

“Kanroji-san’s letter. It seems like she’s run into Iguro-san. He didn’t kill her, which is good. She thinks that he might be persuaded to…” She motions with her hands without saying the words aloud. “What do you think? I don’t know this version of Iguro-san. I don’t know how ruthless he can be. Do you think he might…”

“Why would he find Kanroji?”

“Tomioka-san.” She gently pats his head with the letter. “I can’t even blame this on you losing your memories. I’m sure your human self didn’t realize this either. Kanroji-san and Iguro-san… They have a close relationship.”

“Like us?”

Shinobu thinks of all the lunches she’s shared with Kanroji where the two tried to understand what love felt like. Kanroji wanted to know how to expect it, but her lack of experience left her faltering. Shinobu was no better. Every hypothesis she had was too technical and by-the-books, the clear evidence of someone who relied more on the concrete versus the abstract.

Love, relationships. That had to be tangible. It had to be measurable—by a racing heart, or a sweaty palm, or a shift in blood pressure. 

She knows now at least that Kanroji wanted to know what love would be like to be able to tell if her feelings for Iguro were the same. 

“No,” Shinobu says, too quickly. “They were not like us.”

“No?”

“No. Kanroji-san has a crush on Iguro-san.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s not the same. You and I are friends.”

Tomioka blinks. “I didn’t know that.”

“That’s why I’m asking for your opinion. Do you think Iguro-san would hurt Kanroji-san? Or better yet, do you think his feelings towards him can be swayed?”

Tomioka falls silent. Kanzaburo tugs at the strings of his mask, hard enough that it tumbles from his head. Tomioka manages to catch it just before it falls into the well. “I don’t know,” he admits, running a hand over the front of the mask. “Iguro always seemed like he had a purpose. He wants to serve Muzan-sama well. He wants to die for him.”

Shinobu’s lips press together into a tight line. 

“He said that once,” Tomioka says. “I’m not sure. I’ve never gotten along well enough with Iguro and Shinazugawa to know what they’re thinking.”

“I see…”

“But…in Asakusa, Iguro fought Kanroji, didn’t he? She came out of that fight uninjured.”

“You think he was showing her mercy?”

“I can’t be sure,” Tomioka says. “All I know is that Iguro was supposed to kill her, and he didn’t. She came back alive to help you, and Iguro was waiting for us to return like nothing was wrong.”

That is fair. Shinobu hadn’t pressed for details that night knowing that Kanroji’s fight with Iguro must have cost her. It is one thing to fight a former comrade. It is another to fight someone you were once close to—close enough to trade gifts and share meals. Kanroji had been teary-eyed in the aftermath, so she hadn’t asked. But Tomioka isn’t wrong: Kanroji returned unharmed.

She sighs as she takes a seat next to Tomioka. Kanzaburo finally notices her presence and leaps to her shoulder. “I can’t leave her hanging,” she says. “I might need her to come here if things go south.”

“Iguro treats Kaburamaru nicely,” Tomioka says, as if this is a notch in Iguro’s favor.

“A snake and a Hashira are not the same.” Another sigh. “Hand me the bottle of pills. I’ll send her four or five.”

He hands it to her without question, and carefully, she tips out five pills into her hand. The bottle is by no means empty, but they’re already running the risk of not having a blood supply. They can’t lose the poison that keeps Muzan far from reach. 

“I’ll make you more,” she says, returning the bottle. “Tamayo-san sent me the formula. But I don’t want to risk it in the shrine.”

“It’s okay. If we run out, you can stab me again.”

Her lips twitch. “Maybe I will.”

The two of them stay seated, though there isn’t reason to anymore. The sky has darkened sufficiently, the stars poking through above them. The shrine must be settling down to sleep, and she has no idea where she’s sleeping yet. She should leave. And yet, all she wants is to linger outside a little longer, just to savor the stars.

“We should head back,” Tomioka says after a few minutes have passed.

“Just another minute,” she murmurs.

He lets her wait another three before they decide to begin the trek back.

To her surprise, someone sits at the steps of the shrine waiting for their return. Makoto holds a lantern at her side looking lost in thought as she watches fireflies spark across the air, though she sits up straight upon hearing their footsteps. 

“Makoto-san,” Shinobu says as soon as she’s close enough. “You didn’t need to wait for me.”

“It’s alright. You’ll be sleeping with the rest of us tonight, so I thought I should show you where.”

Behind her, Tomioka bows his head slightly before departing through one of the side doors. He must have his own separate room.

“Shall we?” Makoto stands, wiping the dust off her clothes, and motions for Shinobu to follow her.

Privacy is a luxury she’s rewarded with the first night she arrives, but it’s an impermanent promise as she’s come to realize. 

Her futon has already been arranged in one of the communal sleeping areas. It appears that the men and women are separated, and children have their own space as well. But the sleeping quarters are limited: dozens of futons are arranged in rows with barely a few centimeters separating them. Every snore and hitch of breath is audible in the dead of night. She has to change in the bathroom if she wants to be alone for even a moment, and when she returns, Makoto waits for her. It should be reassuring, but between mealtimes and this, she’s realizing that there’s hardly a spare moment to disappear. From the moment she wakes until she falls asleep, there is always someone watching her. As someone who values her privacy, this might be the most jarring shift in her routine.

It had been a hurdle when she and Tomioka traveled together, sharing rooms with little time apart. But Tomioka is someone she’s known for a while, and his presence stuck within the lines of the boundaries she created for them. Here, her boundaries have been drawn by someone else, evident by the fact that everyone is fast asleep by the time she enters the room.

“Ready?” Makoto asks in a hushed voice.

Shinobu nods. Makoto helps her roll out her futon and sets a pillow down for her. It’s only once Shinobu has dug beneath the covers that Makoto settles down herself.

“Thank you, Makoto-san,” Shinobu says. 

There’s an uneasiness digging beneath her skin, like a splinter that’s cut deep, but she forces herself to shove it down. There’s nothing to fear. Tomioka’s nearby. She isn’t helpless. 

“You’re welcome,” Makoto whispers back.

The candles have already been blown out, the curtains all drawn tight. There’s nothing to do except shut her eyes and will herself to sleep.

Her mind falls into slumber as someone’s footsteps wander past in search of the bathroom. Her sleep is so deep that she doesn’t hear them return.

“Chores?” 

Yukina stares at her like she’s told a funny joke.

“Yes, chores,” Yukina repeats. 

It’s past nine in the morning, and the sun beats through the treeline with a vengeance. She half-wonders if the sun knows that two demons reside within the safety of the shrine’s walls and wants to burn them even through the structure. Either way, the day is warmer than it has been in some time, and the weather has met the sun’s intensity with equal fervor. Most of the shrine’s inhabitants have wandered outdoors after breakfast.

The first meal of the day wasn’t all that different from yesterday’s dinner. Save for the fact that Tomioka and Upper Two didn’t make an appearance, the meal proceeded in the same manner: she sat beside Makoto and Yukina, picking at portions of vegetables and rice to put on her own plate, sharing between those who sat near her. Unlike dinner, breakfast is a shorter affair, like everyone is conscious of the errands that need to be done.

The days are short, and the members of the Eternal Paradise Cult seem to be aware that they don’t exist in an eternity yet. They’re diligent in tending to their errands whether that be washing dishes, sweeping the steps, mopping the floors. They work hard for the demon that promises salvation, and they don’t skimp on what they expect from themselves.

No one is exempt from those expectations, including Shinobu, it seems. 

“If you’re going to be staying with us, you have to pull your weight,” Yukina says. 

Shinobu puts on a sunny smile. “Of course! I understand. What can I help with?”

“Do you have anything you’re particularly good at? The kitchen’s already been cleaned, so your help isn’t needed there.” Yukina’s eyebrows scrunch as she runs through a list of tasks in her head. “Makoto-chan is sweeping today. Someone has to cut the grass, but that might be hard for you.”

Shinobu has the urge to cut every blade of grass in the surrounding area to prove a point. She’ll do it with her sword if she has to.

“Yuuto-kun is cleaning the well… Chigaya is teaching the children today…”

“My parents are doctors,” Shinobu offers. “I can offer any medical attention.”

“Oh!” Yukina presses a hand against her cheek in awe. “That’s lovely. But I don’t think that would be needed right now. Douma-dono takes care of everyone. If anyone is hurt or sick, he’s the first to tend to them. He’ll walk them down to the village to the nearest doctor if their condition worsens.”

Though his actions sound selfless from an outsider’s perspective, Shinobu doubts there is any good that comes from an Upper Rank demon tending to the sick and wounded. There must be a handful of cult members that have disappeared this way. Yukina might believe Douma’s taken care of them, but all that might mean is that he’s taken the liberties of ending their lives before their sickness could. 

“I can sew,” Shinobu says. There might be something she can do. Some way she can be useful. If she can’t prove valuable, there’s no reason for this cult to keep her. She’ll be dead weight. “I can mend any torn clothing.”

Yukina’s eyebrows lift.

“Or I can garden,” she adds. Kanae’s garden at the estate has outlasted her, after all. “I’ve noticed some flowers. I can help weed them.”

“Hm,” Yukina hums. “Shoko-chan has been trying to grow a vegetable garden. She’s been very careful, and I’m sure she’s handling it well, but if you wouldn’t mind checking on her, that would be helpful.” Her voice lowers. “Shoko-chan is very headstrong and stubborn, so she gets very upset when things don’t go according to plan. Please be patient with her.”

Shoko—that must be the same Shoko she noticed at dinner last night. The same girl with Saki’s fierce glower and indignant manner of speaking. 

She thought she would have had to force a connection. Instead, Yukina’s given her one on a silver platter.

“I’m not all that familiar with vegetable gardens,” she admits. “Especially not in this climate. But I will do my best!”

Yukina gives her a gentle smile. “Thank you very much. I promise, tomorrow you can do something more worthwhile. Like mopping!” Without another word, Yukina leaves her side.

It takes her a few minutes to be able to find Shoko’s garden. She thought it would be near the front of the shrine, but she was directed towards the back by one of the men she asked. 

The garden, as it turns out, is a few dozen feet from the furthest point of the shrine. It’s further out of reach than any of the racks designed to hold the ema boards or the corner dedicated to pulling a fortune. It’s buried in the forest—enough that by the time she finds Shoko, her socks are wet from crossing through the dirt.

At the sound of her approach, Shoko’s head snaps up from where she stands behind a fence.

“What are you doing here?” Shoko snaps before she even gets the chance to explain herself. In her right hand, she holds a hammer, and several long thin planks of wood sit at the ground by her feet.

Without answering her, her gaze flickers towards the dirt. When Yukina mentioned a garden, Shinobu expected to at least see the sprouts of something beginning to grow. But there’s nothing to see. Not yet, anyway. If it weren’t for the wet dirt by Shoko’s feet, she wouldn’t have known this was a garden at all. 

The only unique part of this location is the small fence that stands against a tree. It looks slightly unbalanced, but still manages to remain upright despite that. The planks waiting on the ground match the ones used to build the fence upwards. 

All the while, Shoko glares at her with the same fury Shinobu is all too familiar with. At once, she wonders why Yukina sent her here. Perhaps she wanted another set of eyes to help Shoko, but it’s become obvious that this is a sacred space to Shoko—and her presence is unwanted.

Still, that doesn’t mean she can walk away. 

“Shoko,” Shinobu greets. She doesn’t dare take a step forward. Any misstep might stoke the fires of Shoko’s ire. “Yukina-san sent me here to help you. She said you were working on a vegetable garden.”

Shoko’s eyes widen immediately. “Why did Yukina-san tell you that?” The edge to her voice has dulled somewhat, like the mention of Yukina’s name has averted her distrust. “I don’t need help. The garden is fine.”

There isn’t much to judge either way. There is nothing that proves her claim. 

“I admit I don’t know much about growing vegetables,” Shinobu says. “I think Yukina-san wanted to keep me busy.”

Shoko harrumphs before picking up another plank of wood. She adds it to the top level of the fence, inserts a nail Shinobu didn’t realize she had, and hammers it in. The fence trembles all the while, but it holds strong as Shoko stands back, admiring her handiwork.

She needs to say something. The longer the silence stretches, the more impossible it will be to break. 

Unfortunately, her usual smiles and flattery will get her nowhere here. If Shoko is as stubborn as Yukina suggests, then her carefree attitude will push the young girl further away with suspicion. She needs another approach, one that errs towards being more genuine. One that Shoko can trust.

The seed is in her hand. She only needs to plant it and watch it grow.

“Did you make this fence? Is it for the vegetables?” 

Shoko pauses. For a moment, it doesn’t look like she’ll receive an answer. When she does, it’s quiet and muttered beneath her breath. “Yes.”

Shinobu’s gaze travels upwards towards the sky that beams down on them from above. Even with how strong it feels today, the leaves from the overhanging branches keep the rays at bay. 

“Are you trying to help your vegetables reach the sun?” Shinobu asks, her curiosity piqued.

Shoko drops the plank in her grasp. “How did you know?” she demands. 

“I imagine it’s very difficult trying to start a garden on your own, much less somewhere the sun barely reaches.”

Shoko retrieves the plank again, and the hammering resumes. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap drowns out any other noise in the forest. “It’s not just that,” Shoko says. “They like to climb.”

“I see.” Admittedly, any gardening expertise she has is limited to flowers. Beyond the wisteria that guards the fences of her estate, the flowers that bloom within the gardens have been planted for the purpose of attracting the butterflies she and Kanae loved so much. Milkweeds, sunflowers: they all find homes within her yard, bringing an abundance of colorful butterflies with them. When it comes to produce, she’s less knowledgeable. However, even a complete rookie can tell Shoko deeply cares for this garden, despite its lackluster appearance. “You may not be tall enough to continue adding rungs to the fence forever.”

The glare Shoko wears burns her like a branding iron. 

“Unfortunately, I’m short, so I can’t help you in that regard!”

There it is. The barest flicker of a smile. 

“Is the garden supposed to be noticeable by now?”

“No. It was planted…a week and a half ago now.”

Ah. Then this is a new addition. She wonders if Yukina let Shoko indulge herself for the sake of keeping the young girl busy. 

Regardless, her help isn’t needed. In fact, she’s certain Shoko might throw the hammer at her if she interferes. Shinobu wanders over to a firm rock and perches herself on top of it to watch Shoko work.

After several minutes, Shoko speaks again. “They’re yams.”

“Yams?”

Shoko gestures in the direction of the dirt with her hammer. 

“All of them?”

“Yeah.” Shoko’s voice becomes small as she admits, “I wasn’t the one who planted them originally. It was—” A pause. “My sister. But she left. So. I’m taking care of them now.”

Saki planted these? “Does your sister like yams?”

“She loves them.” The harshness to Shoko’s features softens, and her tone is wistful in a way Shinobu imagines hers is when she remembers Kanae. “She asked our mother if she could plant some, and now, the back of our home has the plants growing up to the roof.”

“Lovely! My sister always liked planting flowers.” This would be a good way to broach the subject; Shoko’s offered her an avenue in, but as quickly as the path has appeared, it can just as easily be sealed off. She needs to tread carefully. “We liked watching the butterflies together. Will your sister be back soon, do you think? Is that why you’re being so careful?”

A low sigh leaves Shoko’s lips. She sets the hammer down in the dirt and kicks the remaining planks into a pile together. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Why do you say that?”

Her eyelids flutter shut. “She wasn’t supposed to leave.”

“Huh?”

“She wasn’t supposed to leave,” Shoko repeats, more insistently this time. “But Saki always gets her way.”

Shinobu flinches at the mention of Saki’s name. Stay calm, she reminds herself. You don’t know Saki. You aren’t supposed to know her. 

“Saki?” Shinobu asks, the perfect picture of innocence.

“One of my older sisters.” Another pause. “I don’t think she’ll let Saku come back.”

Oh.

Shoko isn’t talking about Saki. The one who planted this garden, the one Shoko’s waiting for… It’s Saku. 

Then Upper Two lied about what happened with Saku. Saki insisted she watched her twin die. If Shoko believes her two sisters simply left, it’s because he twisted the truth to make it Shoko’s truth—the one that paints Saki out as the overbearing, overprotective sister that stole Saku away.

It would have been too easy. Saki had been mistrustful of Douma from the beginning. She hadn’t wanted her sisters to step foot near the shrine to start with. If Upper Two needed a reason to explain Saku’s disappearance, Saki’s played right into his hands. 

Tomioka was right. Upper Two has been able to worm his way into Shoko’s mind, erasing her older sister’s death completely. Without knowing that Saku is dead, Shoko has no reason to leave—and they have no way of prying her away from this cult.

“Hey. I’m talking to you.” Shoko’s face swims into her vision, and her focus returns, albeit a bit slower than she’s used to. “Didn’t you hear me? I said it would be time for lunch soon. Let’s head back.”

“Oh, alright!” She’s still trying to wrap her head around the nest of lies Upper Two has created, but she can’t afford to zone out when being spoken to. She slides off the rock and lands on her feet. 

Shoko heaves the hammer over her shoulder. Before she can protest, Shinobu gathers the remaining planks of wood in her arms and keeps at her side. 

“I understand, Shoko,” Shinobu says. 

Her heart aches for this young girl, hardly older than herself when she first was exposed to Upper Two’s cruelty, when her beloved older sister was torn from her. Just as she wanted to help Saki, she wants to help Shoko. That man is a monster. Sisters should never be turned against each other. For him to even try that—she will never forgive him. Never. This is another notch in her anger, another reason her fury burns brighter and brighter each day.

“My sister,” Shinobu continues, the words leaving behind a bitter taste on her tongue. “She left me once too.”

There’s the faint cry of a crow in the distance. The voices nearby grow louder the closer they reach the shrine. Shoko clears her throat. “Did you forgive her—when she came back?”

Still smiling, Shinobu murmurs, “She never did.” Shoko blanches as the next words leave her mouth. “She might never forgive me. I haven’t done as she’s asked.”

“Oh.”

“But that doesn’t matter. Not to me.” She flashes her teeth at Shoko. “When I meet my sister again, nothing will matter except that we’re together.”

After her statement, Shoko is quiet all the way back to the shrine and all the way through lunch. 

Kocho Shinobu’s sword balances in his lap, supported between his knees as he sits on the floor of the room Douma gave him to call his own.

The room is no doubt larger than any he’s offered to any member of his cult, but Giyuu also suspects it’s much smaller than any room Douma spends his personal time in either. It’s empty and spacious and separated from the humans on the other side of the shrine. The curtains are thick and block out even today’s bright sunlight. There’s an adjoining bathroom and onsen, a luxury he doesn’t deserve, and half of him suspects that Douma’s tried giving him everything he might need so that Giyuu has no reason to bother him.

There’s no other way to make sense of the extravagance he’s been met with. He didn’t ask for any of it. He didn’t have a choice either. Douma mockingly called him Giyuu-dono, gave him a kitsune mask that sent chills down his spine, and requested that Giyuu be subtle with his feeding. That was all. 

From where he stands, Douma is his superior. The actions he takes and the choices he makes are beyond his reach. All he needs to do is accept them, and in order for Shinobu’s plan to steal Shoko out from his nose to work, he needs to play the part of the lifeless doll Douma believes he is. 

Giyuu emits a sigh—his fourth in the last two minutes. 

There is little to do while the sun is up. He’s tried sleeping, but he’s had enough nightmares of Douma killing Kocho in front of him to count. He needs to do something else.

Kocho’s sword is rather interesting. The scabbard has a double purpose: it holds her poison formulas, and by sticking the blade back, she can easily adjust the concoction for another. He’s counted five different formulas. He’s probably tasted all of them.

His eyelids flutter shut.

I need to be useful. I don’t want to put her in danger. I need to help her. Somehow. I need to be useful to her.

When he opens his eyes again, he pulls out the blade, the metal singing. The poison that gleams on the sword is her first formula. 

His left hand shakes slightly as he holds it out in front of him. In the same breath, he positions the tip of Kocho’s sword over his palm.

It’s been a while since he’s felt the burn of wisteria. Thanks to the runaway’s pills, he’s been able to coast by with minimal side effects. There aren’t any long nights filled with aching lungs and a mouth full of blood. 

But if he wants to help her, he needs to do more.

She won’t be able to cut off Douma’s head. She’ll need to defeat him with poison.

Her different formulas have slight alterations between them. Some might prove stronger than others. Some might rot his inner organs quicker. When it comes to poison, it’s both a double-edged sword and a learning experience in the midst of battle. Kocho has to adjust depending on her opponent’s reactions to her poison, all while protecting herself.

Against Douma, she won’t have the freedom to take another second to think. Every move needs to be calculated. Any hesitation might cost her her life. The very least he can do is this—he can remove that uncertainty.

The only one that can test her poisons is me. I’m the only one who can recover. If I determine which of her formulas are the strongest against Upper Ranks, will that be enough?

This might kill him. He might die alone in this room, choking on his own blood.

I trust you won’t let me die, she told him.

Giyuu stabs straight through his palm.

There’s a creak as the water from the showerhead above her cuts off. 

Shinobu stands up, grabs the towel she brought with her, and begins patting herself down. She purposely waited until most of the other women had returned from their own showers before coming herself. She didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention; there would be no way to explain the scars on her legs or her stomach from injuries long healed. It would be a dead giveaway to let herself be exposed like that.

Instead, she waited until it was closer to the time when all lights would be shut and dashed here on her own. Her mind hadn’t let herself calm down all the while. She didn’t let herself take a dip in the bath, instead showering herself in a rush. The ends of her hair are damp, despite her best efforts to leave it dry. 

She needs a proper bath soon. She isn’t sure how she’ll manage that, though. It feels like every activity is done in pairs or a large group. Even a simple bath needs a chaperone.

“Dang it,” she mutters to herself. She dries along her stomach, her chest, her neck. Being late only makes her look suspicious.

Shinobu has enough time to wrap her towel around her body when another pair of footsteps pads into the shower area.

Her head whips around so quickly she nearly gives herself whiplash.

Makoto looks just as surprised to see her there.

“Makoto-san!” Shinobu says cheerfully, as though nothing is amiss. “I thought you already showered.”

She knows Makoto has already showered. She watched her return with Akane. Which begs the question—why is she here?

Makoto offers her a sheepish look, but Shinobu remains on guard all the same. Makoto is a kind person, but so is Shoko, and their earlier conversation has proven that there’s no limit to how deep Upper Two’s control is on every single person within these walls. She has no true allies here, save for Tomioka. She needs them to trust her, to like her, because at this point, they will never support her over Upper Two.

“I did,” Makoto admits. Her hair has already been dried and tied into a bun, but she reaches a hand up to undo it, letting her long locks fall. She removes her yukata, and Shinobu averts her gaze. “But I’m—freezing. It’s too cold tonight. I decided to take another shower. I didn’t realize you were still here, Shinobu-san! Please don’t yell at me for wasting whatever is left of the hot water.”

Shinobu chuckles. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you.” She hears the crank of the water being turned on before the stream of it comes out in a steady flow. “Yukina says I’m being overdramatic. She says it isn’t that cold.”

She might have to agree with Yukina. The heat from the sun has left the evening nice and dry. She isn’t cold at all.

But in the next second, Makoto lets out a cough. 

Every alarm in her brain stands to attention. Her doctor’s instincts make her want to ask questions, to determine the source. “Makoto-san, are you sick?”

“Huh? No? I’m quite fine!”

Before she can ask another question, a second cough leaves Makoto’s mouth. 

“Are you sure?” Shinobu demands. There is no other explanation. The sudden sun must have been too strong for Makoto today. If she hadn’t given herself a break, it would explain why she’s feeling a chill a few hours later. “That doesn’t sound fine.”

“It’s a little cough. It’s nothing.”

She lacks any sort of first-aid kit or other equipment to be able to make a concrete diagnosis. Still, she can’t sit by and do nothing. 

“If it’s nothing, you won’t mind if I check your temperature, hm?” Her bright voice leaves no room for protests. “Just let me ease my mind. I’m a doctor!”

“But I’m fine—”

Without letting Makoto protest any further, Shinobu stalks over to where the other girl sits beneath the showerhead. While holding her towel up with one hand, she places her free hand against Makoto’s forehead. Makoto squeaks at the sudden contact.

Warm, Shinobu thinks. She’s warmer than she should be. Now that they’re face-to-face, she’s able to see the other evidence that wasn’t obvious before, like the haziness in Makoto’s gaze or the redness to her cheeks.

“Shinobu-san…” Makoto’s voice is small, so much so that she has difficulty hearing it. “I promise I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re burning up,” Shinobu says sternly. Though her smile hasn’t wavered, she hopes Makoto can see the severity in it. “You aren’t fine.”

“I’ll be better in the morning. I swear, Shinobu-san! I just need rest.”

“I’ll talk to Yukina-san. Ask her to reassign your chores.”

“You don’t have to do that!”

“Makoto-san.” She removes her hand and lets it fall back to her side. “You have a small fever. You need rest. More than one night of it.”

Makoto pouts. If Makoto knew how many patients she saw on a daily basis, she’d know better than to resort to sulking. Once she makes a decision, she’s set on it. 

“I didn’t realize you could be so strict, Shinobu-san,” Makoto muses as she leans back, letting the water run down the expanse of her body. “You’re kind of like Yukina-san.”

“Is Yukina-san strict?”

Makoto nods. “When she wants to be.” She sighs as the steam from the water continues to rise, the marker of how hot it must be. “You can go ahead, Shinobu-san. I’ll be here a while.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Her eyelids flutter shut. “I won’t take too long. But I want to enjoy this as long as possible.”

“Alright.” 

Shinobu steps out of the shower area, dropping her towel and shimmying into her clothes. “If you need anything, let me know,” she says, half a threat. “I’ll take care of you.”

With a faint smile teasing her lips, Makoto hums. “You’re really nice, Shinobu-san,” she murmurs. “You’re pretty and kind. Even Shoko looked happier when you two came back from lunch.” Her voice sounds a bit far away as she says, “I don’t know why that man would have left you. I think you’ve got a lot to love.”

Shinobu blinks rapidly at that. To her dismay, there’s a wetness in her eyes that she can’t blame on the shower. Makoto hardly knows her. If she knew how festered her heart was, she wouldn’t bother with such kindness. If she knew how Shinobu’s greatest desire is to destroy the man she worships, she’d scorn her.

It hurts to swallow past the lump in her throat. “Thank you, Makoto-san.”

“Good night, Shinobu-san.”

“Good night.”

With that, Shinobu hurries back to the dormitories, her heart particularly heavy inside her. When Makoto said those words, she looked more like Kanae than ever before.

There’s another pair of footsteps tonight. These are more hurried.

Shinobu stirs from her dreams, blinking against the moonlight that shines through the open windows. It’s only thanks to the moon that she’s able to see at all when Makoto rushes out the door, coughing intensely. 

Her mind startles into awareness. 

“Makoto-san,” Shinobu calls after her. There is no response, and the door slides shut after Makoto’s departure. 

When she sweeps her gaze across the room, everyone is still fast asleep. Akane snores a few futons away; Yukina is buried beneath her blankets; Shoko’s brow is furrowed as her chest rises and falls in steady breaths. No one heard Makoto leave except her.

“Shit,” she hisses to herself. Without waiting another moment, she kicks off her blankets and escapes the comfort of her futon. It takes her a moment to step around the rows of bodies in order to make it to the exit. 

Perhaps her condition worsened in the middle of the night. Maybe she needs medicine. She doesn’t have any supplies, but there must be herbs growing near the shrine. She can create something for her. 

Shinobu quietly lets herself out of the room.

“Makoto-san?” she calls. “Are you alright?”

The hall is dark and empty. There’s no evidence of Makoto anywhere. 

Shinobu strides forward and twists down another hallway. As soon as her steps reach its center, an icy chill catches her where she stands. Her lungs seize, her breath freezing. Her hand itches to move towards a sword that isn’t there. 

“Makoto-san,” Shinobu tries again.

“Oh, dear. Shinobu-chan, was it?” 

Behind—

She doesn’t get the chance to even turn before a hand lands on her shoulder. Her heart stops beating. All she can do is freeze in place.

“You’re looking for Makoto-chan?” Upper Two asks, concern leaking from his voice. With his breath curling around her ear, she can’t relax even if she wanted to. 

Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me. Please don’t—

Those rainbow eyes slide into the corner of her vision. “You’re awfully sweet, aren’t you? So concerned!”

She doesn’t trust herself to move, let alone speak.

“I know!” His hand digs into her chin as he circles around her—until he’s right in front of her, forcing her to stare upwards while he towers over her. Bile rises in her throat with each glide of his claws along her cheek. “Now that Makoto-chan is gone, you can be my new favorite!”

She doesn’t need heightened senses to hear the sound of the crack in her heart. 

Chapter Text

“What’s wrong?” Douma asks, the question dripping with faux concern. “Why do you look so worried?”

There’s a storm brewing inside her, one that she’s painstakingly contained from her very first steps beneath the shrine gate, simmering beneath the surface. Despite her careful efforts, it’s all for naught in the end. Any attempt she makes at hiding her anger is a flimsy endeavor at best. There is no stopping the emotions that surge through her, as relentless as a tsunami and fierce as a forest fire. 

Why should she conceal her emotions? It didn’t matter. Makoto is dead.

The air is lodged in her throat, preventing her from answering. The longer she delays, the bigger the target on her back grows. She might as well call him an Upper Rank demon right now; she isn’t doing a great job at pretending she’s oblivious to his actions. She’s sure that if she were to catch a glimpse of her reflection, her eyes would look wild and frantic, dark with panic. 

Each word that escapes her mouth comes tight. “Where is Makoto-san?”

“Ah.” His right hand caresses her cheek, and tears burn in the back of her eyes. Tomioka was right to call this torture. She didn’t realize it could get so much worse. “Makoto-chan wasn’t feeling well. She had a bit of a fever. I sent her down to the village to receive medical attention.”

Impossible. She saw Makoto mere seconds ago. He must have eaten her quickly. There isn’t a splatter of blood near his mouth. 

“I…could’ve tended to her,” Shinobu says. Her jaw clenches. It’s impossible to relax her features when Douma refuses to release her. “I’m a doctor. That’s why I was worried about her…”

Instead of letting her go, the nightmare worsens. He slides his palm—the one that had been holding her chin—against her left cheek so that he’s holding her face like a lover might. “Oh, Shinobu-chan! You’re so sweet. But that’s alright. I made sure Makoto-chan got the best treatment. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Makoto-chan will be happy and healthy forever.”

This demon is delusional, Shinobu realizes. He truly believes he’s saving these people. How—how—could Kanae have felt an ounce of pity for him?

“Ah. I could accompany her. She didn’t leave that long ago, did she?”

Shinobu tries to draw herself away. It’s all in vain, though, as Douma easily spins her around as if they’re dancing together, forcing her to clash back into his chest. She has no choice but to shove her hands between them to avoid being crushed against him.

“You really do worry too much, Shinobu-chan!” Douma croons. “I know Makoto-chan was taking care of you. Don’t worry. I’ll be more than happy to take her place!”

Shinobu bites down on her tongue. Hard. Make this stop, she begs. Please make this stop.

She wants to twist away from him as he leans in. Every part of her body screams in protest that he’s this close. Too close. But she can’t. She can’t. She focuses on the pain of her tongue to distract herself from the fact that his breath fans her nose.

“Shinobu-chan!” Douma says in a sing-song voice. “I said this before, but your eyes really are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. Perhaps it is better to look shy. It’s easy to explain away her straying glances if she’s simply nervous in his presence.

“Like violets.”

“Yes.”

“I wonder…” 

Her stomach drops as she feels his claw glide down the slope of her nose, ending in the crease of her eye. She’s lost sensation in all of her limbs. The only reason she’s still standing is because he holds her against him. Each touch is like hot iron burning through her skin. No matter how much she wants to pull away, it catches her all the same.

“I wonder…” Douma repeats. His rainbow irises are all that fill her vision, all that she can focus on. 

In every scenario she imagined facing down her sister’s killer, she thought she’d be able to hurl every insult at him, force him to see the depths of her grief, and regret the day he took Kanae from her. Instead, she’s cowering within his grasp. She feels so utterly helpless. It makes her want to hurl her guts out.

“I wonder how they’d taste,” Douma says, finishing the thought. This time, she flinches against her will. “I’m only…kidding, of course.”

But he’s not. His eyes are dark with longing—hunger. He’s going to consume her even faster than Makoto, and she has nothing to defend herself with.

She tries to brush him off with a laugh. “I don’t think my eyes would taste very good!”

“I disagree,” Douma says, the levity suddenly gone from his voice. “I thought I was satisfied for tonight. But Shinobu-chan…if you came running after Makoto-chan, why should I hold back?”

Stop. Stop.

“You wanted to go with Makoto-chan, right?” Douma tilts his head, offering what is meant to be a reassuring smile. “Then I’ll take you to her.”

Suddenly, as quick as a viper, his claw juts toward the skin, almost as if he intends to claw her eye from the socket. Her heart leaps into her throat at the same time she reacts, tossing a hand up to divert his course. But she doesn’t make it there.

Another hand slaps Douma’s away first—as if he’s little more than a fly.

Douma’s just as startled as she is, though he doesn’t create any distance between them either. He lifts his head as a hand wraps around Shinobu’s head and twists her around. 

The hand on her skull nudges her forward until she’s buried in their chest, breathing in the warm fabric—the salt air of the ocean. Tomioka-san.

It takes everything in her not to breathe a sigh of relief as he conceals her expression from Douma. 

“Douma-dono,” Tomioka murmurs. 

From this angle, Shinobu can barely see the side of his face. His expression is blank as always, but she can feel that his posture is more rigid than normal, that his breaths come uneven. He must have run across the shrine to make it here. How did her fighting spirit flicker, she wonders?

There’s only a beat of silence before Douma recovers. “Giyuu-kun!” he says cheerfully, as if Tomioka hadn’t interrupted him out of turn. “What are you doing here?”

Tomioka ignores the question. He’s deadpan as he asks, “I thought you already ate tonight, Douma-dono?”

She can’t see Douma’s expression from where she’s pressed into Tomioka’s chest. His hand doesn’t leave her skull either, like he doesn’t trust her to stay still if he removes it. 

“I did,” Douma answers slowly. “I didn’t realize you had such a close eye on me, Giyuu-kun! You’re a lot more observant than that dull face gives you credit for!”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t be greedy.”

“The rules that apply to you don’t apply to me. You’ll understand one day—if you ever become strong enough to surpass Sanemi-kun and Akaza-dono!”

“Oh.” Tomioka considers this. “I think I understand.”

“Do you now? You see, it’s impertinent for someone like you to question his superior—”

“I’m not used to this,” Tomioka continues, as if Douma hadn’t spoken. “Akaza said the stronger a demon is naturally, the less they need to eat. They can train instead. I forgot that doesn’t apply to all demons. That’s my mistake, Douma-dono.”

Shinobu has to clench her teeth together to keep from snickering. She’d almost forgotten that Tomioka was no doormat. There was many a time during Hashira meetings that his comments came off as rude or abrasive, even if it hadn’t been intentional. His honesty cuts like a knife, and paired with that blank stare, it’s enough to make anyone falter. Including Upper Two.

The silence crackles like electricity between them for several long seconds. She’s more tempted than ever to turn, to see the look on that monster’s face.

It feels like an eternity before Douma lets out a tittering laugh. “Maybe you’re not as dull as you look, Giyuu-kun! Your fangs have grown sharper these last few months.” She hears him step forward. “I don’t mind that at all! I’m even willing to share her—if that would make you happy!”

Suddenly, all the glee she felt at Tomioka’s comment leaves her. 

“You’ll share, won’t you?” A hand grips her shoulder, too tightly. She practically hears his claws break the skin. It takes everything in her not to cry out. “That would only be fair.”

“No,” Tomioka says firmly. But she can hear the tremor in his voice now. He must smell the blood. 

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. Carefully, he reaches out, unfurling Douma’s fingers from her shoulder, one by one. As soon as his hand is off, she wants to sob with relief. “You’re too greedy, Douma-dono.”

“You’re too selfish, Giyuu-kun.” Douma sighs mournfully. “A pity. I really wanted to taste her, but I guess all women are delicious. I have plenty more to choose from.” His hand curls around her hair. “Perhaps next time, Shinobu-chan, you can be my favorite—if Giyuu-kun doesn’t eat you all up.”

He releases her, and she thinks that is it. It’s over.

“Giyuu-kun,” Douma coos. Suddenly, there’s a crunch, and Tomioka shudders as blood splashes across her cheek. Not hers. Her eyes pop. “If I can’t have her eye, I’ll have to make do with yours.”

“Yes, Douma-dono,” Tomioka replies, like it was perfectly normal to have his eye ripped out. “Thank you.”

Douma hums, and Shinobu glances up in time to watch him crush Tomioka’s eyeball between his fingers. He wears a bright smile as he saunters away. It isn’t until she feels his presence recede to the other side of the shrine that her mind and body releases their built-up tension.

Tomioka doesn’t say a word as he grabs her hand. His palm is warm despite the frost that’s forced itself into this hallway. He tugs her along, ignoring how his blood drips along the floor from his open socket, and all she can do is let him. 

The room he brings her to must be his own. They’re the only ones inside once he shuts the door behind them.

“Let me get the first-aid from the bathroom,” Tomioka says.

She nods numbly in response, barely registering his departure as he exits through one of the adjoining doors. She can barely hear anything over the roar in her ears. Did Makoto die screaming? Did she even get the chance to realize what was happening before her life was cut short? If she’d stopped her, would she still be alive?

All of her questions are drowned out by the simultaneous rush of anger and grief that goes straight to her head. Tears burn in the backs of her eyes, and Shinobu clenches her teeth to ground herself—anything to keep them from falling just yet. She doesn’t want to cry. She doesn’t get to cry. Not while that monster still walks around, unharmed, unpunished. Not while Makoto ceases to breathe again.

Her Total Concentration breathing techniques have frayed. Her chest pumps in a furious agony, her heart too twisted to repair itself. She wants to scream, cry, punch something. 

Yet, she can’t do anything.

The first step towards becoming a Hashira, as she taught Kamado Tanjiro many months ago, was to maintain perfect breathing. But now, she even fails at that, and the room fills with her fractured attempts at steadying herself, wheezing like a deflated balloon. 

Breathe, she orders. Breathe. You don’t deserve to be angry. That girl is dead, and you weren’t enough. Again. You weren’t enough.

Shinobu doesn’t realize she’s shaking until a hand covers hers.

“Kocho,” Tomioka says, his eyes latching onto hers, wide with concern. 

She isn’t sure why that breaks her. Maybe it’s the acknowledgement from a fellow Hashira that she’s falling apart. As soon as his name leaves his mouth, a broken sob escapes her, and she tightens her arms around herself in a pitiful hug.

“Kocho,” Tomioka repeats. He’s still touching her hand, but he looks like he’s at a loss as to what to do next. 

Shame crawls from her toes all the way to her chest. She’s a Hashira. She’s seen countless people die. However much she wants to save everyone, the reality is that she can’t. No matter how strong she becomes, she isn’t enough to protect everyone. If she was, she would have saved her tsugukos. She would have saved Kanae.

And yet, here she is, bawling like a child who’s witnessed death for the first time. Because it’s different. It always is with that demon involved. 

No one should have to see her like this. If she had it her way, she’d be locked in a room—alone. The same way she shut herself in after Kanae, until she’d convinced herself that her smile wouldn’t fall.

Tomioka will think less of her after this. She’s already someone who isn’t strong enough to behead demons; now he’ll see her as someone without the resolve to take the vengeance she desires. He’ll see her as weak—like everyone else. That’s the last thing she wants from him.

“I wasn’t enough,” she cries. “I could’ve saved her, but I wasn’t quick enough.”

Before she can say anything else, Tomioka drags her forward, and the shock of it steals her breath away. He brings her into his chest, all warmth and softness—the kind of warmth an Upper Rank shouldn’t have, but he does. There’s nothing to do but bury her face in the fabric of his yukata and let her tears wet the fabric.

Her voice cracks as she says, “Tomioka-san?”

“You couldn’t have saved her,” he says softly. “She was cursed. She already had ice in her lungs.”

“What do you mean?”

“His power. Once his ice reaches your insides, there’s little that can be done to save you.” A pause. “He planned it. He could have killed her at any time once his power was in her system.”

The fever. The cold Makoto felt. The strength leaves her legs, bringing Tomioka down with her.

“What do you mean?” she demands through teary eyes.

She can’t see his face like this, buried as she is, but she can feel the rumble in his chest as he answers her. “Once the ice enters your lungs, it’s easy—to shred them.”

Then Makoto didn’t even get the chance to see her death coming. She died in agony, oblivious to the fact that the one who damned her was the one she admired most.

“But…her body…”

“He can absorb someone in seconds. It would have been easy for him.”

Shinobu couldn’t have saved her. Maybe—if she’d realized the fever was the result of a Blood Demon Art, instead of a cold. Maybe then she could have brought her to Tomioka and done—what? Blown their cover?

Perhaps she would have. There would have been the chance that Makoto survived.

“You were right,” Shinobu admits, drawing away from him. He doesn’t let her retreat far. His arms are wrapped around her as tightly as hers were around him the other night. Instead of constricting her, she thinks the binds in her lungs might be loosening. “I can’t do this. I can’t sit and watch him kill innocent people. I’m not strong enough.”

“You mean you’re not cruel enough,” Tomioka corrects her. His chin nudges the top of her head. 

When was the last time she was hugged like this? When someone offered her comfort, instead of the other way around? It’s nice. Tomioka gives nice hugs, which she wouldn’t have expected. Or maybe he pities her, and only wants to do whatever is possible to stall her crying. Either way, it’s a luxury she hasn’t experienced in some time.

“I was too ambitious,” Shinobu says. “I hated that Saki was like me. I wanted to protect her, because I wasn’t able to protect the one that mattered most to me.” Her hands grip the front of his yukata, tightening into fists. “I wanted to kill him. I wanted to make him suffer, for all of the girls like me.”

Tomioka is quiet, but he’s listening. She can tell.

“But I’m not enough. I’ve never been enough.” Her lip wobbles. “Nee-san… knew I wouldn’t be enough to defeat him.” At that, Tomioka stills. “When she was dying, she was going to say it. I know she was. She told me to leave the Corps, to put demon slaying behind me and try to live a happy life. I couldn’t do that, because she’s dead, and I didn’t want to live a happy life without her. But no matter what I do, I’m not enough to avenge her either.”

He rubs at her back in circles, and her breathing begins to regulate itself. She wants to sigh at the calming gesture, but the remnants of her frustration still burn on her tongue. She needs to let it out—then put the lid back on Pandora’s box like nothing happened.

“I want to prove her wrong,” Shinobu says, her voice wrung-out and strained. “I want to prove to her that I was enough to do it. I hoped…I hoped if I did that”—another sob tears through her lips—“she would forgive me for letting myself become so twisted.”

Her eyelids flutter shut.

“I’m going to kill him,” she promises. “I’m going to kill that demon—no matter the cost. It was never a choice. Not really. It’s something I have to do.”

Tomioka continues rubbing at her back, his touch soft and feather-light. He’s almost soothing her to sleep in a way. Despite the grief that chokes her, she can feel herself settling back into her body again. Everything that had seemed uncontrollable on the walk back here now seems manageable. 

He didn’t even do anything in particular. Just—sat with her. Listened. Hugged her.

The question that’s simmered in her mind begs to be asked. “Do you think he knows?”

A few seconds pass before he answers. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully.

“I found Shoko. I talked to her a little this afternoon. She thinks Saki took Saku away.”

“An easy lie to make.”

“I don’t know how well she trusts him. I’m not sure how quick I can get her to trust me.”

Shinobu’s practically draped across his lap, leaning against his chest, his hand against her back, his knees on either side of her legs. Yet, despite knowing that Tomioka is just as dangerous as Upper Two, she doesn’t feel compelled to pull away. If anything, a small part of her is tempted to stay like this forever.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Tomioka says. “I’ll be careful.”

He doesn’t suggest leaving or giving up. Not anymore. 

“You’re going to kill him,” he says then, and the words catch her by surprise. She sits up to get a good look at his face. He must have washed his eye when he went to the bathroom. The blood is all but gone. It isn’t there to distract from the seriousness of his expression. “You will.”

She offers a weary smile—a shadow of her usual. “What makes you say that?”

The hand that was on her back travels upwards to her elbow, then to her shoulder. “Because you’re the Insect Hashira. Because you earned your place. Because you invented a new way of killing demons when they’ve existed for hundreds of years.” He heaves a sigh. “Because you love your sister with all of your heart.”

Her heart—feels tight. Her face burns. All of a sudden, Tomioka’s proximity and his closeness and the weight of his hands on her is too much. 

Shinobu sits up, ramrod-straight, startling the both of them. “Tomioka-san!”

His eyes are wide. “What?” he asks.

Her eyebrows furrow. “If that’s your attempt to sweet talk, you’re going to have to do better than that.” Inside, she wants to screech like a banshee. She’s already resorted to false niceties instead of allowing herself to be grateful for his sentiments. “Come now!”

Tomioka rolls his eyes. “I’m going to check your shoulder now.”

“That’s more like it! Though, I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself.”

He reaches over to unclip the box. “Pull your yukata down,” he stammers, his face beet-red with his own order.

“Tomioka-san—”

“Kocho.”

“Tomioka-san! I can do it!”

Tomioka glares at her, and at last, she relents. She tugs down the fabric by her shoulder where Douma’s nails pierced the skin. As soon as she’s exposed herself, she wants to pull her clothes back up and insist on handling it herself. This is absurd. Even though she’s still perfectly clothed, there’s something about this that makes her feel too vulnerable.

“Tomioka-san,” she says, an edge to her voice. “I said I can do this.”

“I know you can,” he agrees, “but you don’t have to.”

Oh. Oh. 

If she felt warm before, this is ten times worse. A million times worse. This must be how demons feel before being exposed to the sun, like her skin is peeling itself off bit by bit. Her stomach is wound in a dozen knots over and over.

“You’re ridiculous,” she snaps, but the insult falls short. She’s half-certain a ghost of a smile twists his lips. 

“I’m being helpful,” Tomioka insists. 

Shinobu might as well try and be helpful herself. She twists herself so that her back is towards him. Most of the damage is contained to the back of her shoulder. 

But instead of addressing the obvious concern, Tomioka raises a wet rag against her cheek. She’s too stunned to protest as he wipes at the skin, removing the blood that came from when Douma ripped out his eye. Every brush is tentative. Gentle. She almost doesn’t want to breathe, lest she fracture his focus.

He wipes the front strands of her hair next. “You should take a bath tomorrow.”

“I know you’ve forgotten your memories, but surely, you don’t need me to remind you that that is impolite to say.”

“I only meant so you could properly rinse out your hair.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t look too bad. But…”

Shinobu nods. 

She senses the exact moment his attention wanders back to her shoulder. 

“It’s not too bad,” he whispers, though there’s still a touch of guilt in his voice regardless.

Her brain makes a split-second decision, and her mouth opens of its own accord. “Tomioka-san.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you—hungry?” Her voice is strangled.

Tomioka’s is worse. “No,” he says hesitantly.

“No?”

“It’s fine,” Tomioka insists. Never I’m fine. Always It’s fine. As in, she shouldn’t worry, because he’ll bear with it either way. But she doesn’t want to watch him bear with it. 

“The wounds are still bleeding, aren’t they?” Shinobu asks.

“A little.”

“Then…” It should be alright. She knows that the wisteria concentration in her body is nothing to scoff at—that it’s stretched from her blood to her fingernails. But for Tomioka, who’s spent a few weeks draining blood with various prototypes and taking wisteria, it should be an inconsequential amount. He shouldn’t notice. Besides, he’s hungry. “Then…you can lick at the blood. If you want to.”

What is she saying? Has she lost her mind? 

Is she really so stuck on that one time he licked the blood from her cheek that she’s giving him the chance to do it again? What is wrong with her?

To his credit, if her offer surprises him, Tomioka recovers swiftly. “No.”

“No?” Now, she’s offended. “Why not?”

“It’s strange.”

“How is it strange?” Shinobu demands. It’s obvious she’s offended now. “We’re the only ones that have to know.” She twists to look back at him, only to find him already watching her with an unreadable expression. “I’d rather you taste my blood than lose control and hurt someone!”

“I’m not going to lose control,” Tomioka insists.

“Good. Then I feel much better about letting you near my flesh.”

His eyes widen even more, which she didn’t think was possible. “Kocho.”

“Tomioka-san.”

“Kocho.”

“Do you not like the taste of my blood?” She raises a hand to her chin, as if contemplating. “Am I unappetizing to you?”

She was wrong. His eyes can widen more, apparently. She’s never seen him look so dumbfounded with her. “I did not say that.”

“My feelings are hurt now. I was doing my best to be a good friend, offering you my blood but—”

“Kocho.” Tomioka pokes her in the cheek. The memory of her telling him to poke people to bring them closer to you surges in the forefront of her mind, so much so that she almost doesn’t hear him say, “Fine.”

Fine. He said fine.

“Don’t sound too excited,” Shinobu teases, despite the fire in the pit of her stomach. 

She turns around again, facing away from him. At once, her heartbeat drowns out any other noise in the room. She keeps her gaze fixed on the floor as he moves closer, the fabric of his clothes rustling.

For once in her life, Shinobu is silent, anticipation blooming in her chest. If Tomioka hadn’t already agreed, she might have been tempted to rescind the offer. She isn’t sure she likes the uncertainty, the weightlessness of not knowing what will happen next. 

Suddenly, Tomioka leans forward, and her mind draws a complete blank as soon as his mouth glides across her skin.

In hindsight, this is a bad idea. For one, all she’s meant to do is stay still this entire time. But how can she? An Upper Rank is currently pressed against her skin, an uncomfortable heat climbs her neck, and she can’t even remember why she thought this might be close to a good idea.

She can feel the wetness of his tongue as he lightly grazes each wound left behind by Douma’s claws. Even though his touch is faint, her nerves are acutely aware of each one, and each patch of skin tenses each time he moves forward, her breath freezing in her lungs.

Shinobu presses her mouth tight, stifling any sigh that threatens to escape. Half of her wants to urge Tomioka to hurry up, but the other half equally wants him to linger longer for reasons she cannot understand. This is strange, just as he promised it would be. After all, he’s merely running his tongue along her back to lick at any remnants of her blood, and yet—

And yet… Shinobu tightens her grip around the fabric of her yukata, lest she completely expose herself to him. 

“Are you almost done?” she demands, though her voice comes out tight.

“Mm,” Tomioka hums in answer, yet he does it against her skin, and her face heats at the vibration that courses through her. 

He trails up from her back to the crux of her shoulder, where a final indent lies. 

“I’m trying to be quick,” Tomioka insists. 

“Then hurry up.”

As requested, Tomioka dips his head towards her shoulder again, brushing his open mouth against the wound. His lips are warm, even against her feverish skin. Her eyelids shut against her own will. It feels nice, she decides. Strange. Definitely strange. But nice. Like the other time had, though she’ll never admit that to anyone but herself. She already has enough people in the Corps who think her fascination with poisons makes her more unhinged than most. What would people think if they knew that she—a Hashira—let an Upper Rank demon do this to her?

Tomioka’s fingers clutch onto the edge of her yukata, only a few centimeters from her own, and the fabric begins to shift downwards. 

“Tomioka-san,” she sighs, her eyes still shut.

That snaps Tomioka out of whatever trance the two of them had fallen into. He releases her yukata quickly. At once, he seems very far away.

“I’ll put bandages,” Tomioka says, his voice a bit strangled. “They’re not that deep, but—”

“Yes.” If she looked in a mirror, she’s sure her face would be beet-red. “Yes, please do. Since you insisted on coming this far.”

He makes quick work of her shoulder, every touch fleeting, and when he’s done, there are several wonky bandages in place.

“Thank you,” Shinobu says sincerely, tugging her yukata back up.

Tomioka nods before tidying up. “I’m assuming you’re not going back there tonight.”

She thinks of what it would be like—to lie in that room while everyone else sleeps, unaware that one more person has been taken from them. Would Douma infest her lungs with his ice immediately? Or would he take his time taunting her, waiting until the fear paralyzed her first?

She shakes her head.

“I think I have another futon.”

Shinobu can’t bring herself to stand or offer to help. All the fight has been sapped from her legs. Her mind is both grogged with exhaustion and entirely awake, like she can’t determine whether she’s safe enough to relax or still in danger.

“Here.” She barely registers Tomioka’s return as he rolls out a second futon next to his own. “There.”

“Thank you.” Shinobu slides on top of it, dropping her head against the pillow and yanking the covers over herself—as if that will stop the chill from seeping in. “Tomioka-san, do you sleep? You did the other day.”

“You were the one that said demons sleep to get stronger.”

“I didn’t think you would listen to me!”

Tomioka drags his futon further away from her. “I always listen to you.”

“Liar.” He’s created so much space between them. If it had been their first night sharing a room, she might have appreciated it. But it’s not their first night, and she doubts it’ll be their last. “Why are you so far?”

He lets out a noncommittal noise.

Shinobu harrumphs. Swiftly, she pulls her futon, covers, and pillow along until she’s only a few centimeters from Tomioka’s. She collapses onto the mattress again, giving him no room to argue further.

There’s a soft rustling, and another weight sinks onto her body. When she lifts her head, she realizes Tomioka has given her his own covers. 

“Tomioka-san,” she protests, already pulling it off.

“Don’t,” he interrupts. He settles back against his pillow and stares straight up at the ceiling, his dark hair fanned out in a wave around him. “I don’t get cold.”

“I don’t care.” Her eyebrows scrunch together. “It’s the principle of the matter.”

“I don’t even think I’m going to sleep tonight.”

“Why?”

Tomioka shrugs. She wonders if there’s something he hasn’t said, something he can detect through the bond. 

“It’s okay, Kocho,” he says. “You can sleep. You should sleep.”

He’s right. She’ll need to be awake in a few hours. 

And they’re on a timer. Now more than ever. The longer she lives, the more Douma’s suspicions will grow, and as soon as he finds out the truth, they’ll lose their chance to save Shoko. He’ll disappear with his cult as he has a thousand times. 

Shinobu throws his covers back over him. “Good night then, Tomioka-san.”

“Good night.”

Sleep reaches her easily, so much so that she considers whether Tomioka might have used his technique to help her consciousness slip easier. She doesn’t even notice that Tomioka tosses his cover back over her.

Somehow, the first thought that registers once she wakes is this: I overslept.

Shinobu isn’t sure how she knows for sure. The curtains within Tomioka’s room are completely drawn to block out the sunlight. There is hardly even a shadow cast within the space. But there’s a prickly sensation in her gut that forces her awake. 

She tries to push herself up, only to meet something soft and warm halfway. 

As soon as she lifts her head, it’s clear what’s stopped her.

Sometime in the middle of the night, their futons must have shifted closer. She doesn’t remember leaving them pressed up together without so much as a centimeter of space between them. Tomioka lies on his own futon beside her, still fast asleep to her surprise, an arm thrown over his eyes to block out any light that sneaks in. His other arm, though, has made its way to her pillow.

She must have moved around while she was sleeping. It’s the only explanation. How else is she supposed to make sense of why Tomioka’s arm is beneath her head?

This must be uncomfortable. If he were human, he definitely would have complained about the weight of her skull and about the pins and needles in his arm. But he still sleeps soundly even as she turns to face him, his chest rising in even intervals. 

She understands why she overslept. In that communal bedroom, there exists an unease she can’t escape at knowing her every move is monitored. Here, there’s only Tomioka, and she’s long since learned to relax in his presence—Upper Rank or not. With him around, at the very least, she doesn’t worry about Douma’s hands grappling for her in the dead of night. 

He covered her with his blanket again at some point last night. The heat from the two sets of covers made her feel weightless.

Despite the demon markings, it would be easy to mistake him as human now. His face looks delicate in sleep, free of his usual aloofness. To see any demon fast asleep seems like a miracle. But then again, a demon that has never eaten a human is another miracle in and of itself, and she’s seen Nezuko enough times to know that the impossible isn’t always far from reach. 

She shouldn’t be so awed knowing that Tomioka can sleep—that he listened to her, even if she’d been joking then. But everything he does manages to blow all of her long-held conceptions of demons out of the water; there should be little to surprise her anymore, and yet, Tomioka still does. 

It takes her a minute before she forces herself up. Even the loss of her weight doesn’t stir Tomioka awake. As quietly as possible, she finds clean clothes for herself and washes her face. When she finally leaves the room, Tomioka is in the same position as he was when she woke. 

Her footsteps dash down the hallway in the direction of the dining area. A few people walk in the opposite direction as her, speaking amongst themselves. There is no shadow that hangs in their eyes, no evidence of what occurred the night before. 

Yukina stands near the door to the dining room. At the sight of Shinobu, she straightens. “Shinobu-chan!” she calls. “There you are. I was worried when you weren’t in your bed this morning.”

“I’m alright!” Shinobu reassures her. 

A quick glance over her shoulders confirms what she feared: breakfast is over. There are only a few people still inside clearing the remaining plates. 

“Where were you?” Yukina presses. There’s a serious note in her voice, one that sounds unnatural coming from her. 

“I—I wasn’t feeling so well. I left the room to get some air, and Giyuu-dono insisted that I sleep in a different room to avoid anyone else catching the bug.”

Yukina nods. “That was thoughtful.” She pauses. “What about Makoto-chan? Did she go with you? She wasn’t feeling well last night either.”

A lump forms in her throat. How does she explain to Yukina that Makoto is gone—that the demon this cult worships is the reason she’s dead? She can’t. Not without exposing herself as an outsider. If she wants any chance of sparing Shoko and collecting more information for the Corps, she needs to pretend last night never happened. In her eyes, Douma’s words are gospel: Makoto went down to the village to seek out a doctor.

Shinobu shakes her head. “I think Douma-dono sent her to find a doctor.” 

“Oh. Was it getting worse?”

“I’m not sure.” She hates this. She hates lying. She can lie with a smile, but pretending like that young girl isn’t dead is revolting. “I didn’t get to see her last night after we finished our showers.”

“Okay.” Yukina nods, more to herself than Shinobu. “I’ll ask Douma-dono how she’s doing tonight.”

The smile she wears feels tight. “Is there anything I can help out with today?”

“Are you sure? If you’re not feeling well, you can rest.”

“I’m sure! I like to keep busy.”

“Hm.” Yukina presses a hand against her chin, considering. “Makoto was supposed to clean the dishes today.” Her head snaps to the side towards someone on their way into the dining area. “Shoko-chan!”

Shoko falters at the sound of her name. She circles back to where Yukina and Shinobu stand, her shoulders drawn. 

“Yes?” Shoko asks.

“You’re on dish duty, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Makoto-chan is sick.” Yukina squeezes Shinobu’s shoulder. “Shinobu-chan can help you out instead, alright?”

Hope blossoms in her chest. If she helps Shoko, then they’ll have another chance to speak. The more she gets to know her, the easier it might be to convince her to leave. As it stands, she needs to move quickly before Upper Two recognizes her as a demon slayer, and she doesn’t want to take chances on the amount of time she has. She’ll take any bone that’s tossed at her. 

Shoko’s lip curls before she gets the chance to stop herself. In the end, she shrugs, like Shinobu’s presence won’t make much of a difference either way. “I guess.”

“Good!” Yukina gently prods Shinobu along. “Take good care of her, Shoko. Don’t let her work too hard.”

Shoko huffs under her breath before leading Shinobu into the dining area. She’s been here a few times now, but has never gone through the other door leading out that Shoko guides her through. 

Almost immediately, her vision is overwhelmed with stacks upon stacks of dirty dishes—plates and bowls and cups that could almost reach the ceiling. The kitchen is smaller than the main dining area, though it still contains all of the essential appliances stacked side by side. It’s almost a wonder that so much food comes prepared out of this cramped space. The sink is almost too small for them to be able to both stand in front of it. 

“Oh, dear!” Shinobu says. “What a mess.”

Shoko grunts in response before snapping on elbow-length rubber gloves. “The good thing about dish duty is that you only have to do it once a month, maybe.”

At least they’re fair then. There are dozens of people who consider this shrine their home. If everyone’s assigned chores, then it must take some time for the cycle to restart. “I see.”

“Hurry then,” Shoko snaps. “Grab some gloves if you’re queasy. We need to finish by lunch.”

She’s never queasy, but she does as asked, and grabs the first dirty plate from the top of the pile.

It must be hours before the last of the dishes are dried and put away. Her back aches from being hunched over all morning, and her arms and shoulders are about as sore as they would be after training. She almost doesn’t know what to make of it. She’s helped cook for a house of injured slayers within her estate before, but cleaning up for an entire community of people is another step further.

By the time she and Shoko are finished, their skin gleams with sweat. The kitchen is spotless, though it won’t be for long. She can already hear others outside preparing to enter and start on lunch.

“Thank goodness,” Shoko says, ripping off her gloves. They land on the counter with a smack, and she wastes no time in leaving the room. 

Shinobu tried starting up a conversation, but they all failed rather quickly. It was apparent soon enough that the task at hand required all of their effort and concentration, and Shoko preferred to work in silence. Any question or comment she made was hurled at a brick wall. 

So no luck today. She supposes that would be alright. She shouldn’t push Shoko too far. 

She pulls off her own gloves, wet and sticky with the remains of crumbs, before departing from the kitchen. 

“Done?” Yukina asks her as soon as she leaves out the door.

“Done,” Shinobu confirms. “That took longer than I thought it would.”

Yukina nods in sympathy. “No one likes dish duty.” She turns in the direction of the exit. “Would you go and fetch Shoko-chan? I told her lunch would be ready soon, but she ignored me. I think she went to check on her garden.”

“Alright!”

Shinobu pushes past the crowd filing into the dining area to head outside. 

Just as Yukina predicted, Shoko stands at the edge of her vegetable garden, staring down at the dirt. There’s a furrow between her eyebrows. Shinobu’s seen that look before. She knows that look better than anyone—the perfect expression of frustration and displeasure all mixed into one. 

Without turning around, Shoko’s voice rings out. “Why are you here?”

“Yukina-san asked me to check on you,” Shinobu answers. She sidles up to Shoko. Even from this distance, she can see that the plants haven’t sprouted yet. That must be part of what is wearing on Shoko’s nerves. “It’s almost time for lunch.”

“I know that,” Shoko snaps. “I was in the kitchen with you, wasn’t I?”

There’s something to the venom in her voice, something beyond her usual snark. She might not know Shoko very well, but the Sano sisters all seem to share her own cut-throat attitude, the one that earned her many reprimands from Kanae over the years. Speaking from experience, there must be something bothering Shoko beyond the fact that her yams won’t grow.

“Are you worried about Makoto-san?” Shinobu asks. 

“No. Yes. A little.”

She can’t tell her that Makoto will be alright. She can lie, but that’s a step too far when she knows the truth. Makoto will never live again, and it’s her fault. In the end, she can’t summon a word of reassurance.

“I just wished she would have told me she was leaving,” Shoko admits.

“Why?”

Shoko is quiet for a long while. The birds flutter about over their heads, and from a distance, she can hear the members of the shrine heading inside for lunch, following a schedule she hasn’t gotten the hang of yet, but still, Shoko doesn’t move an inch.

When she decides to speak, Shinobu is certain that they’re the only two left outside. 

“I wanted to try and send a letter to my sister,” Shoko says. “Not…that it would do anything. I just wanted to see…if she planned on coming back.” 

Shoko’s face whips towards her, and her heart cracks inside at the earnest expression she wears. All Shoko wants is her sister to return—that much is clear. It’s why she tends to this garden with such diligence. It’s why she’s willing to tell a complete stranger about her family, all for the hope that she might see her soon.

“She never told me she was leaving,” Shoko says, facing forward again. “I thought she wanted to stay here. I thought…but Saki can be so hard-headed sometimes.”

“You don’t think your sister would want to return?”

“I don’t know anymore.” Shoko wrings her wrists. “I don’t understand why they’d leave me.”

That—that is the worst she can hear. It requires all of her focus to nod along, to pretend like Shoko’s words haven’t dug beneath her ribs. 

“Maybe they had a reason,” Shinobu offers. 

“The reason was Saki. Saki, Saki, Saki. We always have to do whatever Saki wants.” Shoko lets out a groan in frustration and kicks out at a patch of dirt, sending dust up in a cloud. “Saki’s never happy. She’s always upset about something. She can never let me and Saku do anything.”

Having heard Saki’s side of the story, it hurts to hear that Shoko believes Saki would have willingly abandoned her. It goes to show how deep Douma’s claws have embedded themselves inside Shoko. Saki had been willing to return for Shoko’s sake with a broken leg and an arm, and Shoko’s words discard her actions as if everything is her fault.

Is this how she seemed to Kanae? Overbearing and strict and relentless? She hopes not. She hopes that Kanae died knowing that her rigidness was because she loved her, because she loved Kanae so much that she was willing to be ruthless if it meant that her sister could be soft-hearted. Because there wasn’t a line she was unwilling to cross—if it meant her sister could be happy. 

“Is Saki bossy?” she asks instead.

“Yeah,” Shoko answers. “We always have to do everything her way. Coming to the shrine was something Saku and I wanted, so of course, she had to argue against it. She didn’t even have to come with us, but she did.”

“Then she left?”

“And took Saku with her. Saku would have been happier here, I know it. Douma-dono liked Saku. He always wanted to go on walks with her and braid her hair with flowers.”

Shinobu can’t imagine Upper Two doing anything that domestic or romantic. The last time she saw him, he threatened to tear out her eyeball simply because he wanted to. It angers her that this demon can pretend to be anything but what he is: a monster, a killer. He shouldn’t get the chance to hide his true nature. Everyone should have the same disgust for him that she does. 

Saki was right. It’s possible Upper Two saw Saku as his way of drawing all three sisters into his web. The only downside was that he could never convince Saki of his good graces. 

“Maybe Saku would come back,” Shinobu says, hating herself for the words as soon as they leave her mouth. “If you went and told her that you miss her, I’m sure she’d listen.”

“Saki wouldn’t let her leave.”

“Saki can’t make her stay.”

Shoko stares up at the branches that cover the garden from the sun’s rays, almost as if lost in thought. “You don’t know Saki.”

I know her better than you think, Shinobu thinks. 

“That’s why I think you should go and convince Saku yourself,” Shinobu says, looking sideways at her. “If Saku saw you in person, then maybe she would come back. Maybe she’d realize how much she missed you.”

Shoko hums. “Maybe.”

“Are there any rules that keep you from going to see your sisters?”

“Not exactly.” Shoko rests a hand over her chest. “But I don’t want to worry Douma-dono. I don’t want him to be scared I’ve left too.”

It takes everything in her not to gag at the concern Shoko holds for him. If you asked her before what she thought was worse, the answer would have been her never-ending anger and hatred. But no, this—this twisted manipulation—is a far worse act of cruelty. A demon who eats and kills his followers has no mercy, yet Shoko worries over his well-being when he cares nothing for hers. He shouldn’t get to hold this power over her. He shouldn’t get to lord over any of them. 

All of these people—perhaps they aren’t all innocent. Maybe they’ve done their own share of cruelty. They dance to his will, believe in his own promise of salvation, yearn for the happiness he promises. But they’ve been influenced into thinking of this demon as a god when he’s anything but. Gods can’t die. Demons can. 

She wants to end this lie. If she kills that demon, the cult should come crashing down with him. That might be the only way to set everyone free. But for now, she can only start with Shoko.

“What if you had his permission to leave?” Shinobu asks. 

“Oh, no.” Shoko waves her hands quickly. “I wouldn’t want to bother him. Saku left. I’m sure he doesn’t want anything to do with her, anyway.”

“Then why don’t you ask someone else for permission?”

“Someone else? Who else?”

“Shoko,” Shinobu says, reaching the break she’s been hoping for. “Would you like to meet Giyuu-dono?”

Chapter Text

As soon as everyone begins clearing up the empty plates left over from the dinner rush, Shinobu’s ready to return to Tomioka’s room and let him know that, for once, she has good news. Most of the shrine’s inhabitants have already begun heading back to their respective rooms to tuck in for the night, which gives her the perfect excuse to sneak away. It isn’t until Yukina’s hand drops on her shoulder that her excitement dims.

“Shinobu-chan,” Yukina calls. “Are you feeling better tonight? Will you sleep with the rest of us?”

Ah. That is the only fault she hadn’t considered. Yesterday, she had the excuse of feeling under the weather, but Yukina’s watched her clean dishes for hours and wander beneath the sun as usual since. 

However, the thought of sleeping in that crowded room again, the futons pressed up together to conserve space, with the risk of Upper Two stealing her away at any point fills her with dread she can’t avoid. 

“Not tonight,” she replies. “I’m sure I’ll find it difficult to sleep again tonight. I’m a bit of a night owl, so going to bed right after dinner hasn’t meshed well with my brain.”

“Alright. As long as it’s cleared with either Douma-dono or Giyuu-dono.”

“Giyuu-dono said it was fine.”

Yukina nods before crossing her arms over her chest. “I wasn’t able to find Douma-dono this afternoon to talk to him about Makoto-chan. Would you see if Giyuu-dono knows anything?”

There’s a lump in her throat as she nods. “I’ll ask.”

“Thank you.” Yukina flashes her a reassuring smile. “Have a good night then, Shinobu-chan. If you need anything, just ask.”

With that, Yukina sweeps out of the dining area to follow after the others. Shinobu takes off in the opposite direction.

When she slides open the door to Tomioka’s room, she doesn’t know what to expect, but the last thing is this: Tomioka poring through a well-used notebook, squinting at the pages. He briefly looks up at the sound of the door, but returns his attention back to the book without another word.

“Hello to you too,” Shinobu greets him. “What’s got your attention?”

Tomioka turns to the next page with a huff. “This woman, Chigaya, came to see me today. Apparently, she’s been checking the food supplies to determine how much the shrine can last until they start running out.”

“And?”

“According to her records, the shrine is taking in less money than they spend on meals. I don’t think many people come to visit and donate. Whoever joins tends to give up their entire life’s savings to the cult, but since the recent recruits are all young, there isn’t much money left over. She’s worried that they’ll start to hit a dip by the end of the month.”

“Ah.” Upper Two hadn’t asked for any money from her when she arrived. Perhaps he truly didn’t intend on her lasting long. “What do you think?”

“She’s probably right,” Tomioka admits, shutting the notebook. “I’m sure she’s brought this up to Douma before, too. But he probably didn’t pay too much attention. He wouldn’t see it as his responsibility to make sure everyone is fed, so long as he is.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Her hands clench into fists at her side. “Then what will he do when the money and the food does run out?”

Tomioka winces. “He’ll eat them,” he says, avoiding her gaze. “And start over. That’s all.”

Her stomach feels as though it’s eating itself from the inside out. “Then there’s nothing we can do for them?”

“If the shrine actually advertised itself, the cult could survive on donations from the public. But Douma doesn’t let anyone leave. There’s no means of income because he doesn’t allow it. They’d have to limit the amount of food distributed per day, and maybe consider growing the crops they need to avoid buying them.”

Shinobu wonders if Shoko’s garden is part of that—if Saku realized that there was no longevity for them in the shrine, and if she wanted to ensure she and her sisters would have food to last. She won’t ever get the chance to ask. “Speaking of people leaving…” she starts as she settles down on the floor opposite him. “I spoke with Shoko today.”

Tomioka quirks an eyebrow. He’s left his hair down again today; she’s unsure why it seems so important to note. “And?”

“Shoko wants Saku to return. It’s all she wants. She wants to ask Saku to come back.”

He blinks. “But Saku’s dead.”

She doesn’t need the reminder. “She doesn’t know that. The point is—she wants to try and convince Saku to come back. She might be willing to leave the shrine in order to go to Saku. If she does that, Saki might be able to explain the truth of what happened. The important thing is that Shoko would be able to leave, and if we can do that, the hardest part is done.”

“No.” Tomioka sets the notebook aside. “The hardest part is convincing Shoko that Saku is dead because of Douma.”

“We can leave that up to Saki.”

“And you think Shoko would actually leave the shrine?” he asks with a doubtful look.

“To bring her sister back? Yes.” In this, she’s resolute. The earnest hope reflected in Shoko’s eyes can’t be faked. She wants her sister back more than anything. “She’s only worried because”—she can’t help rolling her eyes—“she doesn’t want Upper Two to think she’s left for good.”

Tomioka purses his lips. “About that…there’s something you should know.”

Her eyebrows rise. “What?”

A few heartbeats pass as Tomioka collects his thoughts. When he speaks, it’s like his entire body deflates. “He left the shrine once we separated from him last night. He hasn’t come back.”

“What?” Her voice turns out shrill. 

“I’m not sure where he’s gone. He could’ve just gone to feed so I wouldn’t bother him again. I’m not sure.” He frowns. “The wisteria dulls the bond both ways. I can’t sense his location. I only know that he isn’t here.”

“That’s not good.” Shinobu scrambles to her feet in an instant. “What if Muzan’s on the move?”

“I don’t think so. I would’ve felt…that.”

She doesn’t like this—the uncertainty. Tomioka might be right. Upper Two might have disappeared to be able to hunt and feed in peace without Tomioka’s interference again. But his absence would be too perfect, too convenient. It’s why she doesn’t let herself trust it. 

The universe doesn’t offer her luck and favors. If it did, it would have given her a stronger body. It would have stopped that Upper Rank from crossing paths with Kanae. It would have spared her parents—spared Tomioka. Instead, everything that happens to her is like a slap in the face. All she can do is deal with the hand she’s been played and adjust accordingly. 

“If he’s gone, we need to leave before he returns,” Shinobu says. “We can’t take the chance of him finding out.”

“I don’t disagree. If you think Shoko will leave, then let’s nudge her into it.”

“I’ll need your help with that. She might leave if you give her your permission.”

Tomioka gawks a bit at that. “My permission?”

“Upper Two said you would help in his absence. These people cling to his words like they’re gold.”

“Ugh. I guess he did.” His eyelids flutter shut as he heaves a sigh. “I’ll try my best.”

“Great!” Shinobu flashes him a brilliant smile. “Then I’ll bring Shoko to meet you tomorrow.” She throws a look over her shoulder in the direction of the adjoining room. “In the meantime, I’ll take that bath you recommended. Would you show me how it works?”

There are two rooms that split off from Tomioka’s bedroom, in fact. One is a normal bathroom, just large enough for one individual, but the other room is much wider, containing a deep onsen that appears to be nearly overflowing with warm water.

The water pours out from the sprout at a steady flow, steam rising towards the ceiling in clouds, and at once, the room envelops her in its warm cocoon, beckoning for her to take a dip in its bath. The walls are sealed to prevent anyone from peeking in, and there are only a few windows near the top that let her know that the sun has already set and night has fallen. 

Despite the room being designated for one person, the onsen can fit five or six people without trouble. It’s almost a waste to have this all to herself.

“You should’ve mentioned how impressive the bath is!” Shinobu remarks. 

Tomioka stands behind her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his haori. With the temperature continuing to rise, his hair has begun to stick against the side of his neck. “Sorry?”

Shinobu tugs out her butterfly clip. Immediately, her dark hair tumbles against the back of her head. “I might stay here forever. You might have to fish me out later.” She starts undoing the belt on her kimono. “I’ll try to leave some hot water for you.”

“I wasn’t planning on taking a bath.”

“Why not? It’s a waste to not take advantage of it!” The belt falls apart, and with it, the fabric of her kimono begins to loosen itself. There’s a hiss behind her, along with a shuffle of footsteps, and she twists around to find that Tomioka stares at the wall, his face bright red. “What?”

“I’ll go now,” Tomioka stammers as he inches towards the exit. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Truthfully, as a doctor, she’s lost all sense of modesty. When someone’s life is in danger, she can’t let those concerns cloud her next actions. Her priority always has to be saving lives, so she’s long since viewed the human body as something natural. Normal. Ordinary. There’s nothing that could surprise her about it anymore. “I was your doctor, you know? It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked.”

“Sometimes, it’s a good thing I’ve lost my memories.”

A laugh splits from her lips. The kimono falls to the ground at her feet, and gently, she pushes it aside. “Either way, you don’t need to worry,” she says. “You can come in the bath with me, and I won’t mind.”

It takes only a split second for Tomioka to make a decision. “No.”

“No?”

“It wouldn’t be right.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Shinobu can’t help but giggle as she descends into the water. At once, the warmth laps at her legs, and as she sinks in, the water swallows her whole. When she sits, the surface ends at her armpits, and a sigh of relief escapes her against her will. “Tomioka-san, we’re not even supposed to be together right now. I think we have bigger problems.”

“Still.”

“My, my.” She presses her hand against her cheek, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. “I never thought you’d be so frightened by me. I suppose I’ll stay here alone then—with no one to talk to, by myself!”

He glares down at her, though her only response is a serene smile in return. 

“Do you tease everyone like this?” he demands.

“I don’t tease anyone like this.”

At her words, he falters. His hands still at his sides. With a sigh, he starts to remove his yukata, and her eyes only widen briefly before she collects herself.

“Don’t look at it,” he whispers, his voice so quiet that the running water almost drowns him out.

Look at what? she almost asks. Before she gets the chance, the rest of the fabric falls.

She hadn’t lied before. She has seen Tomioka without clothes when his check-ups demanded it. But she’s forgotten that she’s never seen him like this as a demon—that his skin no longer carries the scars from wounds she mended herself, or that the markings on his cheek reach downward across his body. But none of that draws her attention the most.

Immediately, she understands what Tomioka meant. 

The bruise on his chest. The one Muzan inflicted after his failure to turn her into a demon in Asakusa. It hasn’t faded at all. It stands out against his otherwise unblemished skin: dark and furious. It looks—painful, and she knows right away why Tomioka hadn’t wanted her to see it. How can a doctor ignore this kind of injury? At the same time, how can she heal someone who isn’t meant to be breakable?

“Tomioka-san,” she whispers.

“It’s fine,” he insists. Without giving her the chance to dwell, he steps into the onsen and lowers himself. Unfortunately for him, the bruise is still visible as the water only manages to cover half of his chest. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“But it hasn’t healed at all!”

“I know.” Tomioka lowers his head. “It came from him, so it might not disappear until he decides it should.”

Still. Still—it’s an injury he shouldn’t have. It’s one he carries for showing her mercy. Guilt burns on her tongue.

“I’m sorry,” she says before she can stop herself. She hates it. She hates that Muzan marked his disappointment on Tomioka in such a damning way. 

His head snaps up. “Stop that,” Tomioka says. “That’s why I didn’t want you to see it. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. So.” 

But it isn’t his fault either. If he hadn’t acted as he had, she might be dead, or worse, a demon. 

“I wouldn’t have pressed if I had known. I was only teasing.”

“I know.”

If he wants her to ignore it, she will. For now.

“Now what?” Tomioka asks, his eyelids fluttering shut from the heat.

The two of them sit opposite each other. Their legs don’t so much as brush against each other, thanks to the wide expanse of the tub, but there is an awkwardness that settles over them that she hadn’t anticipated. Her taunts were mostly for the purpose of getting beneath Tomioka’s skin. She hadn’t considered what it would mean for them to go this far.

He had a point. This isn’t proper. Normally, she wouldn’t give a second thought to these sorts of societal expectations and rules. But now, with Tomioka only a few centimeters from her, as naked as she is, a hint of shame builds within her that she despises. 

She attempts to brush it off with a smile. “I could wash your hair?”

“No,” comes his immediate answer. 

“Why not?”

Tomioka doesn’t elaborate, though a flush works its way up his neck. 

“This will be quite boring if you ignore me!”

“Good.”

Shinobu pouts. He’s being more rigid than usual, but that might be her fault. After all, she’s the one that’s taken him out of his comfort zone. She’s done that a few times these past few days—inviting him to lick her wounds, demanding that he share a bath with her. 

She’s always prided herself on her ability to maintain a level head despite how impulsive she wants to be. Her mask might be prone to cracks, but she tries her best to maintain her cool no matter the situation. Yet, she keeps finding herself in unexpected circumstances with Tomioka that are entirely her own doing. When they leave her floundering, she can’t react with her usual calmness.

What does she want from him? 

“Kocho.”

The sound of his voice draws her attention, and she lifts her head. He’s staring at her. From the way he says her name, he must have been watching her for quite a while. “Are you okay?” he asks, concerned.

Is she? What is happening to her? She can’t understand why she keeps making a fool of herself or what drives these reckless choices. She can’t understand the happiness she feels when Tomioka indulges her or the urge to see him smile again. She doesn’t like this—this feeling of being dangled over a cliff side. 

“Perfectly okay!” she assures him. Judging by his dubious expression, he doesn’t believe her, but he also doesn’t push further. Her gaze flickers down to the bruise on his chest. “Will you let me take a look?”

Tomioka covers himself with an arm over his chest. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Let me be the judge of that!” When he doesn’t respond, she adds, “Please.”

With some reluctance, he removes his arm. She slides closer to him, the water sloshing with her movements, and her leg brushes against his. She can’t be sure who startles more with the contact—her or Tomioka; they both jump at the same time, like an electric shock.

“It’s fine!” she says, much too loud. She can’t tell who she’s trying to calm down. “Sorry. Let me see.”

Shinobu’s been close to Tomioka plenty of times. The only difference is that she’s used to being clothed. This is new territory, but her instincts take over as soon as she’s close enough. Her hand presses against the bruise, the touch feather-light. His skin burns like a fire. At her touch, Tomioka lets out a groan.

“Does that hurt?” she asks.

“No,” he says softly. 

Then why did you make a noise? she wants to ask. 

Pushing forward, she slides her palm along the expanse, along his upper chest and his abdomen. He’s muscular, as most demon slayers are. But unlike other slayers, the markings that litter his skin mark him as something other. Something inhuman. The heat might be getting to her head. She shouldn’t be—staring so much.

“It’s warm,” she comments. “Too warm.”

Tomioka sucks in a breath. “Oh.”

“You sure it doesn’t hurt? Maybe I can make a salve for it.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” His voice sounds strangled, and she wonders again whether he’s lying about the pain. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Still, I don’t like the way it looks.” Her hand trails downward towards his lower stomach, and a hum leaves her mouth of its own accord. “It’s gone.”

Tomioka raises a brow. “What’s…gone?”

“The scar.” A fleeting smile crosses her lips. “I don’t think you’d been a Hashira that long at that point. You were cut by a demon. Here. Anyway, you killed them, and the blood loss caused you to pass out. By the time you made your way to me, I had to stitch it up while you were unconscious.” Her thumb traces the ghost of what the scar should have been, a jagged line. “Kanae wasn’t around, so I was on edge. More so than usual. But I managed.”

She can feel Tomioka’s eyes on her. It takes everything to ignore the weight of his stare. “Sorry to cause you trouble.”

“Ha! I don’t mind the trouble.” She removes her hand then, suddenly self-conscious of having touched him in such a vulnerable area. “It’s worse to not be bothered. Then it means that person isn’t coming back or is dead. That’s worse.” 

He’s still staring at her when she decides to meet his gaze. For some reason, Yukina’s words come back to her in a rush. How handsome, she said. Perhaps…perhaps Shinobu might agree. With his shuttered gaze, his hair long and loose for once, droplets of water clinging to his skin, she might acknowledge that Yukina was right to call Tomioka handsome. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Sorry?” Shinobu echoes. 

Her mask must be discarded by now, sunk beneath the depths of the water. Tomioka must see every fleeting emotion that crosses her face—guess the thoughts that wander in her brain. Funny. Thinking of Kanae means that she peels the mask back. With Tomioka, it somehow falls on its own.

“Did you mean me?” he asks. The question itself empties her mind. Even if she wanted to respond, she can’t. “You said it’s worse when someone doesn’t come back.”

Demons don’t return. They make promises to pick up supplies, to be safe, and then they don’t come back. The realization that she was the last one to see Tomioka alive—that if she had insisted on going with him, maybe he would’ve stayed human—was devastating. It still is. 

Even if she can save him and the others, even if she can turn them back into humans, that won’t erase the pain they caused. It won’t remove the blood on their hands. The guilt will eat them alive, and there isn’t anything she can create to cure that self-loathing.

But still, she wants him here. She wants him alive even if the aftermath will be brutal.

“You’re here, though,” Shinobu muses. She pushes against the bottom of the tub with her feet to create some distance between them again. As soon as the water separates them, she can breathe a little easier. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he says, a little slower than she likes. 

With that, Tomioka stands up. The water pours off him with the sudden movement. Despite all of her gloating about how the human body was nothing to be embarrassed over, she feels compelled to avert her gaze as he climbs out.

“Enjoy the rest of your bath, Kocho,” he says. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

As soon as he’s gone, it’s like the water temperature dips.

The next morning is spent teaching the younger children how to administer first-aid. Most mornings, the children are taught by Chigaya, the older woman Tomioka mentioned yesterday, who has crow’s feet in her eyes and the kind of patience Shinobu envies. Their lessons are contained to practical skills and history for the most part; when Chigaya hears from Yukina that Shinobu has a medical background, she’s roped into demonstrating for them.

It’s a good call. As the shrine is quite some distance from the village, it would take over an hour for any doctor to be able to make it in case of an emergency. The knowledge of applying first-aid can save someone’s life, as she well knows. She has less experience handling children, but thankfully, Chigaya manages to corral them long enough for Shinobu to walk through the basics and explain some of her equipment. 

During the afternoon, she takes a walk on her own around the property, picking up familiar plants and herbs. Tomioka might have objected to a salve, but her mind wants to consider it regardless. Her brain runs at its own pace, and at the moment, it sees a problem begging to be solved. The bruise might not fade until Muzan wills it, but there’s no harm in trying to soothe it either. She finds a quiet spot in the forest with the company of her mind and stays there until the calls for dinner draw her out of her concentration.

By dinner, her mind feels like an elastic band, stretched to the point of snapping. She almost forgets that she and Shoko have plans until she approaches her on her way out.

“You look exhausted,” Shoko comments, her words as sharp as ever.

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Shinobu says instead. Right. She promised that she would introduce Shoko to Tomioka. Introductions should be short. It’s not like Tomioka will deny Shoko. But she wants Tomioka to be able to assess Shoko, to see whether he believes that Shoko has the will to leave the premises, if only to ensure she isn’t deluding herself. “You ready?”

Shoko nods, albeit reluctantly. She almost wants to reassure her. Tomioka is nothing like Upper Two, and there’s no reason to be intimidated by him. If anything, Shoko might scare him more. But she can’t. She keeps her mouth shut as she leads Shoko down the path towards Tomioka’s room, the one she’s grown familiar with these past couple of days. 

To her surprise, Shoko is the one to break the silence first. She wrings her hands in front of her. “What’s he like?”

“Giyuu-dono?”

“Duh.”

“Hm.” She takes a second to think. There’s plenty she could say, and plenty she shouldn’t say. “He’s a bit scatter-brained in my opinion.”

Shoko’s eyebrows fly up at that. “Really?”

“Yeah. Sometimes, he goes quiet, and you might think he’s zoned out of the conversation.”

“Oh. Wow. I mean, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking when Douma-dono introduced him to us, but I didn’t think he’d be like that all of the time.”

“Occasionally!” Shinobu relents. “But even if you think he’s not paying attention, he always is. I wouldn’t worry too much. He will listen to you.”

Shoko sucks in a sharp breath and lets her arms hang at her sides. “Do you think he’ll say it’s okay?”

Of course he will—to ensure you’re free. “I think Giyuu-dono is a kind person. If you’re honest with him, then I don’t see why he’d refuse.”

By now, they’ve reached the door to Tomioka’s room. He must already sense them outside. He’s probably seen their fighting spirits from down the hall. But everything is quiet as Shinobu slides the door open, and beside her, Shoko steels herself before walking in. 

The room has been cleared more than usual. Her haori and weapons have been tucked into the closet, out of sight. The other futon has been rolled up and put away to avoid Shoko getting the wrong impression. Other than a stack of books piled near the window and his own futon, it’s empty—save for Tomioka, who kneels by the window.

The sun has sunk beneath the clouds, allowing Tomioka to pull back the curtains, and the moonlight outlines his figure where he sits. Like this, his mask tied to his head, she can’t pretend he isn’t intimidating. 

He says nothing. The only acknowledgment of their arrival is a slight nod. 

He plays the part of a formidable Upper Rank rather well, though she hates to admit it. If she didn’t know him, she might taste fear in the back of her throat.

Beside her, Shoko cowers beneath the weight of Tomioka’s unwavering stare. “Giyuu-dono,” she greets him before kneeling and bowing with her head against the floor. A second too late, Shinobu mimics her actions, even if Tomioka might never let her live this down. “Thank you for agreeing to see me. Shinobu-san said you wouldn’t mind, but I want to apologize for taking any amount of your time.”

With her forehead pressed against the mats, Shinobu can’t catch a glimpse of his expression. She’s used to this act of respect in front of Oyakata-sama, but it must be somewhat unnerving for Tomioka. It would be a lie to say she expected Shoko to act so…formal.

His throat clears. “You can lift your heads.” Shinobu waits for Shoko to rise before she follows suit. “You don’t need to apologize. Douma-dono said that you were allowed to rely on me for anything. I’m only doing what is expected of me.”

“Right,” Shoko stammers. “Well. It’s still a lot to ask Shinobu-san to ask you for a favor, so—”

“I don’t mind,” Tomioka interrupts. He leans back, and the dark of night catches on his blue eyes, illuminating the kanji there. “You need a favor?”

“Yes. My sister, Saku. She used to…stay at the shrine with me, and my other sister. But they both left one evening. I wanted to know…well, I wanted to see if I could bring Saku back. I think if I reminded her of what she’s missing out on, she’ll want to return.”

Tomioka nods. “You miss your sister.”

“I do.”

“What about your other sister? You mentioned two, but only wanted one to return.”

Shoko grits her teeth. “Saki. She doesn’t want to be here. She never wanted to come in the first place.”

Tomioka tilts his head. “Does that make you angry with her?”

The question causes Shoko to waver. Her hand clenches in her lap against her will, and Shinobu watches each small shift of movement, as she’s sure Tomioka does at the same time. 

“Yes,” Shoko admits. “Saki didn’t have to come here. She didn’t have to make Saku leave. Saku was happy here.”

A few seconds pass, and when Tomioka speaks, he says something she doesn’t expect either. “I have a sister.”

Her eyes must be as wide as Shoko’s. “Really?” Shoko asks.

Tomioka nods. “I…don’t remember her as much as I should. As much as I want to. Something happened to me…and I forgot a great deal of my life. But I think my sister was older than me. I think I caused her a lot of trouble.”

Shoko gapes at him. It must be hard to imagine. But Shinobu’s had her fair share of memories to support his claim. “Ah…” Shoko hums, though it’s clear she doesn’t know what to say. Shinobu isn’t sure where Tomioka is going with this either.

“I know you might think that Saki has caused you trouble by taking Saku away,” Tomioka says, “but I don’t think you should hate her forever for it.”

“I—” Her sentence breaks off in a panic. “I don’t hate Saki.”

“That’s good.”

“I just…I want her to understand me and Saku more. I want her to realize she can let us be. She doesn’t always have to be involved.”

Shinobu bites on the inside of her cheek. It hurts knowing how the story ends and leaving Shoko in the dark. If Saki had cut off their ties to Douma sooner, Saku might still be alive. 

“She’s your sister,” Tomioka says. “She’ll always be involved because I’m sure she loves you.”

Shoko falls silent at that, her feet digging into the mats. 

“You want to go see Saku in person?” Tomioka asks.

“Yes.” Any hesitation leaves her in an instant. She nods enthusiastically. “I do. If that’s okay.”

“I don’t see why that would be a problem,” Tomioka says. His gaze slides over to the window, where the trees shift with the wind that troubles the forest tonight. “I don’t think Douma-dono would object. You want to reunite with your sister. He wants you to be happy, Shoko.”

“Ah.” A red flush overtakes Shoko’s features, and again, her head dips into a bow before Tomioka. “Thank you, Giyuu-dono. Then—it would be okay? Would it really be alright?”

“You shouldn’t go alone.” Tomioka’s eyes flicker over to her. “But I don’t think Shinobu would mind taking you.”

She can’t hear his next words. Her mind becomes a complete blank as white noise overpowers her eardrums and her senses fail her. She can’t even feel the tatami mats beneath her feet. Her body can’t seem to decide whether she should relax or flee. He said her name like it was the easiest thing in the world without so much as a warning. 

“Shinobu-san.” Shinobu barely registers Shoko turning towards her. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“No,” she says quickly. But her body won’t react the way she wants it to. The smile she reaches for so effortlessly won’t fall into place. She must look like a deer in headlights. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Then I can go? I can go.” Shoko keeps repeating the words, as if speaking them into existence makes them all the more real. “I can go!”

“Yes,” Tomioka agrees. “You can go. But—”

Shoko lets out a groan before she can help it, and immediately, she claps a hand over her mouth. 

“It’s okay, Shoko.” She thinks he’s trying his best to sound reassuring, but given his expression has barely changed at all throughout the course of this conversation, Shoko is even more tense. “I only wanted to say that you should consider this an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?”

“You aren’t going just for Saku, are you?”

Shoko’s shoulders slump, and it’s like she deflates in front of them, sinking through the floor. “I don’t know if I want to forgive Saki. She always thinks she’s right.”

“That’s the way sisters are,” Tomioka says. Shinobu shoots daggers at him with her eyes, but he ignores her. “They argue with you, and they boss you around, and they die for you. They’re willing to trek to you with a broken leg and an arm to make sure you’re okay. I’m sure that—no matter how you feel about Saki now—you’ll realize that you missed her, too, once you see her again.”

Shoko looks doubtful at that, but Tomioka’s words ring true in her heart. It wouldn’t matter how hard she fought with Kanae. By the end of the day, she wanted to know that her sister was safe more than anything in the world. There isn’t a day that goes by that she doesn’t miss her. When Shoko realizes that Saku is gone, she’ll miss her forever.

“I’ll try…” Shoko allows. “I’ll try to hear her out, at least.”

“I wouldn’t ask for anything more.” Tomioka glances at Shinobu out of the corner of his eye, and she takes that as the cue to leave. She stands, and this time, Shoko is the one that follows in her footsteps. “It was nice to meet you, Shoko.”

“You too, Giyuu-dono,” Shoko says. She visibly hesitates, like she wants to say more, but in the end, she’s the first to move towards the exit.

Shinobu gives Tomioka a meaningful look before following her. Once the door is shut behind them, she asks Shoko, “How do you feel?”

“Like it’s too good to be true.” But she smiles—a toothy, genuine smile. “You were right. He was better than I expected.”

Shinobu returns the smile, but for another reason. If Shoko wants to leave, and she no longer worries about whether or not she has permission, then she can reunite these sisters once more. She has to. 

“You’ve gotten a head start, I see.”

Tomioka’s already submerged in the steaming waters of the onsen when she returns. As soon as she enters the room, she’s hit with a hot bubble of air, a testament to how warm the bath must be, and his hair already sticks against his neck even though she couldn’t have been gone for longer than five minutes. When he twists back to look at her, he looks—exhausted.

To prove her point, the sigh he lets out speaks of weariness. “I’m trying to melt my brain. If I hear anyone call me Giyuu-dono again, I’m walking out into the sun.”

His comment sparks a burst of laughter from her. The joke wouldn’t hit its mark if he didn’t speak in such a deadpan voice. 

Shinobu waits for Tomioka to face forward again before tugging at her belt and pulling off her kimono. The sound of the fabric hitting the floor is brazenly loud with only the flowing water to accompany it. She can’t help but hold her breath as she clambers inside the tub. 

Yesterday could have been considered a joke if it were a one-time thing. To repeat it is an intentional act, one she can’t backtrack from, but her limbs seem to have a mind of their own as she settles down in the water across from Tomioka in the same position as yesterday.

The overwhelming heat does well to override any tempest her mind could work itself into. As soon as she’s submerged, the lingering concerns vanish with the warmth, like rain with the sun. Nothing else matters.

Tomioka keeps his eyes closed until he hears her settle, then he peers out at her through one eye. “I don’t like it,” he says. “I don’t like that they treat me differently, like I’m special.”

“You are different from them.”

“But they respect me,” he says, “and I don’t deserve that.”

His words cause her to clam up. Who is she to say what Tomioka deserves? She doubts she would be able to live with the agony of having taken innocent lives; as a Hashira, every day he breathes must weigh on his mind, even without the memories that spurred him into the Demon Slayer Corps to begin with. Each reverent act from Upper Two’s followers must feel like a slap in the face when he believes he’s done nothing to earn their praise.

“They don’t know that,” Shinobu reasons. He says nothing to that, which she takes as her opportunity to ask the question that’s been sitting since their meeting with Shoko ended. “What did you think?”

Tomioka’s gaze is unfocused as he stares at the sprout. “She seems nice.”

“And?”

“And I think she misses Saku.”

“So,” she urges. She wishes he would give her the answer he wants, rather than dancing around it. “You think she’ll go?”

“I think she wants to go,” Tomioka says. “Whether she will is a different story.”

Shinobu frowns. He didn’t see how much Shoko longed for Saku’s return as she gazed out at her garden. She wouldn’t bother if she didn’t believe that her sister could return someday. It would be pointless. For Shoko to tend to them as if they were her own, it’s a labor of love for her older sister. 

“You don’t have to agree with me.”

Her features pull into a scowl before she can help it. “I didn’t say I disagreed.”

“You didn’t have to.” His lip twitches, even though he still isn’t looking at her. He keeps his eyes fixated on the sprout, as if he can’t bear to look at her as he shatters her hopes. “I think Shoko desperately wants Saku to return. But I don’t know. Something about how she talks about Saki worries me.” He sighs. “I don’t want her to go only to return later because she doesn’t believe Saki.”

Shinobu relaxes, her scowl disappearing, her usual smile rising to replace it. “You have a point. If she returns, this will all be for nothing.”

“Mm.”

“But Saku is dead.” The words leave a bitter taste in her mouth. “She must know Saki well enough to understand that she would never leave Saku.”

“I don’t think Shoko thought that her sisters would ever leave her either. At least, that’s how she sees it.”

She hates Tomioka’s crushing realism. She half-wonders if his demonic nature makes him this way—if his disjointed relationship with his own emotions allow him to see the greater picture. Or, perhaps, because he’s endured the worst at the hands of the demons, he’s also prepared to expect the worst. Either way, she doesn’t want to consider a world in which Saki and Shoko never get the chance to reconcile. She doesn’t think she’d be able to live with herself.

“If Shoko doesn’t leave on her own, then you can use your Blood Demon Art on her, can’t you?” Shinobu demands. 

This time, his gaze snaps to her, his eyes wide. “I…Not forever.”

“Temporarily, though. Right?”

“Yes. I guess.”

“Then that’s an option.”

Tomioka purses his lips. “She won’t stay with Saki that way. It’s not guaranteed as much as if she leaves on her own.”

“She can’t stay here either!” Shinobu snaps.

The sharpness to her tone cuts off any response Tomioka might have had. He clamps his mouth shut, assessing her with an intensity she wants to shy away from. If she weren’t stuck in the bath with him, she might’ve left the room. He doesn’t understand. No one will ever understand.

She can’t let Shoko follow Saku’s path. She can’t let him win again without suffering the consequences, and as it stands, she isn’t strong enough to force them upon him.

A few minutes pass before either of them decides to speak again. The sound of the rippling water is their only company. There’s very little to look at if she chooses not to look at Tomioka, but she manages. She can tell her composure is poised to snap. If she meets his eye, it might.

“I know you hate him,” Tomioka starts.

Shinobu lets out a disbelieving laugh, one that startles her. “Hate. Hate isn’t a strong enough word.” Her hands rise to touch her cheeks as the red-hot anger rushes to her face. “I have spent every minute of every day since the day my sister died wondering how I might kill that man, wondering how I could make him suffer most, planning around every potential failure. Sometimes, I worry that my desire to kill him is all that keeps me alive. Sometimes, I worry that this terrible, twisted hatred has surpassed the love I had for my sister, and that when I die, she won’t even recognize me in the afterlife because I’ve made myself so ruthless.” Her throat aches with each raw word that escapes her. “Do you know what that’s like?”

Tomioka is silent, his jaw tight, as he watches her. 

“I’ve tried so hard to carry out my sister’s dream. She wanted to be friends with demons. Do you remember? So I’ve tried. I’ve tried really hard. But demons…” Her fingers knot into her hair, still gathered up with her clip. “Kanae felt sorry for that monster, and I’ll never understand it. Demons make me sick. They kill my parents, my sister, my tsugukos. They hurt the lives of everyone I care about. How can I feel sorry for them?”

She can feel the tears burning in the back of her throat. The frustration is so potent that it threatens to choke her.

“I have to keep Shoko away from that monster,” she forces out through gritted teeth. “That is all that matters.” She shudders with her next breath. “I don’t need you to understand. I don’t expect you to understand. But don’t pretend like this isn’t the worst feeling to exist. I don’t like…being this angry all the time.”

When she raises her head, she doesn’t know what to expect. She hadn’t let Tomioka get a word in, and he hadn’t tried. He might be afraid of her now. What kind of normal person fantasizes about murder and carries this sort of grudge like it’s sane? 

But when their gazes meet, it isn’t fear that greets her. It’s pain.

Shinobu blinks as she lowers her hands back down. 

“I wasn’t…I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” Tomioka says. “You have a right to be angry. You have a right to want him dead. I…would never begrudge you for any of that.”

“Tomioka-san…” Her voice is soft. Why does he sound like he’s hurt? 

“But that’s why I’m here—to remind you that there are other lives at stake. I know you want to save them. I believe if it came down to Shoko’s life or your revenge, in the heat of the moment, you would prioritize Shoko. That’s the kind of person you are. You’re not as ruthless as you claim to be.”

Her heart stutters. Since Kanae’s death, all she’s wanted is to convince people that her smile—the one adored by her older sister—was genuine. She never wanted anyone to witness the depths of her anger; she never wanted to give anyone the chance to see how her despair has changed her. Gone is the sweet little sister Kanae loved, replaced by a merciless killer with no room for compassion in her heart. There’s only enough space for the grudges that consume her. 

Tomioka’s stared into the dark pits of her soul, seen the wretched wrath she keeps locked in a metal cage. He should turn away from her, run from her. 

Instead, he still tells her that she’s selfless—that the hatred she bears is no match for her desire to protect.

She wants to cry tears of joy and sadness all at once.

Tomioka stands, and the water drips from his back and his chest at once. His eyes are shut as he murmurs, “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable, Kocho.”

What? “Huh?”

“You don’t need to do anything. I’ll still help you defeat him, and I won’t kill another human again. I’ll do my best. But you don’t have to be near me if…you hate me.”

Where did he get that impression? Quickly, she rewinds through her words in her mind, and one sentence stands out against all of the noise: Demons make me sick. 

Shinobu hadn’t even meant Tomioka at all. She hadn’t lumped him in as a demon. Truth be told, for a moment, she’d forgotten he was one. Just as she hadn’t considered Nezuko and Tamayo and Yushiro within that group, she hadn’t meant Tomioka, though she can see why he took it that way.

“Tomioka-san!”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns around and starts to climb out.

“Tomioka-san, wait!” Shinobu stands up, sending the water moving in a harsh wave. If he turns around, she would be completely exposed, but she can’t bring herself to care. That hurt. That pain in his voice—she caused it, and she won’t let Tomioka shrink away from her, not after all they’ve been through. She won’t let him think that she despises him. It hasn’t been that way. Not for a long time. “Please listen to me. That’s not what I meant!”

“S’okay,” he says simply before bracing his palms against the edge to pull himself out.

Shinobu clenches her teeth. Why won’t he listen to her? She needs him to listen. She needs him to understand. “Tomioka-san!” she says, more sternly. Still, he ignores her, and through the cloud of frustration, she moves without thinking.

She storms towards him, her feet skidding against the bottom of the tub. Tomioka must hear her coming due to how the water splashes and sloshes, but even so, he releases a strangled gasp in surprise as her arms wrap around him, keeping him in place.

“Tomioka-san,” she repeats firmly. “Please listen to me.”

There is no way to ignore the precarious position they’re in. Her arms are wound around his waist in her attempt to restrain him. At the same time, her chest is pressed against his smooth back, leaving nothing to the imagination. She can feel every shuddering breath he takes, just as she’s certain he can feel the rapid beat of her heart in her own chest. They’re pressed skin-to-skin in a way an unmarried couple shouldn’t be, and yet—

“Kocho,” Tomioka says, his voice taut. He can’t bring himself to say anything else. Glancing up at his face, she finds that it’s bright red. 

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu repeats. She turns her head so that her cheek rests against his spine. It’s a good thing Tomioka can’t see her face. She might be more flushed than he is. She should be ashamed of herself, but oddly enough, she also can’t bring herself to care. There are worse things in the world that need to be worried about—demons, death, murder. In comparison, this is harmless. “I need to tell you something.”

“What?” Every word that leaves his mouth is tight. 

“I don’t hate you, Tomioka-san.” She feels him try to pull away, and her grip tightens around him. “Listen. Please. I don’t hate you. I tried to in the beginning. But I couldn’t. Even though you’re a demon, I can’t hate you.”

She physically feels him relax in her grip. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying!” Shinobu insists. “I might lie about everything else, but I wouldn’t lie about this.” Her eyelids flutter shut. This conversation has worn her out. “I wasn’t including you. I wasn’t including you or Nezuko or Tamayo-san. Nezuko…is innocent. She’s never killed.”

“Is this a bad time to ask who Nezuko is?” Tomioka asks in a low voice.

“Yes. I’ll tell you another time. And…Tamayo-san. I respect her. Even though she’s killed, I respect her. She wants to make up for her mistakes, and she’s willing to risk everything for it. She’s a great person. I tried to hate her, too, in the beginning, but I couldn’t manage that either.”

Tomioka hums, letting her know he’s still listening.

“And you… It’s true I tried to hate you. I thought I could never vouch for a demon that’s killed innocent lives, much less an Upper Rank.”

His shoulders hunch in, like those lost lives weigh on him even now.

“But you feel guilt. You feel remorse. You’re willing to starve yourself to prevent any more death. You’re willing to disobey him to help me. You’ve killed, but you don’t run from your sins.” 

Shinobu sighs. This is the conundrum. In a perfect world, Tomioka wouldn’t have been turned into a demon to begin with. He would’ve stayed human. He would’ve fought alongside them until the end as a Hashira. But this isn’t a perfect world. The flimsy shreds of happiness among the Demon Slayer Corps can be ripped from them in an instant.

He didn’t stay a human. He was forced to become a demon, forced to kill until Muzan deemed him fit to join the Upper Ranks, forced to try and subject her to the same fate. No one was able to protect his happiness. 

Tomioka wasn’t given the same choices as Nezuko, but he tries to make the right ones now. That counts for something. She needs it to. It’s cruel and unfair that someone who only wanted to protect was forced to become the very creature he despised. 

“Because of that,” Shinobu says, “you will have my cherished love until I die.”

Tomioka jolts. “Don’t do that. It’s wasted on me.”

She might’ve agreed with him a few months ago. But she can’t bring herself to do so now, not when he’s here with her in the monster’s den, willing to lose his life if it means saving another. “I disagree.”

With a sigh, Tomioka rests his hands over hers where they lie across his stomach. Somehow, it makes their position all the more intimate, and she doesn’t know what to make of the flush she can feel climbing up her neck. She can’t recall another person ever having this kind of an effect on her this way. She almost thought she was immune to these sorts of…feelings. 

“I can sense your anger within your fighting spirit sometimes,” he murmurs. “I can’t tell if it’s directed at me or not.”

“Not for the reasons you think.” Shinobu shakes her head, and her hair tickles his back. “I’m angry that this happened to you. I’m angry that you keep having impossible choices forced upon you. I’m angry…because I think if I’d insisted on coming with you that day, you might still be human.”

Tomioka attempts to crane his neck backwards to peer at her. “What day?”

“The day you were turned into a demon.” She buries her face against his skin. “I didn’t want to talk about it, so I’ve never told you. But I was the last person that saw you before you went missing. I made a joke that I should come along on your mission, but you refused.” Her voice turns small—so small she can barely hear herself. “That was the first thing I thought when I heard you were gone—that if I insisted, things might have been different.”

Tomioka faces forward again. He’s quiet as he digests her words, letting them sink in. A moment later, he squeezes her hands. “You don’t know that. You shouldn’t think that. Maybe if you’d come, we’d both be demons, then we’d both be miserable.”

“Maybe,” she acquiesces. They’ll never know for sure. Her mind won’t be able to let it go regardless.

“Kocho.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being angry on my behalf,” Tomioka says, and this time, she can’t miss the smile that teases his lips, soft and delicate. “Honestly, when you talk about Kanae, I wonder what kind of person she must have been that you’d carry such anger for her. But maybe I should’ve realized that comes down to who you are. Not necessarily Kanae. Thank you for sparing some of that for me.”

She doesn’t know what to say. Usually, she’s the only one speaking in their conversations, yet tonight, his words sap any response she might muster. It leaves her feeling vulnerable in a way she’s unaccustomed to. She’s unused to someone peeling back the layers on their own. “Tomioka-san.”

“Kocho,” he echoes, then squirms. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Huh?”

“...We’re both naked.”

It’s worse when he points it out. As if she hadn’t noticed. It would be impossible not to notice, when she can feel the width of his shoulder blades and the dip in his spine—when she deliberately keeps her gaze from trailing downward, despite being able to feel everything. There’s an ache inside her body that worsens the longer they stay like this, one she’s never felt in regards to another person.

Perhaps it’s worse for him. He wasn’t able to stop her, and he’s left in this unwanted embrace, her breasts pressed against his back.

Even so, she can’t afford to lose her cool, not against Tomioka.

“Are you telling me I’ve discovered another way to defeat demons?” Shinobu coos. “How incredible! Will the other Upper Ranks wilt away if I hug them like this?”

“I know you’re joking.” Tomioka rolls his eyes. “But it’s not funny. Don’t do this with any of the Upper Ranks.”

“Obviously not! Who do you think I am?”

Tomioka doesn’t have an answer to that.

“The only one I’ve ever done this to is you,” Shinobu says. “Just so we’re clear.”

It has the desired effect. His face reddens, and he carefully unwinds her arms from around his waist. 

“Tomioka-san! No need to be scared of me!”

This time, she doesn’t stop him from climbing out. As soon as they separate, the loss of his skin against hers is tangible, and she shivers. Almost immediately, she sinks back into the water, concealing herself from view, though she isn’t quick enough to turn away before catching a glimpse of Tomioka’s backside before he manages to cover himself.

“I’m not scared,” Tomioka says, deadpan. He wraps a towel around himself. 

Shinobu flashes him a grin, as bright as quicksilver. 

He softens. “You can take your time.”

“You’re so generous.”

With that, Tomioka pads back into their shared room, his footsteps leaving puddles on the floor, his face no less red than when she saw it last. As soon as the door shuts behind him, Shinobu lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

“Shit,” she mutters to herself. “Shit.”

Why did she do that? Was that the only way to get him to stay? Couldn’t she have done something else? 

Tomioka’s her only ally here. He’s her partner, and her friend. She can’t afford to lose him with these sorts of senseless mistakes. 

Worse still is the longing that settles inside her as soon as he’s gone. She’s long convinced herself that the road to her revenge would be a solitary one. She expects that once she reaches her goal, her life will be gone too. She’s given up on any hopes and dreams she might have carried. Upper Two destroyed that as easily as he destroyed Kanae’s life. She’s never let herself dwell on anything more than the destruction of the Kizuki—and that monster in particular.

Every time Kanae mentioned marriage, she wanted to scoff. Marriage—she never dreamed of it unlike her sister or many other girls her age. Her brain could only focus on one thing as a child—medicine. Saving lives. In that vein, her life was a weapon wielded to protect others, and nothing else mattered to her beyond that. When her parents died, that drive strengthened. Now she had a tangible enemy, one that could be defeated.

So when Kanae brought up marriage again on her deathbed, it had taken no time at all for Shinobu to shut her down. It’s been nineteen years, and she was sure then, as she’d been sure until today, that she would never feel any inkling of that sort of affection. She convinced herself that it wasn’t made for her. She couldn’t understand Kanroji’s relationship with Iguro because such an untouchable experience had never claimed her. That sort of love would never approach someone as bitter and broken as her, and no one would want her rotten heart.

She’d been…so certain of that.

But her heart races. When she stares down at her reflection in the water, her pupils are slightly dilated. She told Kanroji that love must be a concrete thing, distinguished by the reactions of the human body. Yet, here she stands, her body betraying her in ways unrecognizable to her, and she doesn’t know what to say.

Half of her wants to call Tomioka back. The other half is stronger in wanting him to stay far away, lest he see her like this. 

She doesn’t like Tomioka. Not like that. She’s never liked someone like that. She can’t.

You will have my cherished love until I die, she said. Did she curse herself?

Shinobu rests her head against the back of the tub. It’s only the heat getting to her, making her think this way. The water temperature is higher than it has any right to be, and it’s messing with her head. She can’t seem to regain control of her breathing. There’s an ache between her legs that demands her attention.

No. She won’t give in. These feelings are fleeting. If she’s never experienced them before, they won’t last. She can’t afford to falter now, not when she’s so close to her revenge. 

Ignoring the desire that swells inside her, Shinobu focuses on fixing her breathing. Soon enough, all thoughts of Tomioka will fade away beneath the waves.

Chapter Text

The castle in front of her sits on a pile of stone and grandeur. To an outsider, it looks abandoned, devoid of any human presence for some time, worn by the ages. If she didn’t know any better, she might consider this lead a dead-end. But to a Hashira, she knows well enough that its solitude is what makes it a prime spot for demon activity. 

Even at this distance, there’s a shift in the air that makes her skin prickle. The slayers at her side must feel it as well as she does because their gazes continue to wander and their hands twitch at their sides with the signs of inexperience. 

Mitsuri is on edge, too—but for another reason entirely. This is her fourth mission of the night; she barely caught three hours of sleep on the tailend of another busy night yesterday, and her body suffers the effects of her exhaustion now. But there’s nothing she can do about it. How could she ignore the desperate pleas of the crow that found her, imploring her to investigate alongside a pair of demon slayers on a mission too dangerous for their ranking?

It hadn’t been a choice. She’s a Hashira. Any call for aid is one she needs to take. Muichiro and Himejima must be swamped themselves, and Shinobu—Shinobu has enough on her plate as it is. She mustn’t be bothered unless the situation turns dire. She already feels terrible enough, bothering her with such a nonsensical letter, one that she regretted as soon as she sent it. 

So she’s more than happy to answer the calls of her comrades. It’s why she’s a Hashira, because her strength is valued. With that in mind, she brushes past the weariness and smiles at the slayers at her side. 

“Is this where you tracked the demon to?” Mitsuri asks.

“Yes,” the slayer on her left says. He introduced himself as Enomoto. “This was as far as we got before we…” His expression turns shameful. “...lost him.”

“We already lost another woman from the village tonight,” the other slayer—Furukawa, she remembers—says. “Even though we were prepared after yesterday, he still got the better of us.”

She ought to reprimand them. If Iguro were here, he’d have no qualms about doing so. Their negligence has been dangerous, and if they’d been more alert, they might’ve been able to save another life. But she knows how hard it had felt in the beginning when she endured the brunt of Rengoku’s training, and how pitiful she felt when it seemed as though she wasn’t improving. It wouldn’t help to pile onto the disappointment they no doubt feel. 

After all, she’s here now, and she’ll take care of everything.

“I see!” Mitsuri says. A hint of movement in the distance catches her attention, and her heart surges. “It looks like we’re not too late tonight.” Before either slayer can put in a word, she leaps off the rock she’d been perched on. “Let’s go!”

Their footsteps crash through the brush after her, but she doesn’t pay them any mind. Her focus is entirely on the demon and the woman he’s restrained over his shoulder. Her sore muscles groan with each leap she makes against the rocks, but she forces the fleeting pain to the back of her mind. She can’t afford to worry about that.

The entrance into the castle is an open walkway. Once she lands in front, she pauses and waits for the slayers to catch up. After a few seconds, they tumble up the hill after her, their swords already extended. 

“Ready?” Mitsuri asks.

“Yes, Kanroji-sama!” they both chorus at the same time. 

Enomoto and Furukawa head into the castle first, stepping beneath the gate into the demon’s den, and she follows a step behind. Immediately, her skin prickles again with the sensation that she’s being watched. This isn’t one pair of eyes. This feels like many at once, all following each movement she makes with careful precision, like she’s something to be studied. 

They’re not alone. Mitsuri knew this as soon as they neared the castle, but once she’s in the middle of the room, her senses hone in on the interlopers. One, two, a dozen. No, far more, she decides. Demons aren’t meant to stick together. It’s rare to find more than one in a single place, but within these walls, she can sense a horde. Where did they come from? How have they gone undetected for so long?

She lets out a low exhale. This won’t be a simple mission. If she thought she was exhausted before, it’ll be nothing compared to how she’ll feel after slaughtering close to a hundred demons. But it’s something she has to do if she wants any chance of them all making it out alive. 

Mitsuri gives both of them a bright smile in an attempt to conceal the nerves erupting beneath her skin. “Please do your best!”

In the same vein, they try to offer their own reassuring smiles. As soon as Furukawa turns around, there’s a flash of movement, the first strike she’s been anticipating. At the same time, another demon dives across the room at the same time, their claws centimeters away from Enomoto’s neck.

Her sword sings as she tears it from the scabbard. In one fluid motion, the blade rips through the air, and both heads fall to the floor in the same second, blood gushing from the necks of the bodies that collapse with them.

“Huh?” Enomoto says, staring at the head in shock. 

But there’s no time to give any warning. The first kill beckons them all. The demons that waited behind columns and walls, that tucked themselves away within beams near the ceiling, all dive towards her with a ferocity that is chilling.

Love Breathing: Third Form: Catlove Shower. 

Mitsuri leaps into the air at the same time, releasing a breath as she twists her body. Her sword surges through flesh with equal quickness, and she hears rather than sees the satisfying slice of multiple heads being torn off at once. There isn’t enough chance for there to be a growl of resistance. At least ten of them die without protest, their screams lost in their severed throats. 

Her feet connect with one of the wooden columns, and her hand grips it in time to allow herself a second of deliberation. From this angle, she has the perfect view of the floor, as the demons must have from the second they entered. Enomoto has pierced a demon’s chest with his sword. Furukawa has to provide assistance in order to cut off the head, but they manage. It’s clearer than ever that they’re out of their depth.

To be fair, she might be too. 

Three demons jump towards her from where she hangs on the column, fangs glinting. 

Love Breathing: Second Form: Love Pangs. 

Mitsuri propels herself downward, and her sword cuts through the three of them at multiple angles. Their blood squirts from each point of contact. They’re dust by the time she flips onto the ground. 

More, more, more. They keep coming—keep flooding through the doors and the windows, keep landing at her feet and attacking her from all angles. Her sword doesn’t stop moving, and neither does her body, twisting and curling to keep up with the speed of her blade, moving to protect the slayers that shake at each outpouring of demons that enter. 

Love Breathing: Fifth Form: Swaying Love, Wildclaw. 

She somersaults into the air just as her sword rips through the air in front of her in a storm of slashes. The screams of the dead fill her ears as her feet hit the floor. 

Don’t stop, she tells herself. Don’t stop moving for a moment.

Is this how she felt when her mark first emerged? Had sense abandoned her, replaced with a panicked desperation that only knew to fight?

Their numbers aren’t slowing down, no matter how many of them she cuts through. They keep coming as if there is an endless supply. Their features have become so twisted and expressionless that she wonders if they were ever even human. 

She dashes in front of Enomoto as a demon’s hand reaches for his shoulder. Her speed is what gives her the edge, and the metal sings as blade meets flesh. The demon crumbles before Enomoto can stammer out a thanks. 

Should she activate her mark? Her heart is pumping, and she feels warm, like her body temperature is high. This is what Muichiro meant, isn’t it? 

Love Breathing: Third Form: Catlove Shower. 

Her legs burn with each jump she takes. Her stamina isn’t infinite, but surely, the demons aren’t either. She only needs to withstand, to continue as long as it takes.

With her technique, the remaining demons fall to ash, and her feet touch the ground with no small amount of relief. Her ears prick, waiting for the next sounds of footsteps, but to her relief, they don’t come. She turns her head to find Furukawa and Enomoto crouched near a column, waiting for the next attack despite their skills being inadequate. She can respect them for that—for standing tall in spite of their inexperience. But they’ve come far enough, and she can’t protect them forever.

“Enomoto-san, Furukawa-san,” Mitsuri says cheerfully. Her chest feels tight with exertion, though she doesn’t let it slip through in her voice. “You’ve done well, but you can’t go any further.”

“What?” Furukawa gapes at her. “Kanroji-sama—”

“This is dangerous, and a single mistake could get you both killed. You should return down the mountain. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“You can’t go alone!”

A woman screams from above. It must belong to the one who was taken. She needs to continue on.

“You can’t follow,” Mitsuri insists. “Please do as I say. I will handle it.”

Without waiting for their response, Mitsuri bounds up the ladder. There’s a low rumble that warns her before she catches a glimpse of the sea of demons at the top. Their beady eyes follow her as they move forward in unison, their mouths wide. 

Love Breathing: Sixth Form: Cat-Legged Wings of Love.

She draws her blade upward before yanking it downward in a snap. It’s almost as if she can hear a cat’s yowl as her sword cuts through several limbs at once. 

There isn’t even a chance to catch her breath before another flood aims at her. Their arms seem to extend in slow motion. Her mind grapples for another technique, anything that will help ward off the sea of demons. At this rate, they’re doing their job in slowing her down, and she can’t afford to let that demon carry that woman away.

Love Breathing: Third Form: Catlove Shower. 

Mitsuri launches her body forward, her sword spinning alongside her, and within seconds, the room is empty, save for her harsh breathing and the specks of ash that remain from the corpses.

“Help me!” the woman screams. 

“I’m coming!” Mitsuri calls. 

She dashes out the door, following the sound of the woman’s voice as cries and shrieks escape her, and a long hallway unfolds in front of her. The demon carrying her isn’t far off, bounding towards the open gap in the wall at the other side.

“Hey!” Mitsuri shouts after him. Several demons attempt to block her path, and her sword cuts through them before they manage to slow her down. “Bring her back! Don’t you dare take her.”

The demon doesn’t answer while Mitsuri watches him scale the wall. He must be climbing towards the roof. She sprints forward, slicing through the last train of demons that try to harm her. 

The wind nips at her exposed hands as she forces herself up the side of the building. Her legs ache. Her chest is tight. There’s a phantom pain in her feet. She almost can’t feel her dominant hand due to how tightly she grips her sword. But she can’t stop. Not until the innocent are safe.

She flips herself onto the roof, ignoring how her knees buckle on the landing. 

The demon stands on the apex of the roof, the bound woman slung over his shoulder. His dark eyes scrutinize her with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “How did you manage to kill all of us? No one should have been able to do that.”

“Hm. I’m not sure about that.” Mitsuri straightens to her full height. The writing for Destroy on the back of her uniform feels like it’s burning through the fabric and onto her skin. The pain she felt during the pursuit fades to the back of her mind. From where she stands, her priority is the captured woman. Nothing else matters. “But I didn’t do it alone.”

“You mean the two slayers that retreated?”

Ignoring the slight on her comrades, Mitsuri holds out her sword. “Return her to me. Now.”

A screech breaks through the air, chilling her to the bone. Before she can blink, at least twenty more demons rise from alongside the walls and leap towards her.

Love Breathing: Fifth Form: Swaying Love, Wildclaw. 

Twisting backwards, Mitsuri throws her body out of range. By the time they descend upon the spot where she stood, her sword arcs, and with it, their heads follow. The momentum carries her upward, closer to where the demon she’s after waits.

“Hashira,” the demon spits. He grips the woman by the collar and shakes her forcefully. Mitsuri isn’t close enough to grab her. Not yet. Not yet. “You want her? Take her!”

“Wait!”

He doesn’t. He tosses the woman forward as if she’s nothing more than a ragdoll, too far for Mitsuri to snag her. Her scream gets lost in the wind.

No, Mitsuri thinks. I can’t let her die. I won’t let her die. What is the point of my strength if she dies?

She throws all of her weight into the soles of her feet to dive towards the woman when a black-and-white blur speeds towards them, as quick and slippery as a snake. Before the woman disappears off the edge, a pair of arms catch her, his mismatched eyes wide, as if his own actions surprised him.

Safe.

Mitsuri redirects her attention towards the demon, who disappears over the edge of the roof with a sneer. She can trust Iguro to watch the woman. He did save her, right?

Racing forward, she moves with the intention of chasing after the demon. He disappeared over the other side of the roof. He can’t be far.

But as soon as she makes it over the apex of the roof, soaring through the air, her stomach drops. There should have been a roof to catch her. There’s no ground, no mountain, no grass. Instead, there’s an infinite collection of doors and walls that move beneath her, thrumming with life as the demon she’d been pursuing falls into it. 

If she thought that the eyes staring at her before had been terrible, this is worse. Hundreds of demonic eyes peer out at her from where she’s suspended in the air, watching her with a hunger and desperation that unnerves her. Their claws grasp onto the edges of the dimension below her, almost as if beckoning her inside. But as soon as the thought crosses her mind, several doors slam shut in quick succession. There’s the strum of an instrument she doesn’t recognize to accompany each one, and each shut door makes her heart stutter. 

What is this? Why are all of these demons gathered here? Is this because of a technique? Is that how the building moves nonstop?

She needs to investigate and bring this information back to the Corps. 

Just as soon as her mind is made up, something catches the fabric of her haori, and she’s yanked backwards. Her back crashes against the tiles of the roof right as she hears a final, conclusive strum. The glow from within that infinite building is gone, along with the demons inside. 

“What are you doing?” a harsh voice demands. “You cannot go in there under any circumstances!”

Iguro’s blurry profile floats into her vision. The exhaustion she’s carried this entire night settles back into her mind, making it hard to focus, but it’s impossible to mistake him as anyone else. Kaburamaru peers down at her, reddish eyes bright. 

“Iguro-san,” Mitsuri says, her voice soft. “Hello.”

Iguro relaxes once she speaks. Perhaps her weariness has snuck into her voice, but his own tone softens. “Never go in there. Understand?”

She wants to cast a glance over the side of the roof, just to make sure that infinite dimension is well and truly gone. It almost seemed like a dream, an illusion, though she’s been a Hashira long enough to know that such techniques aren’t impossible. If all those demons seek refuge in such a fortress, the Corps are at a greater disadvantage than they fear. 

“I understand,” she says. But she knows in her heart that if the opportunity arises again, she would enter without a second thought. Anything to give the Corps an edge. But she can’t let Iguro know that. 

Iguro makes a satisfied sound. Before she can say anything further, he lifts his hand, and a sword slowly leaves from its center, the same one he used against her the day they went after Shinobu. Without another word, he leaves her side and marches towards the other end of the roof.

Where is he going?

Mitsuri tries to stand up, but it’s no use. The strength has been sapped from her legs, her knees tremble with every movement, and she can’t bring herself to carry her own weight. After a few seconds of trying, she has no choice but to fall back against the roof. Instead, she lifts her head in order to follow Iguro’s movements. 

There’s a soft sniffle, one she missed in the chaos of battle, but now that the demon’s gone and the silence of nighttime has returned, it’s unmistakable. The woman she saved is still bound by her restraints. She kneels on the roof a few paces from Mitsuri, quiet tears leaking from her eyes, and as Iguro nears her, her body trembles all over again. 

“Iguro-san—” Mitsuri tries. Don’t hurt her. 

Iguro either ignores her or doesn’t hear her. He continues until he stands over the woman, his sword braced in his hands. Kaburamaru lets out a quiet hiss before Iguro strikes, faster than she’s able to react. The ropes fall at the same time as his blade.

“Oh.” The woman shifts now that she’s free. Her eyes are still red-rimmed with tears as she stares up at Iguro. Mitsuri wonders what sort of conflicting emotions must be going through her mind. How can someone reconcile that one demon put them in danger only for their life to be spared by another? “T-Thank you.” Her attention turns to Mitsuri. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Mitsuri offers her best smile given the circumstances. “You’re very welcome! I’m glad that I could help.”

She dissolves once more into tears. Despite her urge to console her, Mitsuri can’t bring herself to move. She thinks that her body might crumple if she tries. But someone needs to get this woman home. Somewhere safe.

Iguro points off in the distance at something she cannot see. “You,” he says, an edge to his voice. “Get up here now. Or do you intend to let Kanroji do all the work while you hide away like cowards?”

Mere seconds later, two pairs of footsteps make their way up to the roof. Enomoto and Furukawa both look unscathed as their heads pop up. She’s glad—glad that she was able to fulfill her duty and protect them. 

They don’t make it more than two steps before Enomoto falters, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Iguro-sama!” he says in shock. He must not have recognized Iguro’s voice or have been able to see him from the ground, but recognition crosses his features. As soon as familiarity settles in, fear sneaks in after it. His hand inches towards the sword at his belt. 

Furukawa does the same. Iguro watches them both, bemused.

“Enomoto-san, Furukawa-san,” Mitsuri interjects. “Do not take out your weapons. We’re not in danger anymore.”

“But…Kanroji-sama!” Enomoto’s head whips towards her. “This is an Upper Rank demon. He’s a murderer!”

“Do you really think you’ll be able to slice off my head?” Iguro taunts. “You both did so well after all…when you ran out with your tails between your legs.”

“Iguro-san!” she reprimands before turning back towards the other slayers. It seems that Iguro hasn’t lost his knack for complaining about their somewhat-incompetent subordinates. “I am well aware of who he is. But at the moment, he’s not a threat. According to Oyakata-sama, unless the former Hashira attack us outright, we’re to leave them unharmed.”

“But—”

“This is Upper Six,” Furukawa says while glaring at Iguro. “We shouldn’t show this monster any mercy.”

Kaburamaru hisses at Furukawa, who, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. 

“This is Iguro-san,” she insists. It makes her feel a bit foolish, because Enomoto and Furukawa aren’t wrong. Iguro has killed many people; he’s committed crimes as Upper Six that are difficult to bear. But he didn’t ask for this. He would’ve never chosen this. No matter how much of an idiot it makes her, she can’t forsake a demon that shows her mercy and buys her socks. She can’t forsake a human she once cared about. That’s not who she is. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

At that, Iguro’s eyes flick over to hers. “Kanroji,” he says, a bit startled.

Mitsuri puts pressure on the soles of her feet, enough to ease herself upwards. It requires all of her remaining strength to stand, and even then, her legs shake with each step. Her body is seconds from crashing out. She didn’t realize she pushed herself so close to the brink. But still, she forces herself to walk over to Iguro. With a trembling arm, she braces her body in front of his, ignoring his wide-eyed expression and the gasps from her comrades.

“I’m sorry,” Mitsuri says. “But Iguro-san is important to the Corps. He’s important to Oyakata-sama.” And me. “Under my master’s orders, I cannot let you harm him when he hasn’t tried to hurt you. If you try to attack him, I will have to defend him.” She frowns. “Please don’t make me wield my sword against my comrades. I don’t want to.”

Their resolve flickers. Enomoto’s arm drops at the same time Furukawa takes a step back. She takes that as a sign she can relax, too, and she drops her arm. 

“Now.” There’s a slight tremor in Iguro’s voice, though she has no idea why. He steps forward. “You two, take this woman back home. Make sure any injuries she has are attended to. It’s the least you can do, as useless as you are.”

A vein in Furukawa’s forehead throbs. “You can’t order us around. You’re not a Hashira anymore.”

His gaze darkens. A shiver races down her spine. The other demons tonight were nothing compared to Iguro’s sheer force and presence. Even standing beside him is a lot to endure. “Do it,” he orders, leaving no room for argument. “You already made Kanroji kill over a hundred demons without help tonight because of how incapable you are.”

“We can’t leave you alone with her either.”

“It’s alright, Furukawa-san.” She can already feel her energy fading away. The momentary rush at the fear that Iguro would be attacked has dissipated. Her legs won’t hold her up much longer. “Iguro-san won’t hurt me. Please take care of her and report back to Headquarters.”

Both slayers hesitate, but after some time, they relent. Furukawa helps the woman up with Enomoto supporting her other side, and the three of them prepare to climb down. She offers Mitsuri a few more words of gratitude. By the time they’re gone, exhaustion sinks in, and her knees buckle. She falls back against the roof.

“Kanroji,” Iguro says sharply. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” It’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix. At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. “Just a little tired. It’s been a long night.” 

Iguro continues to stand over her. It’s a bit awkward now that everyone’s left. She doesn’t know why he’s here or why he’s still here, and he’s not forthcoming with information either. When she asked Shinobu for advice on how to approach Iguro, a small part of her worried she wouldn’t get the chance to speak with Iguro again. But each time he returns, she feels as though she’s walking on eggshells. The wrong step will make him disappear. 

Talking to him didn’t always feel so hard.

To her surprise, Iguro breaks the silence before she can. “You must be exhausted,” he says. “I saw how many demons you killed. An ordinary human shouldn’t be able to do that alone.”

“You could’ve done that too, Iguro-san.” Mitsuri shoots him a weary smile. He would have done it easily, and he wouldn’t have been half as shattered as she is by the end. “You were a Hashira too.”

Iguro lets out a noncommittal noise. 

Now that the demons are gone, there’s only the cacophony of crickets and cicadas to break through the quiet. The silence that seemed threatening before is now a comfort. She’s allowed to relax with the danger gone. 

Part of her wants to ask Iguro about what she saw. He might know. That infinite series of moving doors and rooms must be a demon technique, one that Upper Six might know about. But she doesn’t want to say anything rash. There’s no telling whether Iguro will report their conversation back to Muzan, and without wisteria, she can’t trust him to keep her secrets either. It’s better to keep quiet about it. Maybe it’s worth asking Shinobu about it instead. 

“Iguro-san.” She pats the spot on the roof beside her. “You can sit.”

“I should get going,” Iguro says, but he sits regardless, pulling his knees up to his chest.

The gentle breeze rustles through their clothes. The moon is bright over their heads, and despite how tired she is, her mind is at peace for once. If it were any other night, she would babble on and on, talking about anything and everything, but her brain is as exhausted as her body, and she can’t force herself to push through it. 

All she can manage are her most honest questions. “Why are you here, Iguro-san?”

He sighs. He taps his fingers against his kneecap, the glint of his claws shiny in the moonlight, before he draws out a familiar envelope. “I saw you through the bond. All of those demons—in the brief seconds before you killed them, they dreamed of eating you. It was hard to ignore.” His expression turns murderous for the briefest of seconds before his features relax once more. “I came to return this.”

“The letter?” Even though he holds it out to her, she doesn’t grasp it quite yet. “Why?”

“Because I don’t need it. It’s useless to me.”

“You didn’t like reading it?”

“No,” Iguro snaps, and she can’t help but flinch. “No. I…I don’t need it. I don’t want it. I don’t want this.” He speaks as though parroting someone else. She can’t be sure what he means by this. Is he only talking about the envelope?

Her voice is small as she whispers, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I…”

“I just wanted to give you something in return.” Mitsuri swings her legs out in front of her. Despite the grueling night, her bright-pink socks have sustained without so much as a scratch. “I hoped it would make you feel at least a fraction of how happy I was to receive your gift.”

Iguro looks at a loss for words. “It’s not…”

She can’t pretend it doesn’t sting a little. After all, she hoped that Iguro would understand why she couldn’t give up on him, just as he couldn’t give up on Shinazugawa. That was how far they went for the people they cared about. But maybe she went too far. Maybe the memories were too painful. She can’t begrudge him for wanting to keep his human life at bay. 

“You don’t need to explain yourself.” She beams at him. “If it doesn’t make you happy, I’ll take it back. I wouldn’t want it to be a burden.”

Iguro twists away from her for some inexplicable reason, and she’s left faltering. Kaburamaru, on the other hand, keeps watching her. He nods, almost as if encouraging her. 

“I’m grateful to see you tonight either way!” she says. “You were a huge help. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t showed up. It almost felt like we were on another mission together!”

Iguro’s ears turn pink. He says nothing. 

“Thank you,” she says, “for saving her. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Iguro says. “I’m an Upper Rank. You’re a Hashira. There’s nothing between us anymore. And you don’t have to defend me in front of other demon slayers either.”

Her heart pangs. Iguro might see it that way. How else can he reason in the aftermath of losing his memories? But she didn’t lose hers. She can’t walk away from him and pretend like he didn’t matter to her. 

“You can see it that way,” Mitsuri says, “but I don’t!” Her voice softens a fraction. “I’m not someone who can let things go easily. That includes people. You might not want me around, and that’s…fine. But I won’t pretend like you weren’t important to me. You’re still important.”

Iguro’s head snaps back around. He looks shell-shocked as he stares at her, his eyes unblinking. He doesn’t have anything to say to that either.

Mitsuri holds out her hand. “I’ll take back the letter if that’s what you want.”

His gaze falls to the envelope still gripped in his hand. She can tell by the new wrinkles that he did open it. He read it. It wasn’t her intention to distress him with its contents, but if it made Iguro think a little about his past, then she wouldn’t be upset about it. 

“It’s okay, Iguro-san.”

“No,” Iguro says decidedly. “I’ll keep it.” Before she can protest, he tucks it back into his haori, out of sight and out of reach.

“Are you sure?” she presses.

He raises an eyebrow. “You gave it to me. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll keep it.”

Her eyes widen, but her glee must be evident in her expression. “Alright!” She doesn’t know what she said to change his mind, but she’s glad. Taking the letter back might have meant sealing a door she isn’t ready to shut. 

“I should go,” Iguro says, standing up. “I can’t stay long.”

“Okay.” Urara still hasn’t returned from the mission Mitsuri gave her to find Shinobu. Without wisteria, she doesn’t want to test the bond’s limits. Iguro managed to track her because dozens of demons were looking at her. She imagines an Upper Rank’s vision is even more closely monitored than a hundred bottomfeeders. “Then I’ll see you?”

Iguro hesitates, and Mitsuri immediately wants to facepalm herself. Why is she pretending they have the same friendship as before? He can’t see her. It’ll get them both killed. 

“Probably not,” Iguro says. It hurts, but she can’t fault his honesty. His next words do manage to surprise her, though. “How are you getting home?”

She blinks. “Enomoto-san booked me a room at the nearest wisteria house. I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

“You can walk there?”

“Eventually!”

Iguro looks a little doubtful. Mitsuri tries to stand, but she’s as successful as her earlier attempts. She must look like a deer learning to walk with how graceless her motions are. 

After her third—failed—step, Iguro releases a sigh and stomps over to her. Before she can protest, his arms swing around the backs of her legs, and he lifts her into his arms without much preamble. She shrieks at the abruptness, though there’s little time to let her mind adjust. All she can think about is how his thumbs press into the dips behind her knees and how his chest still retains a human warmth unlike a demon’s. She can’t process anything else before Iguro bounds through the air at a speed that’s dizzying.

“Iguro-san!” Mitsuri shrieks, clutching onto his chest. 

His grip on her is tight to the point that she can feel the sharpness of his claws, but he doesn’t break the skin. At this speed, it would be easy for her to get hurt by accident. But he is careful despite his tunnel vision. It lasts for no more than three seconds before she realizes she’s on the ground again in front of a familiar crest.

Iguro is already racing across the rooftops by the time her mind catches up to what happened. “Thank you, Iguro-san!” she calls after his retreating back. Though he says nothing back and doesn’t turn around, she has a gut feeling he hears her. 

The birds chirping in the distance are the only sounds to accompany her as she works. The sun beats down on the nape of her neck while Shinobu continues to grind herbs, forcing them to the right consistency. This salve has proven to be more of a challenge than most of her solutions. She supposes she’s grown too accustomed to easily creating antidotes for the most troublesome of poisons with a single glance. Trying to make a salve for someone whose body isn’t human is tricky, though she doesn’t hate having to think outside the box. She likes testing her brain, and this is certainly a test—producing a cure for a bruise administered by the progenitor of demons.

It’s all she lets herself think about. All lingering thoughts of Tomioka are pushed out of reach. She doesn’t want to dwell on him or his words or anything else. Instead, she focuses on this salve and what is familiar. Even her usual chores are completed while she zones out. 

It’s a lot for her head to wrap around, so she’d rather not do it at all. These feelings are temporary. It’s been more than a week with Tomioka as her sole company, so it’s natural that it would all go to her head. Once they’re free from the cult’s clutches, they’ll return to normalcy, and she’ll forget about everything that happened while they were here.

Thankfully, Tomioka hasn’t mentioned their baths or her foolish choice to hug him after the fact. It’s both a relief and not at the same time. It’s unfair that she has to be the only one stuck on the embarrassment of it all. If only he gave any indication that it had an effect on him, she might feel better. At least then she wouldn’t be the only one suffering.

With that, Shinobu releases a sigh and sets the bowl down. She’s almost satisfied with how the salve has turned out. Whether it will work is a different story, but she has to try. She can’t be a doctor who turns a blind eye to the pain of her patients, even if their bodies happen to be more indestructible than most. 

A branch crunches behind her. “Shinobu-san.”

“Ah.” Shinobu smacks her hands together to rid herself of the dust. “Shoko! How are you doing?”

The most she’s seen of Shoko since their meeting with Tomioka has been through quick conversations after mealtimes. Their chores haven’t aligned since, and with her newfound dedication towards Tomioka’s medicine and Shoko’s focus on her garden, they haven’t crossed paths as much as usual. But it’s a pleasant surprise for Shoko to approach her first. It can only be a good thing. 

Shoko nods. “I’m okay.” Her eyes slide past Shinobu’s shoulder towards the collection of herbs arranged in front of her on her makeshift desk, which is little more than a chopped tree trunk. “What are you doing?”

“Giyuu-dono asked for my help.” She brushes the leftover herbs away into an extra pouch. They might prove useful later on. “He wanted to know if I could create something to soothe a pain he has.”

“And? You could?”

“I’d like to say yes! But truthfully, I don’t know. Giyuu-dono is a unique case, and I’ve never seen a bruise like the one he has.” 

“Oh.” 

Shoko stays quiet while Shinobu tidies up. She scoops the salve into a jar she borrowed from the kitchen before twisting the cap shut. “Was there something you needed, Shoko?”

When Shoko doesn’t respond, Shinobu looks back over her shoulder. Shoko wrings her hands in front of her. She gnaws on her bottom lip. She looks almost hesitant to speak, which doesn’t make sense. She’s never known Shoko to give anything less than the cold and honest truth. Something must be bothering her. 

“Shoko?” Shinobu tries again. 

She grabs the pouch and the jar before standing up, putting herself at equal level with Shoko. Her smile attempts to be reassuring. 

“I don’t know if I should say,” Shoko admits. Her mouth twists with uncertainty, and the alarm bells in her head are set off. “I don’t want to bother you. You are already doing so much for me.”

“Shoko,” Shinobu says. “It’s alright. If there’s something you need, please tell me. I’ll try my best to make it happen. Or I’ll bother Giyuu-dono!”

Her attempt at a joke causes Shoko to crack a smile. “I don’t want to bother him either. Giyuu-dono…is nice.”

“Mm.” Tomioka is nice. He’s kind and strong and heroic and honorable. It’s what makes everything so difficult. “He wouldn’t mind, though. I think he’d like to be bothered, especially if something was worrying you.”

Shoko seems to consider this. Her hair has been pulled into a plait today, and Shinobu wonders who helped her with it—Yukina, maybe. Shoko has a place here within the cult, which Saki never did. She’s loved and cared for. And yet, that doesn’t matter. So long as she remains here, she will never be safe. No one will. The only route to safety means keeping Shoko far away from that monster.

“I don’t know if I’m worrying for no reason,” Shoko says.

“Then let me hear it,” Shinobu insists. “I’ll offer my opinion.”

“Fine.” Her hands drop against her sides as she summons her resolve. “I think Akane-chan has gone missing.”

“Akane-chan?” 

She hasn’t seen much of the young girl since Makoto passed, but she’s usually at the same table for meals, prattling on in endless chatter. She can’t remember the last time she saw her. She’s been isolated from the others now that she sleeps in Tomioka’s room. If someone else disappeared, she wouldn’t know. 

But then again, Upper Two hasn’t returned according to Tomioka. There shouldn’t be any sudden disappearances within the cult. She hasn’t sensed another demon around. 

If Akane has gone missing, it can’t be good. 

“When did you see her last?” Shinobu asks. 

“Dinner. Last night.” Shoko grabs at the end of her plait and toys with her hair. “She didn’t show up for breakfast or lunch.”

That is a definite cause for concern. Mealtimes are part of the rigid routine enforced at the shrine. There’s never been much leeway around them. If Akane has skipped meals, there’s reason to worry. 

“Do you think she would have left on her own?” From what Shinobu knows of Akane, she’s a stubborn and independent person, but there’s only so far that independence can grow within a cult of people driven by a sense of community. Would she have felt so stifled that she took it upon herself to leave without telling anyone? “I don’t know her that well.”

“No!” Shoko says, shaking her head. “Akane-chan loved it here. She wouldn’t have left.” Her lip wobbles. “Do you think something happened to her? Maybe she went on a walk and got lost. Or maybe she slipped down the mountain because of the rain last night. Or…”

Shinobu reaches out to grip Shoko’s shoulder. To her relief, Shoko doesn’t flinch away. “Shoko, you can’t think like that. Maybe someone in the shrine knows where she is. Have you asked anyone?”

“No. I don’t want anyone else to worry.”

“Okay. Let’s not get carried away, then. Let me talk to Giyuu-dono. He might have granted her permission to leave.” She knows this is a dead-end. Tomioka would have told her if someone left. Something is wrong. But he might be the best person to figure out her whereabouts. “In the meantime, you let me take care of this.”

“No!” Shoko shouts, a little too loudly. Her gaze shifts to the side. The branches overhead shake as a bird leaves at the sudden sound. “I…I want to help. She’s my friend. Can’t I help search?”

This forest is vast, and finding anyone would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Luckily, she can rely on her senses to track if she’s alone. With Tomioka, he might be able to find her fighting spirit. Both of those methods will be much harder with Shoko around. She wants to deny her.

But as she stares at Shoko, she can see the beads of sweat on her forehead. It reminds her so much of Kanao—how her body would never let herself cry. However, instead of grief, Shoko’s eyes are wide with panic, skittish with fear. She might be terrified for Akane, but she’s also willing to brave the forest in order to find her. 

“I’ll ask Giyuu-dono,” Shinobu says, unwilling to give her a direct answer. “I’ll let you know what he says.”

“Thank you!” Before she can react, Shoko dives forward, her arms ensnaring Shinobu around the waist. The hug is tight but quick, and she hardly gets the chance to return it before Shoko releases her. “Thank you, Shinobu-san!”

Shoko runs back into the forest in the direction of the shrine, not giving her the chance to say anything else. Shinobu watches her leave with a slight smile on her face. There are plenty of things that worry her about their conversation, but at least Shoko is willing to rely on her. 

To her surprise, Tomioka is nowhere to be found when she returns to his room after dinner. After a moment, she hears the sound of running water in the next room over, and she relaxes. 

If he’s in the onsen, there is another issue at hand—whether or not she’s allowed to join him. But before she can think too hard about it, there’s a meow that interrupts her train of thought. Chachamaru appears in the corner of the room, the remnants of Yushiro’s technique falling from him like leaves, and the soft pitter-patter of his paws makes their way over to her. 

“Chachamaru,” Shinobu says in greeting. She can’t conceal the surprise in her voice. She was expecting a reply from Tamayo at some point, but she thought Tamayo would send En back. If Chachamaru is here, then he must be carrying something a little more valuable than blood. “It’s good to see you.” 

Chachamaru mewls as she kneels down in front of him. He jerks his head towards the backpack he carries, and she carefully undoes the clasp. As soon as it opens, the contents spill out: three more bags of blood, a folded letter, and a syringe she doesn’t recognize. 

“What’s this?” Shinobu asks. The solution inside is almost milky-white. She doesn’t remember seeing it amongst Tamayo’s work. 

Chachamaru paws at the letter. 

“Very well!” She picks up the letter next and unfolds it, the paper crinkling with each touch. 

Kocho-san, 

I hope you’re doing well and that your missions have been successful. En told me that you are undercover for the time being. I hope you’re not in any danger. I’d hope you’d tell Ubuyashiki if you were.

A touch of guilt hits her. 

I’ll keep this letter short. Yushiro and I have been hard at work analyzing the most recent sample of Tomioka-san’s blood. Even though his previous sample is only about two weeks old, the difference between the two is astronomical. It’s almost as if he isn’t the same demon. If I had to guess, I think his cell growth rate has now surpassed Nezuko’s. 

There is good news to this. The prototypes of the cure that we’ve been feeding him are present in his blood. The amounts are smaller than I would’ve liked, but I believe his body is accepting the doses now. I’m not sure what’s changed, but I’m pleased at these results. Because of this, Yushiro and I feel confident that the first version of the cure is ready to test. I’ve sent it to you with Chachamaru.

The syringe. Shinobu picks it up in her free hand and twists it against the light. Is this the result they’ve been waiting for? 

Keep in mind that we haven’t attempted to inject any demon with this yet! I figured you would be able to do this more easily than either of us. I do have to warn you. Do not use this on Tomioka. If this cure fails, it will kill him. We won’t know until we test it, so please try this on a demon whose life you’re willing to bargain with. 

As we’ve discussed, the effects of this should be quick and painful. Please keep us posted on the results.

As usual, I’ve sent along more blood for Tomioka-san with adapted versions of the cure. If possible, can you send along another blood sample? He really is fascinating, though I believe you’ve already come to the same conclusion.

Stay safe.

Tamayo

She weighs the syringe in her hand. Admittedly, when she first began reading the letter, her gut instinct had been to use it on Tomioka. If this works, it’ll end his suffering. It’ll cut his ties to Muzan and the Kizuki, and he’ll be free to return to the Corps. He’ll be human again. 

But Tamayo had been correct to warn her. This is a test, and tests can be volatile. If they mess up, it’ll be his life that pays the price. She’s come to terms with the fact that she isn’t willing to bargain with Tomioka’s livelihood. It’ll have to be another demon, one that is insignificant to her. It shouldn’t be hard to find one once she leaves the shrine. 

“Thank you, Chachamaru,” she says. She stands up to grab her pillow and sets it up beside the window. “You can rest here if you want.”

With a soft meow, Chachamaru rubs against her shins before flopping onto the cushion. Within seconds, his eyes droop. 

Shinobu strokes his ear once, the urge taking over, before she leaves him to head in the direction of the onsen. 

The hot air bursts around her like a bubble the moment she walks in. The warmth is almost unbearable through the fabric of her clothes. More than anything, she wants to pull them off, to sink beneath the water as if everything is normal. She doesn’t even know where to begin with Tomioka. She doesn’t know what to say to him. 

But she doesn’t get the chance to worry about that. When the steam clears, Tomioka is at the edge of the tub, his forearms braced upon the floor, his eyes peering up at her with some drowsiness. 

“I have bad news,” he says. He doesn’t give her the chance to prepare herself before shattering her world. “I’ve sensed Douma nearby.”

Chapter Text

“What?” She can’t hear him over the ringing in her own ears. She must have misheard him. “What did you say?”

“He’s near,” Tomioka says. He pulls himself away from the tub’s edge and turns around so that his back is to her. A sigh escapes him as he lowers himself into the warm waters. “He hasn’t come back to the shrine, but I’ve felt him through the bond today. That means he’s around.”

Then they’re out of time. They’re losing their chance to save Shoko, and they’re losing their chance to preserve their cover. As soon as Upper Two realizes she’s still alive, he’ll know something is awry. He’ll find her out as a demon slayer, and there’s no telling what danger the rest of the shrine will be in. 

Shinobu clenches her teeth. Of course. Of course. As soon as luck turns in her favor, misfortune has to meet her in equal measure. If they make a breakthrough on the cure, then Upper Two has to return for the universe to be fair. It’s almost like a cruel joke, filling her with hope before crushing it beneath their fingertips. 

“Shit,” she swears. “Then—”

“He’s not coming back tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“A hunch. He can be…predictable, if you’ve got him figured out. He might return tomorrow evening. That’s what worries me.”

“Then I have to leave,” Shinobu says. “Don’t I?”

Tomioka nods slowly. “Probably.” He pauses, considering. “I should leave too. I don’t think he’ll want me around after the stunt I pulled.”

“Then Shoko…”

“We have to push Shoko into going back for Saku tomorrow,” Tomioka says. “If we can’t do that, then it’s a lost cause.”

Normally, this would be a simple ask—if not for what Shinobu learned this afternoon. Shoko won’t leave now, not until she learns what happened to Akane. They’ll have to find Akane, then drag Shoko away. It’s a lot to accomplish in a single day; it might not be feasible. 

The overwhelming pressure weighs her down. Any satisfaction she got from Tamayo’s letter has faded. All she has left is dread in its place, filling her insides, twisting her mind with worry. If she fails…if she fails—

She needs to tell Tomioka about Akane. She opens her mouth.

“Kocho.”

Tomioka’s flat voice drags her out of the whirlwind in her head. He’s half-turned to look at her. 

Shinobu clears her throat. “Yes?”

“Can I wash your hair?”

What? She reels back. “Huh?”

His eyes flicker away from her, as if his question surprised him too. “You offered to wash my hair last time because you saw I was worried, like you thought it would help me relax. Since I’ve worried you, I thought I would ask.”

She had asked, though it had been meant as a joke. She never expected Tomioka to go along with it in any capacity. It had only been meant to tease, to lower his defenses. If this is how he’d like to play, she’ll indulge him. “Hm,” she muses. “Only if you let me wash your hair in return.”

His lips purse. She’s already expecting his refusal, so much so that she barely registers his answer. “Fine.”

Her eyes bulge out of her skull. “Really?” Her voice is shrill—more than she’d like. “You’re joking, right?”

“Are you?”

That’s the standstill, because Shinobu isn’t willing to let Tomioka win over her in any capacity, even in something as ridiculous as a goading she started. No matter how awkward, she has to see it through to the end. “Of course not! I’d love it if you washed my hair.”

There’s a faint blush across his nose as he turns around again. “Alright.”

“Just let me undress first.”

“Can you bring a bucket over too?”

“Mhm.”

This is a bad idea, she’s realized. If she thought she had conflicting emotions about Tomioka before, she hasn’t made it any easier for herself to sort through them. If she wanted to come to terms with her feelings, she should have put some distance between them, not invited him to wash her hair. There is no world in which an unmarried man and woman should be doing this for each other, and yet, they plan to. When did it all get so twisted?

There’s no time to think twice. The longer she takes to undress, the more the invisible pressure builds. Even though Tomioka doesn’t urge her to hurry, his presence means he’s waiting. She’ll hate herself for her foolishness later.

Quickly undoing the belt of her kimono and tugging off the fabric, her clothes fall to the floor around her, leaving her naked and exposed. She brings over the bucket Tomioka requested before climbing inside, one leg at a time. Tomioka has his eyes closed as she enters, as if he caught enough glimpses of her yesterday and isn’t ready to risk another. 

“Ready,” Shinobu says once she’s submerged. She pulls the bucket close to the edge. “How would you like me to…er, stand?”

Tomioka straightens. His face is still red. She doubts it’ll disappear anytime soon, especially as he says, “Please turn around.”

Her own face warms, but she forces an unshakable smile despite it. He won’t get the satisfaction of having frayed her nerves. She spins around in place. “Like this?”

“Yes.” His voice sounds nearer, like he’s right behind her. She shouldn’t turn around, not when it’s possible Tomioka’s standing at his full height and she might get a different view than she bargained for. It’s better for her to do as instructed: face the outside of the tub and stare straight ahead. But they’re almost as close as they were yesterday; the only difference is that their skin hasn’t touched yet. Knowing that, her heart beats at a furious pace in her chest, having him close. “One second.”

His fingers knot themselves into her hair and tug at the butterfly clip. It doesn’t take long for it to come undone, and her hair falls into its usual length, just below her chin. Tomioka leans over her to set the clip outside of the onsen, causing his arm to brush hers, and she has to press her lips together to avoid letting out a sound. 

“Close your eyes.”

It’s all the warning she gets before Tomioka dumps a bucket of water over her head, drenching her to the bone. Her wet hair sticks against her skin. She sputters in surprise, and her head whips backwards without thinking.

“Tomioka-san!” she snaps. “You should’ve said—”

She only catches a glimpse of Tomioka’s toned abdomen before his hand nudges her skull and sets her forward again. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

Shinobu sighs as she rests her head against the outside of the onsen. “It’s fine.”

With that, Tomioka’s hands return to her hair, this time with a different purpose. His fingers knot into the locks, his claws scraping her scalp, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut to keep from reacting. Carefully, with deliberate movements, his hands stroke through her hair, covering each strand with shampoo, and all that fills the room is the muted sounds of the suds as he wrings out her hair.

“Is this okay?” Tomioka asks after a moment. He sounds hesitant. He shouldn’t, though. She’s at a loss for words, not because he’s doing something wrong, but because she feels so at ease. 

Despite hearing the worst news, within seconds, she’s found herself relaxing again. When her girls were little, she would help them with her hair. When Kanao first joined them, she couldn’t even summon the impulse to wash herself, so Shinobu took that upon herself too. Looking back, it seemed so simple to do, but she hopes Kanao understood what she was trying to say through her actions: now that you have a place, you will be taken care of, and that means you should take care of yourself too.

Eventually, Kanao grew, both in size and maturity, and she no longer needed Shinobu to hover over every choice she made. It was a good thing as it meant Kanao could be trusted to look after herself. But in a way, it also meant that she didn’t need Shinobu quite as heavily as before, and something so wonderful also became bittersweet. 

In that sense, washing someone’s hair was like an outpouring of love. Tomioka doesn’t love her, not in any amount, but she can sense that he cares for her in every careful tangle. 

“Thank you,” she whispers in lieu of an answer. 

Tomioka freezes at that, but recovers quickly. His fingers resume scrubbing the shampoo in deeper, and she lets out a wistful sigh as he tangles his fingers along the crown of her head. 

“Sorry if my claws are too sharp,” he says.

“It feels nice,” she assures him.

“O-Okay.”

Winding her hair up in her typical updo, he refills the bucket, and this time, Shinobu braces herself for the sudden drop of water. It cascades down her shoulders, and the shampoo washes away in the pool, mixing in with the rest of the soap. Before she can move, Tomioka grips her hair again, his hand wrapping around the entirety of it, and he squeezes out the excess water. He’s exceedingly thorough, intent on not doing a half-assed job, and even though she can’t even see him, her face continues to redden further. 

“There,” Tomioka says, sounding pleased with himself. “Done.”

He untangles his fingers, and his final words come out in an exhale against the nape of her neck. Unprepared, a groan escapes her lips, one that she hopes gets lost in the sound of running water. 

“Great!” Shinobu twists around to find that he’s put their former distance back between them. He’s back at his spot at the opposite side of the onsen. Though he won’t escape her for long. “My turn!”

“Hm. Should I kneel?”

Right. She’ll never reach him at his full height. “Close your eyes.”

He does as asked. Shinobu crosses to the other side of the tub where he stands, and she clambers out right before she reaches him. If she sits along the outer edge of the tub, his head will be at her level if he sinks further in. That’s about the best she can ask for, but it does mean she will have to sit outside the warm waters with only her feet soaked. There’s also the caveat that means she’ll have to sit behind Tomioka butt-naked and hope he doesn’t turn around to get the full view of her chest. But she’ll worry about that later.

She narrowly avoids kicking him in the face as she swings her legs around him. She’s already inched back as much as possible, but she can’t retreat any further without being unable to touch him completely. It’s awkward, but it’ll have to do.

She can tell Tomioka’s eyes pop open once she swings her legs over his shoulders so that they hang over his chest. 

“Kocho! What—”

“Hush.” She grips the top of his skull to keep him faced forward. “This is the only way I can comfortably do this. Don’t turn around.”

“But…” Tomioka stammers. He had it easier before in comparison. He could stand behind her, their vital parts concealed from the other, without touching more than was necessary. Right now, she’s half-clambered on top of him, her ankles tapping against his stomach, his head between her thighs. If she had any intention of walking out with her dignity intact, it’s a lost cause. “Isn’t there another way?”

“As everyone likes to remind me, I’m too short and small. So this way it is.”

He lets out a noncommittal noise. If she looks down, the blush has extended to his neck. “...Okay.”

“I’ll be quick,” Shinobu promises. 

Her mind settles into focus, and she grabs the bucket Tomioka used on her, filling it to the brim with water. As soon as she dumps it over Tomioka’s head, he sputters all over again, and pleasure curls in her gut at having had her revenge. 

His black hair, dark as a crow’s wing, sticks against his skin. He’s kept it out of his usual low ponytail for most of their time here, and it shows. As soon as her fingers touch the first strands, it’s as easy to pull apart as paper. 

Shinobu gets to work. After all, it’s distracting to feel every breath Tomioka takes beneath her legs. She’s well aware of their precarious position. She’d like to free herself as soon as possible too. With that in mind, she rubs the shampoo on her fingertips before knotting her hands in Tomioka’s hair. 

It’s been some time since she’s washed someone else’s hair, but old habits die hard, and she falls into the routine like she never broke it—starting from the top of the head, tightening through the middle, scrunching up the ends. All the while, Tomioka is quiet and compliant beneath her—almost to the point that she worries he isn’t breathing. 

“Does this hurt, Tomioka-san?” Shinobu asks, just to be sure.

“No.” His voice sounds strained. “It’s fine.”

“I might not have claws, but I can be a bit rough from time to time. Stop me if that’s the case.”

“You’re—fine.” This sentence sounds as though it’s been dragged from his throat, so she decides not to push further. 

Shinobu keeps going. She’s never actually touched another man’s hair like this. When it comes to her patients, their hair is the least of her concerns, so it’s nice to have all the time in the world to stroke through it. Tomioka’s hair is sleek and long, and it’s simple enough to fall into a rhythm. 

“I like your hair,” she admits. She isn’t sure why she says it. Perhaps the quiet has eased her vulnerability. “You should wear it down more often.”

Tomioka considers this. “It’s not easy to fight with long hair that isn’t tied back.”

“No,” she agrees. “It’s not.”

She scrubs in the last of the shampoo into his smooth hair and strokes through the strands with gentle fingers with a smile teasing her lips. Satisfied, Shinobu dumps the water back over his head, and the shampoo trails away with the rest of the soap.

“All done!” Shinobu announces, pleased with herself. Now comes the hard part: removing herself from Tomioka. “Wait one second—”

“You’re done?”

“Yes, just let me—”

But Tomioka doesn’t wait. Without warning, one of his hands latches onto her ankle with an iron-tight grip. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t get the chance to react before she feels herself flipping over. The soap-filled water is the last thing she sees before she splashes in.

She’s only underwater for a matter of seconds. Shinobu bursts out with a shriek. 

He dunked her in the water. He dunked her. She can’t believe him. She might have expected this from Uzui, but Tomioka? “Tomioka-san, are you a child? I can’t believe you’d do that after I did something out of the goodness of my heart—”

The sound of something peculiar stops her in her tracks. Something she’s never heard before. Something she never thought she’d get to hear. When her gaze lands on Tomioka, he’s doubled over. Laughing.

She’s never heard him laugh before. She never realized he could create a sound so gentle, but his laughter has stolen any subsequent words out of her mouth and frozen her in place. It’s bright and cheerful, and for once, he doesn’t look like someone so burdened that he’s a stranger to a smile. He laughs like his face was made for it, turning up his lips and indenting his cheeks.

Yukina was right. Tomioka’s handsome, but he’s most handsome like this, when he laughs without a care in the world. 

It takes Tomioka a few seconds to rein his laughter in. “Sorry, Kocho,” he says, still smiling. “I don’t know what came over me.”

She pouts, trying not to show how pleased she is that his own mask has cracked. “I don’t know either.”

“It’s not so bad. It’s better a bath than a waterfall.”

“A waterfall?”

At that, Tomioka’s smile falls, and she wishes she hadn’t asked. He raises a hand to his temple, his brows furrowed. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “A waterfall. I think…I remember another boy. I think he pushed me in before he jumped in after me. I…remember hearing him laugh the entire way until the water swallowed me whole.”

Shinobu knows what her next question should be: is this a human memory? But it would be like picking at an open wound, and she can’t bear to do that. Not when Tomioka’s face fell so quickly it was like it never laughed to begin with. 

“Sorry,” Tomioka says, back to his former self. “I shouldn’t have done that without warning. I’m sure Nee-san would’ve scolded me for that.”

He refers to his older sister—the one he doesn’t fully remember—so casually. It makes her heart soar. “It’s alright. I’m hardly fragile, you know. You’ve done worse things. Like choking me!”

“What?”

“To be fair, we were fighting, and I was seconds away from stabbing out your eye.”

Tomioka pouts. 

“I’m only kidding!” Shinobu says. Anything to lift his spirits a bit. Anything to stave off the darkness that surrounds them. Now that the moment’s passed, all she can think about is Akane. She sinks back into the water. “Anyway, let’s move past that. There’s something I should mention.”

His eyebrows flick up as he mirrors her, lowering himself. The bruise on his chest looks the same, she notes. “What is it?”

“I know you said we need to convince Shoko to leave tomorrow,” she says, wincing. No matter how she delays the inevitable, it’ll bite them regardless. “But she won’t. She’s worried because Akane is missing.”

“Who’s Akane?”

“She’s about Shoko’s age. Same sort of temper. She sits at my table for meals.”

“Okay.”

“According to Shoko, she hasn’t been seen all day. She went to dinner yesterday, and after that…” Shinobu shakes her head. “Shoko doesn’t know where she would have gone.”

Tomioka purses his lips. “Maybe she wasn’t feeling well. Maybe she went to find a doctor.”

“You don’t think she would have told you before leaving?”

“These people don’t trust me like they trust Douma.” His tone is conclusive, giving her no room to argue. “They listen to me because he ordered them to, not because they trust me. They respect me because he told them to. That doesn’t mean they’ll treat me like they do Douma, and ask for my permission.”

“Well, did you notice anyone leave last night?”

He shakes his head. “But I only keep track of certain fighting spirits. Yours. Shoko’s. Douma’s.”

“Do you think he would have come back to eat her?” Tomioka did mention that Upper Two is nearby. It’s possible.

But again, he shakes his head. “It’s too much of a bother for him to return to take one girl, especially when he could have an easier meal elsewhere.” A pause. “Maybe he’s asked her to run an errand.”

“Would he do that?”

Tomioka shrugs. “Possibly. I’m sure that he has a few people here who plan ahead for new locations they can stay at. People that know how quickly this cult relocates.”

That doesn’t bode well. “Either way, Shoko won’t go peacefully if she isn’t sure Akane is safe.”

Tomioka stares at her, unflinching. It’s like he already knows what she plans to ask next, but he isn’t going to give her an answer until she says it aloud. Her own eyes narrow. She hates that he’s got her in the palm of his hand right now. She still has to get back at him for being dunked. 

But this is about more than her. An innocent girl is missing. She’s willing to play all the cards she has if it means preserving her safety. She won’t fail again. She won’t let Akane follow Makoto. 

Shinobu asks, “Will you help me look for her?”

Tomioka sighs before reaching back for a towel. “It won’t be easy. We’re already on a time crunch. If Douma returns by nighttime, then our cover is blown. We’ll have to leave. With or without Shoko.”

She knows that as well as he does. When the sun sets, they won’t have a choice in the matter. They can’t stay any longer. “I know. But I want to try.”

Despite the fact that his head disappears as he runs the towel through his hair to dry it, she can feel his judgmental stare. It’s unnerving, especially when he lowers the towel to reveal his flat gaze in full force. “It’s dangerous.”

“We can be quick. If you try and track her fighting spirit—”

“It isn’t that easy. Most fighting spirits are dim. They’re not like yours. People who aren’t warriors look mostly the same.”

She didn’t know that. If that is the case, then their odds of success are lower than she thought. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

He falters. “No, that’s on me. I never fully explained how it works.” He pulls the towel away from his hair, rumpled and disheveled. “I’ve memorized how yours looks, so I can track you without much trouble.”

“Scary,” she comments.

“Sorry. But that’s how it works. Without ever noticing Akane’s, I might not be much help.”

“Then what should we do?” Shinobu demands. “Nothing?”

“No. We’ll try and find her.” Tomioka eyes her warily before reaching forward. The towel envelops her in an instant, blocking his face from view, and she can’t even respond as Tomioka ruffles her hair to dry it in the same manner. “Of course we won’t do nothing. But if we fail to find Akane, then we take Shoko, I knock her out with my technique, and we leave the rest to Saki to explain. It’s not how I would’ve liked to do this, but we’ll adjust.”

The towel parts. She spots his blue eyes through the gap, peering down at her. But she can’t respond with how her heart swells. 

Tomioka is aware of the risks. He’s acknowledged the dangers, and still, he’s willing to try, simply because she’s asked. He’s willing to risk everything. It means more to her than he’ll ever know. 

Shinobu nods numbly. 

“Okay,” Tomioka says, drawing back with the towel in hand. His eyes are a bit wide, like he’s only just realized what he’s done. “Um. Let’s get out. The water’s cold.”

She nods again, unable to respond with words. She has just enough sense to snatch the towel back from Tomioka and cover herself before climbing out. 

Shinobu is tense once she returns to Tomioka’s room, fully dressed, though she has no idea why. Tomioka is now in the loop regarding Akane, and even better, he’s agreed to help her search. Upper Two might be a risk, but according to Tomioka, he still hasn’t come back to the shrine. By all accounts, the most pressing issues have been dealt with. Even so, her brain runs at a hundred miles a minute, and she can’t seem to stop moving whether it’s through her fingers twitching or pacing back and forth.

“Kocho.” Tomioka’s in the middle of brushing his hair near the window. He twists back to look at her as she circles around the room a third time. “Are you okay?”

“Just fine!” she returns as easily. The truth is she doesn’t know what’s gotten her so agitated, but this room suddenly feels too small and Tomioka isn’t far enough, despite the fact that they’re at the furthest points of the room from each other. “Why?”

Tomioka gives her a flat look, but decides not to elaborate before returning to the task at hand.

She releases a slow breath. She ought to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day, regardless of what happens. She doubts her mind will relax enough to do it, though. 

Tomioka runs the comb through his hair a final time before setting it aside. He really does look like some otherworldly being like this, she thinks, his posture rigid and his movements calculated and deliberate. She’s complained about the cult members falling prey to Upper Two’s manipulation, but she has the misfortune of knowing his ugly side. Perhaps if she encountered a demon like Tomioka without any prior knowledge, she might fall into his trap too.

Or not. Experience has made her mistrustful.

It’s only then that she remembers the salve she made earlier that afternoon, sitting in the corner of the room in a glass jar. She meant to give it to Tomioka, but she can’t trust that he’ll apply it. 

“Tomioka-san.” Shinobu wanders over to where she left the jar and twists off the top. “If you’re done brushing your hair, I have something for you.”

He glances over his shoulder at her. “What is it?”

“Don’t ask questions. Open the front of your yukata.”

“I have…many questions,” Tomioka mumbles. He shuffles around so that he faces her, but he doesn’t pull off his clothes as requested. Instead, he eyes the jar in her hand. “What is that, firstly?”

Shinobu walks over to him, the invisible tension in the room forgotten, and she kneels in front of him. The jar is halfway full. She sets it aside for the time being. “It’s my own creation,” she answers cheerily with no small amount of pride in her voice. It always brings her satisfaction when her hands can do something worthwhile instead of cut-throat murder. “I made a salve to try and lower the swelling of your bruise.”

Tomioka’s eyes widen. “This one?” He points at his chest. 

“Yes!”

“I don’t think it’ll work.” His arm drops back to his side, and he crosses his legs beneath him. “It’s a mark left by him. It won’t disappear—”

“Until he wants it to, blah, blah,” Shinobu finishes for him. He shoots her a glare that she dutifully ignores. “Anyway. I don’t accept that. Everything should have a solution, and every sickness in this world has some sort of cure. I don’t care where it comes from. I want to figure it out.”

“It might not work, though.”

“You let me worry about that. Just let me try.”

His mouth twists. “Will it hurt?”

“Not at all,” Shinobu replies. “My only intention here is to reduce the swelling. It still looks like a bruise after the first day. I want the color to disappear a bit.”

Tomioka exhales through his nostrils. 

“May I?” Shinobu asks, jerking her head in the direction of his chest. At that, Tomioka’s gaze lowers, and with some degree of hesitation, his hands reach for his own belt to loosen it. 

After a few tugs, the fabric gives, and the snug fit of his yukata becomes a bit looser, just as she needs it to be. He’s even in the perfect position. It might be easier if he were lying down, but she doubts Tomioka would like to leave himself at her mercy, and this is good enough. 

There is another problem. Now that he’s loosened his clothes, she needs to expose his chest. Normally, this would be a non-issue. It still would if this were any other patient. But as she reaches for the collar, her fingers tremble almost imperceptibly. As soon as her hands clutch onto the V of his collar, she pulls gently, and the fabric around his chest and shoulders sinks, exposing his front. All of a sudden, her mouth is very dry.

The bruise is as dark as it was the first time she saw it. She chooses to focus on that, and not the definition of his abdomen or the width of his shoulders. She will be professional. 

“Alright,” Shinobu murmurs. “I’ll get started.”

Shinobu reaches for the jar she set aside and dips her fingers inside to gather a dollop. All the while, she feels Tomioka’s eyes on her, following every movement she makes. It’s unnerving to say the least. She’s glad he averts his gaze when she faces him again. 

Her fingers graze the top of the bruise. Immediately, Tomioka sucks in a breath, and his eyes flutter shut, almost as if he’s in pain.

“Does that hurt?” she asks. It shouldn’t, but this isn’t an ordinary wound. It’s possible there are repercussions she didn’t account for.

“No,” Tomioka says quickly. “It’s—fine.”

It doesn’t sound fine, but she won’t question her good fortune. She trails her fingers along the outline of the dark shape, her touch feather-light.

“It’s cold,” Tomioka mutters.

“Sorry. I’ll use my entire hand then.”

Before Tomioka can say anything, Shinobu splays her hand across his chest, ignoring the thump of her own heart. At the same time, a full-bodied shiver works its way down Tomioka’s spine. 

“Better?” Shinobu asks as she begins rubbing it into the skin in wide circles. Her eyes flicker up to check on his expression, though it hasn’t changed much. He’s tense and strained for reasons she can’t fathom. 

“Mm. I don’t know.”

“Well, please bear with it! I’ll be done soon.”

Shinobu leans forward more. His yukata threatens to fall back into place, and she has to tug it further to the side to capture how the bruise stretches to his ribs. Quick, she tells herself. But thorough. She’d rather take her time than do a poor job.

The hair that frames her face falls into her eyes as she moves forward, bracing her knee on Tomioka’s. He shifts beneath her.

“Kocho.” His voice is strained. “I don’t think…this position is working for me.”

“Why?” she asks. “Am I hurting you?”

“...No.”

“I have a bony knee. That must be it.”

“Not it,” Tomioka whispers under his breath. 

Shinobu refocuses. She hates that her brain focuses on how his stomach feels under her palm, rather than the heat of his bruise. What is happening to her? She just needs to finish this. She’s nearly done, anyway. 

She empties out the last of the jar and rubs the remnants against his chest. Tomioka hasn’t opened his eyes the entire time she’s been working. For his sake, she speeds up as much as she can, and massages the last of the salve into the skin. 

“There,” Shinobu says as she admires her handiwork. The salve has all but disappeared into the skin, though there is a shininess that lingers on the bruise. She’ll only be able to see if it’s worked tomorrow. “All done.”

Finally, Tomioka pries his eyes open to inspect her work. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she says, popping the lid back on the jar. “Only thank me if it works!”

“No. I should thank you regardless.” He lifts his head up to meet her eyes, and his gaze pins her in place where she is—half-hovering over his lap, much too close to his body. “I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.”

“It was no trouble,” Shinobu insists, and she wishes Tomioka wouldn’t see it that way. “It was an intellectual challenge! I don’t like letting the progenitor of demons win all the time.” She pauses, and her hand finds its way back to his chest of its own accord. “And…I don’t like seeing you in pain. I was only doing what a doctor must.”

To her surprise, Tomioka’s hand rises to cover her own. “Kocho,” he says, a bit mournfully. “You shouldn’t worry about me. This flesh…I can be carved up a hundred times. My insides could be crushed over and over. I’ll heal again and again. You don’t need to feel any sympathy for me.” His hand falls, and she takes that as her cue to draw her own back too. She already misses the warmth of his skin as soon as it’s gone. “I’m a demon. A monster that makes you sick. Don’t place any value in my life. If it comes down to a fight between us and Douma, don’t feel any regret in discarding me. The things I’ve done…I should’ve been executed a long time ago. I feel…that I was supposed to die many times in the past. So don’t worry about the things you must do to defeat him. I know that I might have to die to ensure victory, and I accept that.”

Through the entirety of his speech, Shinobu is silent and listening. As soon as she senses he’s done, however, multiple veins pulse along her skull. Her eyes bulge with thinly-veiled fury. How dare he? How dare he ask her to discard him after all she’s done to save him? Is he a complete moron?

“Tomioka-san.” Even her voice trembles, and his eyes widen a fraction right before she grabs ahold of his collar and drags him close. “Never say that to me again.”

“But—” he stutters. His hand covers one of hers again, this time in desperation. 

“No,” she seethes. She thinks she might be seeing red. “I don’t accept your death. Do you even realize how important you are? To the Corps? To me? Yes, we might fight Upper Two, and we might die doing it, but never talk about your death like it’s a good thing!”

“You wanted me dead!” His blue eyes, normally so calm, are dark with panic. “You said I needed to die!”

“Because I thought you were completely lost. Because I thought there was no hope of saving you.” She nearly growls into his face with frustration. “I’m a doctor. I can’t discard your life. I already told you that you’re my partner, so I have no intentions of letting you die! Not to him or Upper Two. Not without a fight.”

“Kocho—”

“You swore to live and die for the Corps as a Hashira.” Shinobu releases him, letting him fall back to the ground, but her glower doesn’t lessen. “So I need you to live as long as possible.”

Tomioka’s eyes are wide as he watches her, not even moving to fix his clothes. His mouth is tight, but his gaze wavers. She can only hope something of what she said got through to him.

She might have thought Tomioka was better off dead before. It’s how all the Hashira thought—before Nezuko, before Tamayo. Now, she’s seen the reality of what it means to come back from such a treacherous path. Tomioka might never live a life without guilt in the wake of the lives he’s taken, but the Corps needs him alive. She needs him alive. 

Without him, their dreams of the cure end. There isn’t another demon alive that can bring them the fast results they desire. But she can’t tell him that. She can’t tell him that the longer he lives, the more lives he’ll save. He can only think in the past, knowing all the innocent lives that are gone. 

She can’t bring them back to life. She can’t take away his guilt. She can only support him to the finish line, but if he gives up halfway, their victory will soar further from reach as well. 

There is also the crushing truth that hearing Tomioka speak so casually of his death terrified her—the same way she thinks she must have horrified Kanao when she spoke of her plan to kill Upper Two. She’s always known there is little she won’t do to end that monster. There are few lines she won’t cross, and yet, she can’t happily accept anyone else’s death for her vengeance. This is a fight for her alone, and she won’t let Tomioka follow her down her path of self-destruction.

Shinobu leans in close to the point that their noses nearly touch. “I need you to live, Tomioka-san. If you can’t live for yourself, I need you to live for me.”

Tomioka shakes beneath her, as if the full force of her words have rattled him, and he swallows. “Kocho.”

Her other knee balances on his thigh as she draws in closer. Because she needs him to hear her. To understand. 

She sinks into his lap without meaning to. It’s easier this way: maintaining her balance while bracing herself on his knees is more demanding than she’d like. Tomioka gasps as the extent of her weight falls on him. There isn’t much distance between them, but this somehow seems worse than when they hugged in the bath. It’s worse, because this time, she has nowhere else to look but Tomioka. Like this, she can’t escape him, and her mask falls without warning.

“Live for me,” Shinobu orders. 

Tomioka looks up at her through a shuttered gaze. 

She grips his chin. “I don’t think you’re taking me seriously.”

“I am,” Tomioka responds. 

“Tomioka-san.”

“Kocho.” He glances down at where she sits before his eyes rise up to hers once more. “I—”

“Tomioka-san.” When he tries to tug himself away, she forces his face upwards until he can’t look away from her. She can see the exact moment his resolve slips, when those numbered irises give in, and a satisfied smile teases her lips. 

“Kocho,” he repeats. 

The two of them continue staring at each other, both unblinking. Her momentary satisfaction aside, warmth pools in her stomach, a foreign sensation. Suddenly, being in Tomioka’s lap like this seems like a terrible idea. She wonders if he sees the exact moment in her eyes that her courage leaves her. 

“Kocho.”

Despite every nerve in her body urging her to turn away, she can’t. It’s like he’s frozen her with his technique, though she knows that isn’t the case. She should be the one in control. She still holds his chin, her grip firm. But now, it’s like she’s melted in front of him, and she’s unaccustomed to how vulnerable this is. 

Shinobu releases him. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t answer. But she can tell his mind must be as much of a mess as hers is. It has to be. 

Like this, her stomach is pressed against his, her thighs bracket his hips, and the combination of his warmth and the smell of ocean air is intoxicating. Her own heart seeks to betray her too, hammering at an aggressive speed, like if she doesn’t act, it might burst for good. 

Shinobu’s hand drops to his shoulder. 

She can’t be sure who reaches for the other first. She’s only vaguely aware of the knots erupting inside her before her mouth finds his, as warm as the rest of him. Without warning, Shinobu sighs against his mouth, as if her body has finally relaxed now that she’s given in, and Tomioka pushes back against her with equal fervor, his tongue slipping into her mouth. 

This is her first kiss, she realizes a beat too late. This is her first kiss, and it’s sloppy and messy, and feels too good. It’s like she’s been an elastic band stretched to the point of breaking, and once she’s snapped, the pressure has been released. Even while letting Tomioka in, she’s been holding herself back, but with each press of his lips against hers, she can feel him sneaking in, planting root beneath her skin and finding refuge in her ribs. 

There is no going back. Not for her. She’s let him see her with her mask discarded, and she can no longer summon it in his presence. Instead, she’s let him inside to see her rotten heart, and she’s letting him hold it in the palm of his hand without panicking. She never imagined she would ever do this. 

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu murmurs against his mouth. Her arms loop around his neck, and her hips press further against his stomach, craving the feel of his body against hers, acting on its own. “Tomioka-san.”

This must be his first kiss too—with or without his memories. There is a hesitation that lingers in his movements, overridden by desire, and as his hands rise up to her cheeks, delicate and soft, he deepens the kiss. His fangs tease at her bottom lip, almost as if asking permission. Soon enough, she feels him bite, and her fingers knot at his scalp to let him know she liked it.

She likes it. She likes him, fangs and all. She can’t stop kissing him, and her motions only become more frantic as she continues to capture his lips with her own. More, she thinks greedily. More.

“Kocho,” Tomioka exhales, and she smiles against his mouth. She pulls back a little, just to see if he’s still wearing his usual blank expression, and satisfaction curls in her gut at the realization that he’s not. A blush dusts his cheeks, his mouth is kiss-swollen, and his eyes latch onto hers in longing in the brief second she leans away. 

There’s a momentary whisper in the back of her mind, telling her she doesn’t deserve this—this open-hearted affection. 

Tomioka plants another kiss on her lips before drawing away, and this time, she’s the one left aching in want. It doesn’t last long, though. His head dips low to her neck, and he trails soft kisses down the column of her throat to her collarbone. She has to press her lips together to stifle any sounds, but she can’t resist baring her throat further, her eyes fluttering shut.

“That feels good,” Shinobu whispers. Tomioka’s fingers curl into her own yukata this time, and she feels the fabric slide down to expose her left shoulder. “Keep going.”

“Mm.” He hums against her skin as he lowers his mouth again, this time moving along her neck all the way to her shoulder. He teases with his fangs, scraping at the skin, but never piercing. It’s beginning to drive her nuts.

“Bite me,” she demands, the words slipping out before she process them. “Don’t suck at the blood. Just—bite.”

Thankfully, Tomioka doesn’t resist her unhinged request, and she thinks it might be because he’s wanted to do it too, though he didn’t have the nerve to ask. In the next instant, his fangs pierce her skin, and an unbidden moan slips from her mouth. 

“Yes, like that,” Shinobu murmurs. Desire pulses low, and the pressure is beginning to build between her thighs. “Yes.”

As asked, Tomioka releases her, and his mouth immediately clamps back onto the bruise he’s left to lick at the excess blood. A low whimper leaves him too. “This is killing me.”

“What is?”

“You.”

Before she can ask any further questions, Tomioka kisses her again, and this time, there’s the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. “Shit,” he says, tearing away. 

Shinobu doesn’t need to ask what caught him by surprise. Rather, she can feel it, pressed up against her thigh. She drops her gaze between them to confirm. “I didn’t know demons could feel desire,” she says, almost in awe.

His brows furrow, almost in indignation. “I do.”

“I see. How interesting.”

“You can get me on a lab table and poke at me later.”

“Is that an invitation?” 

To quiet her, Tomioka’s hand grabs the back of her skull before drawing her in for another open-mouthed kiss, one that steals the breath from her lungs. She can’t help but pant against his mouth, desperate for more. No matter how many times he kisses her, it isn’t enough. It doesn’t quell the craving inside of her. Knowing that he’s as affected by this as she is only makes it worse.

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu whispers. “Can you lie back?”

Wordlessly, Tomioka obeys. He falls back against the futon, his wet hair flat against the pillow. She’s seen his eyes dilated with hunger before. But never like this—dark with desire. He stares up at her with his usual weight, and it’s even more intimidating like this.

“Giyuu,” Tomioka says.

She tilts her head. “Huh?”

“Can you call me Giyuu?” he asks with a sudden shyness. “I thought it would be nice—to be called my name by someone who doesn’t hate me.”

His words make her still. Muzan, Douma, Akaza—all responsible for all the grief Tomioka’s had to endure since becoming a demon. It must be grueling to never hear your name in a positive tone. She leans forward and kisses him hard. As soon as she draws away, she whispers, “Giyuu-san,” trying her best to ignore the rules of proper etiquette drilled into her from an early age. 

His expression softens. “Thank you,” he whispers, so quietly she almost misses it. 

He shouldn’t thank her. She’s done nothing worth his gratitude. 

“You’re welcome.” His erection is getting more difficult to ignore, a persistent ache between her legs. It would be a step too far to undress him. Perhaps there is a line she shouldn’t cross. 

Still, her mind won’t let it go. Slowly, hesitantly, Shinobu rolls her hips against him. It has the desired effect: his hips stutter beneath her, and he gasps out, “Kocho.”

“Giyuu-san,” Shinobu coos. Her hand trails along the tent in the fabric, and she relishes in the full-bodied shiver that washes over him. His body reacts to her in a way she adores. “Shouldn’t you call me by my first name too?”

She moves against him again. The friction between them, even through the fabric, is mind-blowing, especially as he moans beneath her. 

“Giyuu-san,” she teases. Now that she’s called him by his given name once, she doubts she’ll be able to backtrack. She loves the way it curls against her tongue. Giyuu. Again, she presses against him. 

“Shinobu,” Giyuu gasps, as his eyes flutter shut. “Shinobu.”

“Better,” she says, though words escape her too, soon enough. 

She can’t help but quicken her pace, writhing against him. He’s hard against her, and she feels him completely between her legs. The fabric of their clothes is the only barrier, and yet, it isn’t enough to stop how delightful this is. She doesn’t want to stop, though perhaps she should.

Giyuu’s hands grip her hips with a bruising pressure. His claws hold her tightly, almost to the point of breaking the skin, but instead of yielding her to stop, it urges her on. Over and over again, she drags her weight across Giyuu, her heart in her throat, to the point of no return.

Giyuu’s claws dig in deeper. “Shinobu.”

Her thighs clamp around him, never losing their pace, chasing the pleasure she desires. “Giyuu-san.”

“Shinobu, I can’t—” As soon as the words leave his mouth, his body tightens and lurches in the same breath, his eyes squeezed shut almost painfully. A soft moan leaves his lips, echoing her name. 

Her legs relax as he rides through his orgasm, and once he settles back, she looks down at the wet patch in his yukata, terribly pleased with herself. She still didn’t finish, but that’s no matter. It was worth it to watch him come undone beneath her. 

But it’s only once she settles back into her own mind that she remembers where they are—in a once-abandoned shrine held by Upper Two’s cult, vulnerable to the threats of danger that lie ahead. A foreign sense of shame washes over her.

It felt good. She can’t deny that. She wanted Tomioka so desperately she hadn’t thought twice about the consequences of what it meant for a Hashira to practically have sex with an Upper Rank. Oyakata-sama asked her to save him, not to bed him. There might be repercussions for this.

No, that’s not what bothers her. The Corps might not approve, but she’s done plenty they wouldn’t approve of. That’s not the crux of the problem.

“Shinobu,” Tomioka murmurs, drawing her out of her train of thought. He’s still splayed out beneath her, rubbing circles into her hips with his thumb. “You didn’t…”

“It’s alright, Tomioka-san.”

At the sound of his last name, his hand freezes. She can see the exact moment the realization sets in. 

“I didn’t…” Tomioka says. “I didn’t hurt you or anything… Did I?”

“No.” He didn’t hurt her at all, but she’s going to hurt him. Emotionally. Mentally. It doesn’t matter that he’s an Upper Rank demon. He will have her love until they both die. The problem is that her heart, even after being held by him, is rotten. He can’t hold onto it permanently, not when her plan to kill Upper Two hinges on her death. “You didn’t. I wanted you.”

“Wanted…” He draws his hand back.

“Want,” Shinobu corrects quickly. How selfish, she thinks. She still can’t let Tomioka go, even though she won’t let him love her. She doesn’t want him to think that she doesn’t want him back. I’m the most selfish person alive. “I want you. But, Tomioka-san, we can’t do this. This…will be a problem. The Corps won’t accept me as a Hashira…”

He can hear her unspoken words, and his gaze shutters. 

Liar, a vicious voice snaps at her in her head. Liar. You lie because you’re too afraid to tell him you’re a dying girl.

Yes, she whispers back. I lie because I am too fickle and spiteful to take care of Tomioka-san’s heart as he would mine. Because I’ve already planned to die, I don’t want to be responsible for breaking it. 

“Okay,” Tomioka says. “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. None of this is okay. She hates that she’s doing this. Mere minutes ago, he was all she could think about. She’s never been able to lose herself or want another person. She thought she would be content with vengeance and medicine as her only company. Now, she has found someone willing to care for her twisted self, and she can’t love him. 

“Tomioka-san…” Shinobu shuffles off of him, and he sits up with a sigh. His blank expression has returned in full force, hiding his thoughts from her. “I…”

“It’s okay, Kocho.” He offers what is meant to be a reassuring smile, but it falls flat. She shouldn’t have kissed him. She should have let these feelings fester and suffered alone. “I don’t want you to get in trouble. You don’t need to feel bad.”

But she does. This is all her fault. 

“I’m going to clean myself up,” Tomioka says as he stands, looking at anything but her. “I’ll be back.”

Without another word, he disappears back into the bathroom. Shinobu turns off the light and buries herself in her futon before he returns, cutting off any further conversation, as she stews in her self-inflicted misery.

Chapter Text

Any hopes Shinobu might have had of forgetting the previous night are a lost cause by the next morning. One look at Tomioka’s face is enough to remind her, and judging by his expression, his thoughts run along the same path. He quickly turns away to roll up his futon.

“Do you have a plan?” Tomioka asks.

A plan. Not as concrete as she’d like, given she spent the evening eating Tomioka’s face. But she thinks everything through, so she has the foundations in place. “I think I should go with Shoko to look after breakfast. Just the two of us. Do you think you could follow behind without being seen?”

He does look at her now, only to give her a flat look. 

She raises her hands in surrender. “Just checking!” Good. If he can joke with her, then maybe she can salvage something from her mistakes. She worried that, perhaps, Tomioka would decide he didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. 

She doesn’t have him down as that type of man. He’s good. Kind. Not like the jerk Kanroji told her about who broke off their marriage because he couldn’t accept her as she was. This situation is different, but Tomioka is not someone who turns his back on anyone in need. She requires his help, so he won’t abandon her. 

“I think I should take my sword,” Shinobu says. 

Tomioka pauses, his pillow crumpled in his hand. “Why?”

“It’s a gut feeling.” After so many years as a slayer, she’s learned to trust her gut. Her instincts are on edge this morning, and she’d feel better with it on her person. “I don’t think anything will go wrong, but I want to be prepared. Can I?”

“Can we compromise? I’ll carry it with me, and I’ll hand it to you if anything goes wrong.”

It’s not a bad idea, especially since she doesn’t want to set off any alarms with Shoko by carrying it from the start, but there might only be a split second to react if anything goes wrong. A split second will not be enough time for Tomioka to hand her the weapon and for her to respond in turn. 

“You said you trust me not to let you die,” Tomioka murmurs. It’s the severity in his voice that makes her lift her head to meet his gaze, as unwavering and unflinching as always. “I won’t let you die.”

Shinobu gives him a jerky nod. “Fine. But what about my knives?”

“You can take those. Just keep them concealed.” A bag lands at her feet, the metal inside clattering as the blades strike against each other. “Did you want to wear your uniform too?”

She takes a second to mull it over. If any demon catches sight of her in her Corps uniform, it’ll give away her identity in an instant. It’s a risk. Though, at the same time, her time here is running out. Her false identity won’t last forever, and she’d rather reveal herself than run into a battle unprepared. If Upper Two has taken Akane, she won’t be able to walk away.

“Yes,” she says decisively. 

Tomioka is gracious enough to leave the room while she changes, giving her the last bit of privacy she might have today. Makoto’s kimono slides off easily, and her uniform rises to replace it. With each button, her body settles into itself, as if the skin she made for herself at this shrine is melting. Her mask served its purpose, but she can’t afford to turn a blind eye forever. An innocent girl is dead, and another is missing. She can’t call herself a Hashira if she holds back and allows that monster to go on unpunished.

Kanae…Kanae didn’t hesitate. She must have seen the kanji in his eyes, known on an inherent level that this demon was unlike any other. Still, she hadn’t wavered before raising her blade. She fought to the death, as all Hashira are expected to.

But Kanae was always capable of beheading demons. Even though she felt pity for them—a weakness Himejima worried would get her killed—she could let her blade fall for the sake of protecting humanity, something Shinobu has never been able to do. She can’t behead Upper Two. She can’t kill him as Kanae might have. It is frightening to walk into a fight where she has no advantage in her favor. 

Even so, it’s never been a choice. It’s something she must do. 

“Ready,” Shinobu calls as she tugs Kanae’s haori over her shoulders and slides her arms through the sleeves. 

Without a word, Tomioka reenters the room. Her sword already hangs at his belt, and she tries not to mourn its absence. It’s been too long since she’s held a weapon in her hands; she can feel herself getting antsy. With that in mind, she slides every blade she owns into the fabric of her clothes, hidden to the human eye.

“Good luck, Kocho,” Tomioka says. “I’ll be right behind you the whole time.”

“Reassuring,” Shinobu comments. She begins to gather her hair with one hand. “Or terrifying. I can’t tell. You’re not going to smile this time? Tell me everything will be okay?”

His lip twitches. At last, she thinks. He strides forward, and to her surprise, he plucks her butterfly clip out of her hand, the last piece before she’s back in her former self.

“Tomioka-san, how rude—”

His hand wraps around the hair she’s pulled together, and he twists it up before she can say anything. Her own arm drops. She’s secretly glad he can’t see her face at the moment. It feels rather warm. 

Carefully, Tomioka pins it in place, and the clip slides in with ease. “Do you need me to tell you that?” he asks. His hand lingers against the back of her head a touch longer than it needs to. 

“Not really,” she admits. She’ll find Akane—protect Shoko. She won’t let Saki lose another sister. “But it would be nice to hear.”

Shinobu twists around to find a ghost of a smile already teasing his lips. She can’t even begin to say how grateful she is that, in the wake of last night, he hasn’t retreated into himself and kept her at arms’ length. She doesn’t know what she’d do if Tomioka treated her with the same distance as a stranger. Instead, he does her hair. He smiles. Her defenses are crumbling.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Tomioka says. “That’s why your sister started the fight and left the task of finishing it in your capable hands.”

Her cheeks burn a bright red against her will. A few half-sputtered noises leave her mouth. Because what on earth is she supposed to say to that? How is he making this so hard without meaning to? How can someone so adept at saying the wrong thing continue to say exactly what she wants to hear?

Too flustered to summon a coherent response, Shinobu jams her thumb into his side and waits for him to double over before she flees the room. 

Breakfast is as crowded an affair as always. The dining area is filled to the brim with bustling tables, all of the shrine’s inhabitants chatting amongst themselves like nothing has changed. Shoko is at her usual spot, though she pushes around the food on her plate more than she consumes. This earns her some reprimands from Yukina. 

She can’t help but observe their arrangements of food with some curiosity. There are already concerns about how their stores won’t last. Tomioka said Upper Two would eat the cult’s inhabitants and start over if their concerns became too much of a bother. Is everyone here already a dead man walking?

She shouldn’t worry about that. If she does defeat Upper Two, whether or not they have enough food for the cult to last won’t matter. They’ll be free—free to return to their families and to their lives. She has to hope that means something. 

Shinobu doesn’t dare enter the room out of fear of someone taking a second look at her uniform. Instead, she eats a peach alone in the hall outside. She doesn’t expect anyone to notice her absence.

That is—until a pair of footsteps wanders outside of the dining area.

“Shinobu-chan!” Yukina greets cheerily. Her gaze scans Shinobu before she even gets the chance to consider concealing her outfit from view. She expects questions. She expects some confusion. She doesn’t expect Yukina’s next words to be, “You shouldn’t be eating alone.”

“Huh?” she asks. 

“You shouldn’t be eating alone,” Yukina repeats. Before Shinobu can protest, Yukina settles down next to her, pressed up against the wall. She braces her forearms against her knees. “Is something bothering you?”

Yes. It all starts and ends with that demon. But she can’t blurt out the truth, so she simply smiles and says, “I have a headache. I didn’t want the noise of the dining area to make it worse.”

“I can ask Douma-dono for some medication for that.”

“No need!” Shinobu waves her off. There’s no need to ask Upper Two for anything. “I’m sure everything will be fine once I have some fresh air.”

Yukina hums. A few beats pass in silence, as much as there can be when the hum of conversation still reaches them from the dining area. She half-expects their own conversation to reach its natural end, until Yukina speaks up again. 

“Are you leaving, Shinobu-chan?”

Shinobu flinches. Although the movement lasts an instant, it doesn’t escape Yukina’s razor-sharp gaze.

“I see,” Yukina says. “I can’t say I never expected this. Your stay was only meant to be temporary if I remember correctly, yes?”

Her shoulders relax. “Yes.” It’s why she came up with such a cover story. An easy escape. “I didn’t want to cause a fuss. I hope you understand. I’ve…appreciated your hospitality.”

“I should thank you. You’ve been a wonderful guest, not to mention that you’ve made Shoko smile more than the rest of us these past couple of days. I’m sad to see you go.”

Her usual bright smile softens into something more genuine. When she first arrived, she didn’t expect to become attached to anyone at the shrine. Her stay was always meant to be temporary, and she figured any of his followers would be too dull-eyed to treat her with any kindness. But she was proven wrong. Makoto, Yukina, Shoko. They’ve all been welcoming in their own ways, and she has them to thank. Otherwise, her short time at this shrine might have been all the more torturous.

Yukina, in particular, with her watchful eyes and attentiveness, has reminded Shinobu a great deal of what it was like to be coddled by her older sister. 

“You’ve been wonderful hosts,” Shinobu says. “I am sorry to leave. But my gut is telling me it’s time to go.”

“Then we wish you all the best.”

“Please. Don’t tell Shoko. I’m going to tell her after breakfast.” The lie falls easily from her lips. “I want her to hear it from me.”

“Don’t worry,” Yukina says. “I’ll stay out of it.” She makes a show of sealing her lips and tossing the key. “I only wanted to make sure that you were leaving because you wanted to.”

At that, she pauses. “Because I wanted to?”

This time, it’s Yukina’s turn to falter. When she recovers, she offers a bittersweet smile. “I hope that this isn’t because of Giyuu-dono or anything like that.”

Tension races through her, but she maintains her blank expression. “Giyuu-dono? What do you mean?”

“Or maybe I was wrong…” Yukina twists away. “I thought… Maybe. Hm. Never mind. Ignore me.” She pulls Shinobu into a sideways hug, as if the embrace will make Shinobu forget any questions. It does draw her mind into a blank in the few seconds it lasts. “I wish you safe travels, Shinobu-chan. I hope we meet again in the future.”

“Yes, you too,” Shinobu says. 

Her mind still lingers on Yukina’s question about Tomioka even as the older woman stands up and leaves to return to the dining area. She hoped that no one would notice their unusual closeness, but perhaps, she misjudged how observant outsiders could be. Or…she’s been doing a terrible job of keeping her distance. 

She doesn’t get the chance to dive deeper. After a few minutes, the buzz within the dining area heightens with the clatter of dishes as they clear up. Shoko is the first to leave, and her eyes light up when they notice Shinobu already waiting. 

“I can come?” Shoko asks. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, and her nails are bitten down to the quick. She’s never seen Shoko like this—so agitated. 

“Yes,” Shinobu says. “As long as you do as I say.”

Shoko nods. “I promise.”

“Good. Then let’s get going.”

The mist hasn’t cleared at all since her time within the shrine’s walls. It’s as thick and persistent as ever, sticking to her like a bug, making it difficult to see more than a few paces in front of them. The dirt paths that lead outward from the shrine haven’t been tidied in some time, and the fallen branches crunch beneath their feet with each step. The forest should be lively; at least, she thinks so. But despite how the mist has remained unchanged since she’s arrived, the birds have fallen silent. She can’t hear so much as a chirp in the distance. 

Shoko keeps up with her, pulling at the hem of her kimono to keep the wet soil from ruining the fabric. Shinobu’s made an active effort to slow down, to survey her surroundings with more care than she would if she were simply passing through, and even so, she finds herself stopping at certain points to allow Shoko the chance to catch up. The young girl’s pallor has grown pale since they left, though her cheeks shine red with exertion. 

“Shoko,” Shinobu calls, her third attempt in a half hour. “We can—”

“No,” Shoko snaps. The frustration in her voice is palpable, enough that Shinobu draws to a halt anyway. “What are you doing? We can keep going.”

“You’re out of breath. We can afford three minutes.”

“No, we can’t!” 

Shinobu turns around. Shoko’s leaning against the trunk of a tree, the bark biting into the skin of her palm, as her chest heaves for air. She’s forgotten that this amount of activity might prove too much for someone who isn’t a practiced demon slayer. In all the scenarios she pictured, she worried about Shoko’s safety more than she considered how she might slow her down. 

In spite of that, Shoko’s face twists with determination. Even if she passes out, she’ll insist on continuing. Shinobu knows well how far spite can take her. 

She hands Shoko her pouch of water without another word. She’s unsurprised when Shoko doesn’t thank her. 

Fine. They’ll continue forward. They’ve been walking for a few hours now. Lunch must have come and gone. If their absences went unnoticed before, someone’s realized by now.

But unfortunately, Shinobu hasn’t caught so much as a whiff of Akane’s trail. There haven’t been any broken branches, there are no footsteps to indicate her departure, and Tomioka hasn’t caught her eye either, meaning he hasn’t found Akane’s fighting spirit.

This should be impossible. How can this young girl have disappeared beneath their noses? Either one of them should have noticed.

When Shoko returns the water to her, Shinobu puts it away. She starts forward again, slower. After a heartbeat, Shoko follows.

“Akane didn’t say anything about leaving,” Shinobu says, not for the first time. “You’re certain?”

Shoko huffs. “I already told you. She didn’t say anything.”

The truth is this frustrates Shinobu as much as it frustrates Shoko. She’s just put her mask back in place. She’s keeping that annoyance buried beneath the surface of her skin. As tiresome as this is, there is no point in dwelling on her own feelings. The only thing that matters is that Akane is alive and safe. Until then, everything else comes secondary. 

Shinobu nods. As Shoko ducks beneath a low-hanging branch, she raises her head. 

Up above, Tomioka lands gingerly on the tree the branch belongs to. The trunk doesn’t so much as groan beneath his weight. The leaves don’t rustle. It would be so easy, she notes, for him to land behind them and cut their throats before they could even react. The perfect Upper Rank. 

And yet, he keeps almost losing his balance because Kanzaburo stands on the crown of his head and refuses to shift his weight accordingly. She hides a smile as he throws out a hand to steady himself, and she forces herself to face forward again. 

“You don’t think we’ll find her,” Shoko says. 

Shinobu ducks beneath the same branch as she joins Shoko. “I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s been hours, and we’ve found nothing.” Her eyes flit back and forth as she gazes out at the forest. She hides her arm behind her back, but not before Shinobu sees the tremor in her hand. “Something happened to her.”

“We don’t know that,” she reasons. 

“We don’t know that she’s okay either.”

There’s nothing to say to that. There’s only so much she can go on before it becomes a lie. The odds of them finding Akane have always been slim. She only hoped they might find answers as to what happened to her. If it weren’t for the wisteria, she would have asked Tomioka to sift through Upper Two’s memories to find out—just to put Shoko’s worries to rest. 

As it stands, they’ve been wandering for hours, clouds are filling up the sky, and her stomach is beginning to twinge with hunger. There’s no easy way to end this unless they find Akane, and she doesn’t know how to convince Shoko to leave with this loose end. She’s stuck. 

Two more hours pass before it’s impossible for Shoko to continue. Her knees buckle, and she has just enough time to settle against the trunk of a tree before her knees slide out from under her. Wordlessly, she holds out a hand for the water.

“Here,” Shinobu says, handing it over. “You alright?”

For the first time, Shoko shakes her head. She didn’t think it was possible, but Shoko looks worse. Her pallor has taken on a sickly hue. She wonders if Shoko even ate a proper breakfast or if her nerves were too fractured to even stomach anything.

“Just tired,” Shoko admits. Her fingers tremble as she brings the water up to her mouth. It dribbles out of the corners of her lips, and she has to wipe her face with the back of her hand. “I thought—I thought we’d find something. Eventually.”

Shinobu purses her lips. She hoped so too, but having seen Upper Two in action, she knows he’s capable of making a body disappear in seconds. Getting rid of Akane’s corpse would have been child’s play. “It’s not your fault.”

“If I noticed sooner…”

“You can’t blame yourself for that.” No one is at fault. No one except her and that monster. She won’t let Shoko be buried beneath the weight of that guilt. “We don’t know that something happened to her.”

“She wouldn’t have left,” Shoko insists. “Why—why—would anyone leave?”

There are countless reasons. But Shoko isn’t in the right frame of mind to hear them, and she isn’t in the mood to try and convince her. 

Before she can even respond, Shoko’s scrambling to her feet. She thrusts the water back into Shinobu’s hold. “Let’s ask Yukina-san.”

Huh? “What?”

“Maybe she told Yukina-san something.” There is a frantic glint in Shoko’s eyes. The hairs on the back of her own neck rise, even though there’s no reason for them to. She isn’t in danger, not as far as she can tell, and Tomioka is right above in case anything is awry. She draws in a breath to calm herself to no avail. “I didn’t want to ask her before, but I think we should.”

Shoko can’t go back. If she goes back, she won’t ever leave. She won’t escape. She’ll be stuck here forever—until that monster decides he’s hungry. She can’t let that happen. She has to make her stay.

“Let’s go,” Shoko says. She squeezes Shinobu’s hand tightly, almost to the point of cutting off her circulation. “I bet she told Yukina-san where she was going.”

“Shoko!”

Shoko spins around and sprints off without another word. The forest swallows her whole. It’s only when she strains her ears that she can pick up on the crash of footsteps through the woods. 

Shinobu leaps upwards. The leaves crunch as they slam into her shoulders, and the branch bends beneath her as her feet land beside Tomioka. 

“You can see her fighting spirit, right?” Shinobu demands. “Where is she going?”

Tomioka squints. “It looks like she’s going back to the shrine.”

“How? She shouldn’t even know how to make it back on her own!”

Without waiting for a response, Shinobu launches herself forward. She can’t afford to be as discreet as Tomioka. Each branch she lands on cracks, and the leaves shake as violently as a windy day as she propels herself through the trees. She still can’t see Shoko through the mist. She’s only able to follow by sound. Once they’re close enough, she’ll hear the voices coming from the shrine. 

Tomioka must be close behind. As she leaves each branch, there’s a looming presence that fills in the space she deserts, barely a step between them. 

She has to hurry. If Shoko makes it back inside, there’s no dragging her out. She’ll have failed. She can’t enter the shrine without compromising their cover and her safety. Her life isn’t the only one in peril. She can’t fail again. She won’t.

Shinobu rushes ahead with the same speed as one of her techniques. It’s as if all of her pent-up energy spent hiding her true identity has unleashed itself. Her legs cut through the leaves at an alarming rate. She can hear Shoko’s footsteps moving closer. She must be closing the gap between them. 

She crashes into the grass beside the gates. Shoko is already bounding up the steps, her hair snapping behind her, and Shinobu only has two seconds to rise to her full height and continue her chase. If anyone spots them, it’s over.

“Shoko!” Shinobu tries again. “Wait!”

Shoko is fast. She would have never guessed as much given how exhausted the young girl had been after hiking through the forest for hours on end. Where did all of that stored-up energy come from? Shoko runs as if she’s sprinting away from a killer, rather than towards the safety of the shrine.

There’s no one outside the shrine’s walls. The only person she spots is Shoko, two paces from the first door. It’s a blessing no one is around to watch her grab ahold of the fabric of Shoko’s shoulder, and at the same time, it’s almost too good to be true.

“Shoko!” Shinobu repeats, a sharp edge in her voice. 

She’s never liked reprimanding her girls. The one who received the most of her scolding was Kanao, to be precise, though it came from a place of good intentions. Kanao’s inability to take care of herself and be decisive would prove life-threatening in the long run, and Shinobu wanted Kanao to take it as seriously as she did. Besides that, she isn’t one to raise her voice. Right now, though, it’s tempting. 

“You shouldn’t have run from me like that.”

A broken gasp leaves Shoko’s throat. Her face gleams with sweat, and her eyes dart back and forth, not quite meeting Shinobu’s gaze. “I…I just thought…”

“You shouldn’t have ran,” Shinobu insists. She needs to get her away. Someone can come out at any moment. Her grip tightens on Shoko’s shoulder. “Let’s talk this through first.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice shouts from afar, “Shinobu!”

Huh? Tomioka-san?

Shinobu spins back in search of him, only to be hauled forward. Her hold on Shoko slips as Shoko drags her entire body forward. The alarms ring in her head, her fighting instincts kicking in. She doesn’t understand what Shoko is doing, or why Tomioka sounded as panicked as the day Yae nearly shot herself in front of them, but her body reacts on its own. 

She twists around, narrowly avoiding knocking Shoko’s skull against the doorframe. Her balance careens sideways. She has to move backwards in order to free herself, and in that split second of recovery, Shoko’s hands plant themselves against her shoulders and shove.

It’s not nearly as hard of a push as it needs to be to send her falling to the floor. It does send her through the doorway, though, and she slams her heel to keep her balance. 

“Shoko!” Shinobu blurts. “What—”

Shoko’s figure is outlined in the doorway, framed by the waning sunlight. Her hand clutches at her shoulder as her body leans against the wall. It’s the first time since running off that her eyes meet Shinobu’s.

A heartbeat later, someone shoves Shoko aside, knocking her against the door. Tomioka rushes over to Shinobu, his own eyes wild and frantic. There’s the faint smell of fire, of something burning. It takes her a second to recognize that his skin is too red, that there are blisters across his face and his hands. 

He ran. He ran across the clearing to her, despite the fact that the sun hasn’t set enough to be able to do so safely. But why—?

Why did Shoko shove her?

The chill that seeps through the air is her answer.

“Well done, Shoko-chan!” a tittering voice exclaims. 

Tomioka’s hand grips her elbow to guide her backwards towards the far wall. She can’t help but notice how his body is positioned in front of hers, as if he expects to take a hit on her behalf.

The curtains have all been drawn. Despite the fact that sunset is mere minutes away, there isn’t a hint of light that sneaks into this dark room. That must be why she didn’t notice him right away. But there’s only one creature with such daunting rainbow eyes, and at the moment, they watch her from within the shadows with no small amount of glee. 

Shinobu should have realized something was wrong. Shoko was nervous. She assumed it was because of Akane, but her sudden departure back to the shrine didn’t make sense. She could have only been trying to cover for someone—to try and force Shinobu into a certain place. 

There isn’t anyone around either. The normally lively shrine has been emptied without a single voice that drifts through the walls. In the hours they’ve been gone, its inhabitants have been cleared, either eaten or moved. In this case, she relies on the latter: it would have been impossible to avoid any signs of his consumption had Upper Two given in and devoured them all, and yet, the floors are spotless. 

Her nerves got the better of her. She should’ve noticed his presence from further away. She should’ve realized something was awry. It’s no wonder Tomioka called for her. He probably noticed Upper Two’s fighting spirit—wanted to summon her back. Instead, her focus on protecting Shoko dulled her mind, and she fell into Upper Two’s trap, something she should’ve never allowed. 

She should have never deluded herself into believing he was oblivious. This creature is not brainless. In fact, he’s almost frustratingly clever, and her desire to save the lives of these sisters clouded her mind in a game where it’s her sole advantage. Now, he has her where he wants her, and she’s endangered both of them. 

The fight she’s been waiting for all of her life has arrived, and yet—

“You did such a good job,” Upper Two praises Shoko, who still trembles at the door, blocking their exit. “They never realized anything was wrong. You were fantastic.”

Something thin slides into the palm of her hand. Her scabbard. Tomioka’s hand is warm as he removes his grip. 

“You two believed her too,” he says, his attention back on her and Tomioka. “She had you wrapped around her finger. You gave yourselves away!”

Ignoring him, Shinobu glances over at Shoko. “Shoko,” Shinobu says, her voice firm and steady. It doesn’t matter how furious she is at this moment; Shoko is still innocent. Whatever Douma promised her, he’s done it for the sole purpose of manipulating her to his tune. She still came here for the sake of saving Saki’s younger sister. “I can’t pretend to understand your relationship with this man. But he is a danger to you and everyone at the shrine.”

“A danger?” Douma splays his hand over his chest in mock offense. “I’m not the one who entered with a sword.”

“Shoko.” She should have told her this long ago, but she wanted to spare Shoko that pain for a while longer. Once she hears her sister is gone, there is no repairing that damage. She knows that well. “Saki and Saku didn’t leave. This monster killed Saku. He tried to kill Saki, and she escaped. Saki sent me here for you.”

“No,” Shoko interrupts. Her eyebrows are furrowed. “Douma-dono isn’t a killer. He wanted Saku to stay. You’re lying.”

“He ate her.” There is no hiding how her voice hardens with fury. How dare this monster act innocent and blameless when Saku no longer breathes? “He ate her. Saki saw it and barely escaped with her life. You don’t need to believe me. But you should believe your sister, who wanted to risk her life to come back for you.”

“Liar.” Shoko’s eyes bulge. “Liar. If Saki wanted to come back for me, she would’ve come herself!”

“Sano Saki escaped this cult with multiple injuries,” Tomioka interjects. “It’s because of Kocho that she lives. She wanted to come back even at the cost of her life. I told you—that is what sisters do. She didn’t come because she sent Kocho instead.”

“Giyuu-kun!” Douma pouts. “You and I need to have words.”

“I don’t believe you,” Shoko says, shaking her head wildly. “Douma-dono wouldn’t have done that. He loves Saku.”

“He loved Makoto-san too,” Shinobu cuts in. “Enough to eat her.”

“Stop that. Stop that.”

“He’s a demon. He’ll eat everyone at the shrine if it means he lives.”

“You make it sound so cruel,” Douma complains. He jerks his hand, and at once, all of the curtains within the room fly open. Her attention is glued to the pair of fans he holds, the weapons Kanae warned her about. “I love Makoto-chan and Saku-chan. It’s why they’ll live with me forever!” His head snaps over to Shoko. “It is a pity Saki-chan couldn’t join me, though. I wanted to offer her peace, the same I offer you, Shoko-chan.”

Douma extends his hand to Shoko.

“Shoko-chan,” he begins, “look at the lies they feed you. Do you really believe that I would have hurt your sisters? I loved them as I love all of you. I let them go out of love.” A tear slips from his eye. “It pains me to have you even listen to this. But you need to see Shinobu-chan as she is. Do you see now? She tried to take you away. She wanted to make you leave.”

“Shut it,” Shinobu snaps. “You don’t get to talk to her.”

“How cruel. Your words hurt, Shinobu-chan.”

“Shoko—” She turns back to Shoko, but all she finds is Shoko’s shuttered gaze. Any possibility that she could have convinced Shoko to see her side dissipates in front of her. Douma’s claws are too deep, and the cuts he leaves fester. Shoko loves her sisters, but she also respects Douma, who she believes to be truthful and kind. “Please. Listen to me. You won’t be safe here. Not with him.”

“Shoko-chan!” Douma covers his face halfway with his fan. “Tell me. Do you want to go with Shinobu-chan?”

Shoko’s eyes flit towards her. Although her throat jumps before she speaks, Shinobu knows what her response will be before she speaks. “No.”

“I’m so glad!” Douma claps his hands. “In that case… Nakime!”

There’s a strum, and suddenly, before she even gets the chance to move or say anything else, the floor drops out from beneath Shoko, and she vanishes into the depths. Another strum, and the door shuts, as if it was never there to begin with. The last she sees of Shoko is her frightened eyes. 

“What?” Shinobu gapes at the empty spot. Shoko was right here. She was here. “Where did she go?”

“Did Giyuu-kun not explain? I suppose that makes me feel a little better! He is a traitor.” Another tear leaks out of Douma’s eyes. “But at least, he didn’t tell you everything. I suppose, if he didn’t tell you, I don’t have to either!”

Her jaw clenches. She glances at Tomioka out of the corner of her eye to gauge his response to that snipe, but he’s shock-still beside her. He stares off at some point in the distance beyond Douma’s head, his mouth parted. 

“Should I tell you how I realized?” Douma asks. He sounds like he’s enjoying this. The bastard. Despite how tearful he’s been, his voice carries an excitement that’s unnerving. It continues to throw her for a loop. “You see, I really thought you were an ordinary girl, Shinobu-chan! I would have never thought a demon slayer would have found my location, much less have the nerve to try and get closer through my followers.”

Shinobu doesn’t answer. He doesn’t deserve it.

Unfortunately, he’s undeterred. “But then I thought—why would Giyuu-kun stop me from killing you? He doesn’t know you. He should’ve turned a blind eye, especially since I could have had his head for stopping me.”

She grits her teeth. Of course. Of course that was when they gave themselves away. It had been obvious. An Upper Rank would never defend a human life. But at the same time, what could they have done to preserve their cover? Should she have taken the loss of her eye for the sake of victory? 

It doesn’t mean much now. There’s no turning back time. Douma knows, and if he knows, so does Muzan.

“Then I remembered!” Douma says. “Giyuu-kun got in trouble for letting one of his old comrades go. I thought he wouldn’t be foolish enough to try and help that Hashira twice! But I had to be sure, you see.” He purses his lips. “I tried searching through his memories, but every time, I could never get deep enough into his human past to confirm. I decided to search through Sanemi-kun’s and Obanai-kun’s memories too! But I ran into the same problem.”

What is that supposed to mean? As soon as the question occurs to her, Douma voices the same doubts. 

“It appears all three of the former Hashira refuse to dig into their memories of you, Shinobu-chan!” His words come out cheerful, as if this is something to be praised, but she doesn’t fully understand what his statement entails. “You must be very important to the Corps. Enough that—even though those three are loyal to Muzan-sama—they resist diving into their memories of you. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Shinobu glances over at Tomioka again for any sign of a reaction, but still, he hasn’t wavered. Something must be wrong; something beyond what she can see. Otherwise, he might have tried to reassure her and explain himself. 

She can guess at the implications. The three former Hashira refuse to let those memories run freely because of what it means for the cure. If Muzan were to find out about her studies, their fight might be doomed, and their work to save Nezuko and the others could crumple before their eyes. But surely, as demons, his blood must override any remaining loyalties to the Corps they had. She can’t fathom this—that Tomioka, Shinazugawa, and Iguro would all block those memories of her.

“Anyway.” Douma wanders into the center of the room, tapping the bottom of his fan against his wrist. “I had to confirm my suspicions. If I couldn’t search through their memories, I needed to find someone else who knew you. Someone else that could confirm you are indeed the Hashira Giyuu-kun betrayed Muzan-sama for!”

Someone else. Who—?

As soon as the question comes to mind, the answer springs up just as quickly. It’s the reason why Tomioka has been frozen still—the reason he’s been so flustered. 

The strum of the biwa wasn’t for the sole purpose of sending Shoko away. It was to bring someone else here.

Shinobu senses his presence before he reaches the door on the other side of the room. He slides it open slowly as if to mock them, and blue-stained fingers clutch at the paneling. His outline fills the doorway, as intimidating as the first time they met, and any remaining hope she had that they might make it away alive sinks into the dirt. 

It would have been one thing to fight off Upper Two. But to fight Upper Two and Three at once is suicide. 

They’re dead. Tomioka is a traitor; she’s a Hashira that the Kizuki would rather be dead than alive. There’s no escape for them, and that dreadful truth is cemented as Akaza enters the room. The last time she saw him, he was choking on his own blood, courtesy of her poison, and before then, he was smiling. 

Not this time. His expression is grim as he lifts his head towards them. 

“Giyuu,” he says, and beside her, Tomioka flinches. “What have you done?”

Chapter Text

Her heart pulses faintly in her chest, like it’s already decided to give out at the sight of the two Upper Ranks. It requires all of her remaining concentration to continue her breathing techniques when panic sinks its claws in. This is no time for fear. She always knew this was a possibility. From the moment she stepped foot onto this property, it was with the knowledge that she could fight Upper Two. From the moment she became a Hashira, it was with the knowledge that she could fight Upper Ranks—and die doing so. Despite knowing that, she’s never run from her duties, and she doesn’t intend to do so now, as hopeless as their odds stand. 

She is Kocho Shinobu, the Insect Hashira. Kanae trusted her to finish a fight she started. She was chosen by Oyakata-sama to carry out his will. No matter how dire their situation becomes, she was made for this. 

In the next second, she forces herself to relax, to draw in a steady breath, and looks sideways at Tomioka. 

Now that Akaza has revealed himself, he’s lost his eerie stillness. But shock commands his features. Even though Douma is the greater threat, his attention is completely on Akaza, following each step he takes.

“You said…” Akaza tries. His eyebrows draw together in a single line. “You said you weren’t avoiding me.”

Tomioka is silent. 

“You…” He chews on the inside of his mouth. “You knew the consequences if you disobeyed Muzan-sama again.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. “I know the consequences,” Tomioka says plainly.

“Then why would you do it? Why would you betray Muzan-sama?” Akaza’s head whips in her direction. “For a poisoner that is clearly too weak, too incapable of being amongst the Hashira.”

Akaza’s sharp barbs sting, but the harshest words have always come from within. She has no intentions to endure the pain he intends, not when her own self-doubt has always been the most poisonous of all.

Tomioka seems to consider the question for a moment. When he speaks again, she can’t help but jolt. “Because it wasn’t a choice,” he says. “It was something I had to do.”

It’s something I have to do.

Her words coming out of Tomioka’s mouth weakens her in the knees. Damn him. 

As expected, Akaza’s lips curl, revealing the sharpness of his fangs. “I don’t understand this. I don’t understand you, or what’s going on with you.”

“Akaza.”

“What?” Akaza snaps.

“I was wondering. Does my fighting spirit look like it did that night? When I was human.”

At that, Akaza’s expression softens. Somehow, a pleased smile works its way onto his lips, like his previous complaints have been forgotten. “It’s the brightest I’ve seen since you became a demon.”

Tomioka’s own lip twitches. “I see.”

Douma looks between them, clearly at a loss. He must not be able to see fighting spirits as Akaza and Tomioka are. Her and Douma are—unfortunately—in the same boat. It is rather fascinating, though, how smoothly Tomioka and Akaza seem to get along despite their vastly different personalities. In an instant, it’s like Tomioka soothed Akaza’s anger. 

Douma realizes this too. “Akaza-dono!” he whines. “You’re being soft on him. Again. He’s still a traitor.”

Any pride that reflected across Akaza’s face vanishes. “You’re right.”

“Let’s see. Instead of turning Shinobu-chan into a demon, he hid her and fought you in order to set her free. He failed to turn her into a demon again in Asakusa, and beat Sanemi-kun when he tried. He’s killed numerous demons alongside her. He helped her sneak into my followers for the sake of killing me. He wouldn’t let me eat her eye.” Douma throws his hands into the air. “He’s a lost cause! There’s no forgiving him. Muzan-sama has run out of mercy.”

“You’re right,” Akaza repeats, but his voice is detached. Like he isn’t even there.

“He even intends to fight us now. Doesn’t he?”

Tomioka blinks. 

“See? Akaza-dono, you need to control the demon you created. Are those not your orders from Muzan-sama? And when you can’t control your creations any longer…” His hands snap open. “You put them down. They end up like the Lower Ranks. Dead. All because of how useless they were. What a pity.”

Is that what happened to the Lower Ranks? She’s expected that Muzan would run a tight ship, but Lower Ranks have been known to kill off countless demon slayers and cause their own brand of chaos. Was that not enough for him? 

“How should we punish him?” Douma taps his chin. “Oh!” He flicks his fan over at Shinobu. “Should we force him to eat Shinobu-chan? Or should we force him to watch us eat Shinobu-chan?”

Akaza lets out a noise of disgust.

“Sorry, sorry! I forgot you don’t eat women. But, Akaza, look how cute she is! I bet she’s delicious.”

As soon as the last of his sentence leaves his mouth, there’s a whoosh through the air. His eyeballs burst, and Douma’s hand reaches up to cover his face while his mouth falls open in surprise. Beside her, Tomioka’s arm lowers back against his side. There’s fresh blood along the blade of his sword. 

That was fast. Faster than she’s ever seen him move.

Behind Douma’s shoulder, Akaza’s eyes are wide with glee.

“Giyuu-kun!” Douma chides. “You should know better than to attack me. I’m your superior, and you’re the one in the wrong here.” He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and when he tugs it away, the irises have already healed. Pity. “I will admit that was a good shot! You’ve been full of surprises these days. Now let me think. How should we kill you…?”

She’s had enough. This isn’t about punishing Tomioka, and she won’t stand by and let them. “Shut up, you fucker,” she hisses. “There’s only one Upper Rank here that will suffer tonight.”

His head snaps towards her, followed by Akaza and Tomioka in quick succession. Douma looks a bit startled. “Shinobu-chan,” he says, frowning, “you’re interrupting.”

“I don’t care. Do you really think I would have come all this way with such a suicidal plan for this?” All of the anger that’s built up from the moment she stepped beneath the gates vibrates in her voice now. All of the years of grief, the years of lying, of pain and rage so insurmountable it nearly swallowed her alive—they all make her frame shake violently. Her knuckles whiten due to how tightly she grips her scabbard. She’s spent so long trying to hide all of her fury, taming it into a mask that seemed manageable and acceptable, and yet, it unleashes from her so quickly it almost makes her pass out. This is the monster that took her sister from her. Kanae, Makoto, Shoko. Their faces swim in her memory, giving her words purpose. “This is not about Tomioka-san or Muzan or Akaza. Do you know who I am?” Her left hand, the one that isn’t holding her sword, grips at Kanae’s haori. “Do you know who this haori belongs to?”

Her question draws their conversation to a halt. Douma takes a second look at her. A few seconds pass before any sort of recognition settles in his gaze. “The flower breathing girl!” he exclaims, excited as if he’s aced some sort of test. “I do remember her. She was a Hashira too, wasn’t she?” His grin brightens. “I can see the resemblance! She must have been your sister. A shame. We fought too close to sunrise, so I didn’t get the chance to eat her. I wanted to gobble her all up—”

Her body moves on its own accord. 

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Bee Sting: True Flutter.

Shinobu dives across the room as quick as lightning, her arm extended. The sword jams through Douma’s eye before he gets the chance to finish his sentence. His hand moves haphazardly to try and stop her, but he isn’t fast enough to stop the attack or to prevent her from yanking out the blade.

“So fast!” Douma praises. “I couldn’t stop it in time!”

Blood Demon Art: Frozen Lotus. 

Douma spreads his arm wide, and shards of ice slide from his fan like water against a roof tile. Some ice lotuses form in front of her, forcing her back. 

Just as the ice begins to reach her, someone shouts from behind, “Don’t breathe in the cold air!”

Tomioka’s warning comes just in time. As she flips backwards to avoid the physical ice, a gust of cold air aims straight for her. Too flustered to hold her breath, she claps a hand over her mouth to keep herself from inhaling. The frost washes over her, and she nearly wilts on the spot.

So cold, she thinks. If Tomioka-san hadn’t warned me, he would’ve shredded my lungs.

She lands back beside Tomioka, a hand still covering her mouth. Tomioka and Akaza both appear to be watching Douma. They know what happens next.

“That was fast!” Douma echoes. “But you didn’t come close to slicing off my head.”

“Did you forget?” Finally, she draws back her hand, and warily draws in a few steady breaths. If she can’t breathe in the cold air at all, this will be a difficult fight. She understands better why this demon has been able to surpass a demon like Akaza and hold his spot amongst the Kizuki. His technique is a deterrent to any demon slayer, whose greatest weapon is their breathing. “My specialty lies elsewhere.”

On cue, purple splotches fill his face, and the veins in his eyes redden. A raspy cough works its way out of his throat. It’s working. It has to be. 

“Poison,” he mumbles. “Now I remember.” Another cough leaves him. A glimmer of hope blossoms. If this works, they’ll have a chance. She can fight. 

But all too soon, her hopes are dashed. Douma straightens, the purple bruising fading, and a crazed gleam enters his gaze. “It looks like I was able to decompose the poison!” he muses. “Sorry about that. I know you must have worked so hard.”

A muscle in her jaw ticks. Well. This isn’t the best outcome, but it isn’t one she hadn’t anticipated. Despite the fact that she can feel three sets of eyes on her, she refuses to let Douma’s words stir her. She’s planned for this, and she’s prepared to die for this. She’s always known that poison might not be enough. She only has to ensure that she is.

“It’s alright,” Shinobu drawls. “I thought this might happen.”

She hasn’t exhausted all of her options, anyhow. She slides her blade back into her scabbard, discreetly changing the formula. She’s altered them slightly since using them on Tomioka. There’s plenty to experiment with. 

Shinobu launches herself forward again. 

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Butterfly: Caprice.

He’s expecting her this time. But he still can’t ward off her strikes completely. As her body twists towards him, she holds her breath, and despite the cold air that swallows her whole, she’s able to get in three seamless hits before rolling behind him. 

Again, she thinks. While he’s humoring her. While he’s mocking her. She needs to take advantage of this lapse when the fight is limited to the two of them. As soon as Akaza joins in, they can’t guarantee anything. Her best chance to kill Upper Two on her own is now.

When her feet hit the ground, she’s off again. It takes one second to switch the formula, and another to thrust her sword upwards. The blade pierces his chest. His flesh is hard, she realizes. Much too hard to be able to drag her weapon and slash at his body further. All she can do is tear it back and watch as the poison festers in the open wound. 

“You really are quick!” Douma says. “You might be the fastest Hashira I’ve ever seen!”

Once the compliment is given, he wastes no time in meeting her back with equal fervor. 

Blood Demon Art: Freezing Clouds.

Her lungs tighten. It isn’t enough to hold her breath. The gust of wind engulfs her, and it’s worsened when he waves his fan in her direction. At this rate, her limbs will fall off due to the temperature. She can barely summon the strength to move. 

The memory of Kanae’s face as she bled out in her arms returns to the forefront of her mind. Kanao, sweating bullets in front of her grave. Aoi, for once, sobbing without reservation. Naho, Sumi, Kiyo, all gripping at her uniform as if she would vanish if their hold on her loosened a fraction. 

Shinobu snarls as she tosses herself backwards while shutting her eyes. She only knows she’s in the right place when Tomioka’s hand wraps around her wrist to haul her to her feet. 

Once she’s upright, Shinobu lets herself open her eyes. Douma stands in front of them, Akaza a step behind, watching vigilantly. If she hadn’t understood the hierarchy within the Kizuki before, she does now. Despite how formidable of an opponent Akaza is, he hasn’t interfered on account of Douma, who’s taking pleasure in toying with her. In this case, all Upper Three can do is observe until Upper Two decides he’s allowed to join in, and until then, Upper Two gets to gloat about how his student has failed them. 

The Corps aren’t like that. There might be some among the Hashira who are stronger and more experienced, and thus, get the chances to speak first or be deferred to when it comes to decision making. But any choices made by the Demon Slayer Corps are done with the consensus of all the Hashira. Their camaraderie is based on mutual respect, the knowledge that they’ve each earned their places among the top ranks of the Corps. How can any of the Kizuki experience this and think it to be fair?

“You really are unbelievable,” Douma remarks with a pleased smile. It doesn’t seem genuine like Akaza’s when he praises Tomioka. Instead, she feels like the punchline to a joke. “With your speed alone, you could’ve killed me! Well, maybe not. After all, you’re not going to get far with poison.” He taps his neck with his fan. “You really do have to slice off the neck, Shinobu-chan.”

He’s recovering quicker. It’s like the poison isn’t having an effect on him at all. Shinazugawa struggled with it, but Tomioka and Douma both adapted without much issue. Their recovery time might differ due to how soon each demon neutralizes the wisteria, depending on their ability to remain calm and focus on mending the torn tissue and organs. If this is the case, knowing doesn’t help much. She can’t force Douma to decompose her doses slower.

But she can keep administering the poison. The more she injects, the more he’ll have to react to. She has to try.

Springing forward, Shinobu switches the formula in her scabbard before aiming for the throat.

It isn’t working. Nothing’s working.

Shinobu stands next to Tomioka, her chest heaving for air as beads of sweat drip down the sides of her face. This small reprieve is the greatest chance she’s had to breathe properly. It’s no small feat to try and use techniques while holding your breath, and the longer she continues, the more pressure she exerts on her lungs. It’s why they’re near the point of bursting now, after firing off several forms in quick succession, and she can’t relax enough to maintain a steady rhythm. 

In stark contrast, Douma stands a few paces off, his smile sinister. This time, his pallor hadn’t shifted at all. It was like the wisteria passed through his system without much interference. 

She’s made contact with his flesh six more times, and each time has brought less success than the last. He’s adapting more with each attack. She can tell. He recovers easier, no longer coughing blood or struggling to hold his face together, and the effects of her poison are no longer present in his visage. 

Her poison isn’t working.

It’s the exact outcome she’s feared.

Akaza stands behind Douma with a narrowed gaze. All the while, he hasn’t moved to interfere. He’s only observed at a distance, watching each attempt rather impassively. Though, his gaze flickers with interest now as she tries to calm herself with little success.

Tomioka hasn’t interrupted either. She appreciates it; she isn’t foolish enough to believe this impasse will continue long. Once either of the other Upper Ranks joins, all hell will ensue, and she won’t have the room to test her poisons as freely.

But she’s out of time—and out of ideas. She’s tested each formula within the scabbard. Each yielded similar responses, so much so that it had been illogical to note. She can’t fight. Her poison isn’t enough. 

Shinobu’s losing her grip on her composure. With each second that ticks past, that smile of Douma’s becomes all the more infuriating, and her frustration reaches a steady boil. The sweat coating her skin overwhelms her in its heat. The room is stuffy, almost suffocating, and each breath she draws ends in a shudder. 

Her brain runs at a hundred kilometers a second, though it is all useless noise. There isn’t so much as an idea or a thought in her head. She has no way out of this. No clever plan. No tricks. Everything she considers reaches an inevitable deadend. She can’t sacrifice herself yet. She needs a slayer to cut the head—she needs Kanao—she needs—

The panic is suffocating as it tightens its hold on her heart. The cold is bad enough, but the pressure weighing her insides down is much worse. She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe.

Worse still, everyone in the room can tell she’s on the verge of snapping. Her resolve is slipping. She can’t focus. Her vision is beginning to blur. 

Breathe, Shinobu, she orders. Breathe!

“That time didn’t work either, Shinobu-chan,” Douma says mournfully. His tone is what annoys her the most. He sounds as though he’s rooting for her, when she knows that’s the furthest thing from the truth. “And you’re out of poisons, aren’t you? You’ve tried them all.”

Shinobu continues inhaling through her nose. Each one stings through her nostrils, but she hones in on the pain, hoping it’ll bring her clarity. This is humiliating. 

He’s built a resistance in a single fight faster than Shinazugawa-san or Tomioka-san, she notes. Everything about this demon is abnormal. 

“Would you like to try again?” Douma asks. “Not that it’ll change anything. I just hate to see you try so hard with nothing to show for it.”

She grits her teeth until they nearly snap. Fuck him. 

Her entire body wracks with tremors. The only part of her that is frozen still are her hands, wrapped as tight as they can be around the hilt of her weapon. The saltiness of her sweat has already reached her lips. 

She’s so focused on breathing right that she almost misses the gentle call of her name. “Kocho.”

Tomioka’s voice guides her out of the storm. Her eyes slide over to him. He watches her too, as closely as Akaza and Douma do. Unlike them, though, there’s a layer of concern there, one that she hates to see. She almost flinches away from her reflection in his eyes. 

When she doesn’t answer, he continues speaking. “The fourth formula,” he says. “Can you switch and use that one?”

Her gaze drops to the hilt. Robotically, she complies, jamming her blade back into the scabbard and coating it with the fourth formula, not thinking much of his words. 

“That one hurts the most,” Tomioka says. “Even as you break it down, it burns your internal organs, making it almost impossible to think. That one—will be the most effective.”

“Giyuu-kun,” Douma interjects sharply.

Shinobu draws out the blade, savoring how the metal sings. She hasn’t used any of these formulas on Tomioka. He shouldn’t know they feel burning through his body. He must be mistaken. “Are you sure? These are different—”

“I know,” Tomioka says. “I tested them myself.”

Startled, her heads snaps in his direction. He speaks calmly, as his words sound sane. When would he have done that? Her weapon… Right. He had her weapon with him from the moment they arrived. He could have done it at any time. But why—

“Why?” Shinobu demands.

His eyes widen a fraction. “Because I wanted to help you win.”

Her heart stutters. Her lungs had been racing for air a moment ago, but with Tomioka’s statement, they calm down. She had forgotten this would be inevitable. Her poison would fail her. But even so, her victory must also be inevitable. All that matters is that it happens—no matter the cost. That is the vow she made to Kanae on her deathbed, and to Kanao. 

Tomioka was willing to suffer the agony of the wisteria to ensure her victory—anything to give her an edge. He must have been in pain. He could’ve died. And yet, he did it for her sake. For her revenge.

She sweats now for reasons unrelated to her frustration. Her cheeks must be bright red. She wants to kiss him senseless for his recklessness and consideration at once. He makes it so hard to keep him at arm’s length. When he acts like this, honest and forthright, all she wants to do is drag him closer. 

A million words spring to her tongue, but what comes out is, “Stop flirting with me, Tomioka-san.”

“I’m—not?” He tilts his head. “I’m not.”

You are, she thinks, and it’s working.

Shinobu turns forward to face the other two Upper Ranks. Her sword stretches between them, the poison shiny along the blade. “Is Tomioka-san correct? Does that particular formula hurt more?”

Douma’s eyes narrow.

“I see! How fascinating. In that case, I’m done with my experiments.” She inclines her weapon towards Douma. “It doesn’t matter if the poison works or not. When you die, you will know it was because of me.”

There’s a brief pause before Douma bursts out laughing. The sound should grate on her eardrums. It would have, seconds ago, but now, it only strengthens her resolve. She doesn’t have the time to waste worrying about this demon’s reactions to her poison. If Tomioka had been able to plunge her wisteria-coated blade into his flesh without hesitation, then she can’t afford to second guess herself either. This isn’t about her capabilities. This is a battle of life and death, a promise she made to her sisters. All she needs is to kill this Upper Rank—for the sake of all the lives he’s taken, not just Kanae’s.

It takes a few seconds for him to recover. “Shinobu-chan,” Douma says. “I do admire you. As weak as you are, you have guts!”

She doesn’t grace him with a response. 

“Give it your best shot then,” he says, almost encouraging her. “Let’s see if you can do what Giyuu-kun and Akaza-dono cannot. Depending on how well you do, I’ll reward you like I did for Makoto-chan and Saku-chan.”

She draws in an even breath.

“But it wouldn’t be fair if it were easy!” Douma snaps his fingers, and on cue, Akaza takes a step forward. His expression is drawn, shuttered. “Let’s see whether or not a Hashira like you can last against the Upper Ranks.”

Beneath Akaza’s foot, that snowflake grows, emitting an unnatural light, as the demon draws himself into position. Douma wears a small smile, and she knows then that this Upper Rank does not think enough of her to believe she’ll last a single blow. He probably doesn’t even view her as a real Hashira. This battle is a means to taunt her, to punish Tomioka. She won’t let him succeed.

Tomioka leans forward, his eyes squinted. He must be viewing their fighting spirits, prepared to react at a single flicker.

To her surprise, Akaza is the one to strike first. 

Destruction Type: Disorder.

His fists punch the air in front of him rapidly. Her eyes can barely follow the movement, though she does sense the shift in the air. The last time they fought, Akaza used shockwaves at his leisure, each one the equivalent of a punch against flesh. A single one could snap bones and tear flesh, as she saw firsthand. Tomioka lost his head on the receiving end of Akaza’s unrelenting force. This technique magnifies those shockwaves, sending multiple towards them at once. The pressure that flies in their direction is akin to an overwhelming gust of wind. 

At the same time, Douma sweeps his fans forward. 

Blood Demon Art: Wintry Icicles.

A collection of sharp icicles gathers behind Douma. She barely gets the chance to notice how their edges resemble razors before they follow the paths of Akaza’s shockwaves and hurtle towards them at an incredible speed. 

Two powerful attacks at once—both aimed in their direction. It’s clear that neither of them are holding back. Only Akaza appears to be even a bit remorseful at his actions. Neither Upper Rank can afford to do anything less than destroy the Corps, including all those who show the slayers mercy. 

Her mind races as the icicles loom closer and closer. She can dive out of their path, but in this enclosed space, any wall she risks running into would stop her from truly escaping. Her sword isn’t like Kanroji’s, otherwise she might be able to break through the force of their attacks with her weapon alone. The cold has almost reached her. She has to hold her breath, has to perform a technique before her body is pierced over and over, has to do something—

Something slams into her side, pinning her to the ground. Shinobu has enough sense to stifle her breathing as soon as her head knocks against the mats. Someone’s on top of her. Someone’s here. 

She can see just past his shoulder as several icicles slam into the wall where they stood mere seconds before. They hit the wood with force, rattling the structure of the shrine. If any of them were to make contact with her body, she’s sure she’d be dead on impact. 

It isn’t until the person above her releases a grunt that her brain registers who threw her to the floor. Only Tomioka would have been so brave and stupid. 

She doesn’t get the chance to thank him before his body lurches above her. A second too late, she realizes why. One of the icicles hit its mark; he’s been struck through the stomach, and the ice has him pinned against the wall. Her vision blurs as she tries to find the exit wound, but he’s shuddering in pain, choking on blood, and there’s only a second before the shockwaves hit.

Tomioka buries her further into the floor, as if it’s possible for him to cover her completely. His weight is as overwhelming as it had been when he fell asleep on top of her, though, this time, it’s intentional. His purpose is to keep her where she is in order to endure every blow they aim their way. And he does, shouting himself ragged with each shockwave that comes. She doesn’t realize she’s screaming until the last icicle slams above her leg, narrowly missing. 

When Shinobu lifts her head, the sight that greets her is enough to turn anyone’s stomach. The icicle through his stomach is impossible to ignore. Around the wound, blood slides down his front and down his legs. The flesh seems to be trying to stitch itself back together, only to falter at the intrusion of the foreign object. The shockwaves were as brutal as they’d been at the inn, when his spine had revealed itself under the brunt of Akaza’s attacks. Various limbs have been blown away including his left leg and his left arm, and an enormous gash in his shoulder hangs over her face. 

I’m sorry, she wants to say. I’m so sorry you had to endure these attacks for my sake.

Because while he’s been battered, she’s been left relatively unscathed. Her chest stings on account of the cold air that wrapped around them like a blanket with the icicles, but other than that, she’s fine. It’s unfair. 

The dust created from Akaza’s attacks has given them some cover and a small amount of reprieve. It won’t last, but it gives her the chance to fumble for her sword and shimmy out from beneath him. 

“I’m sorry, Tomioka-san,” Shinobu whispers as she pulls herself into a crouch. Before he can say anything else, she carves out the flesh on either side of the icicle with her sword. Each chunk plops onto the floor as she works. Bile tickles the back of her throat at the sight, but she forces herself to ignore her disgust. There are more important things to focus on at the moment. As soon as he isn’t attached to the icicle, his flesh starts to congeal, and the blood stops pouring out. Slowly, his body resumes the process of stitching itself back together. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Tomioka says. Then, more sternly, he says, “Akaza’s coming. Grab your sword.”

His warning comes just in time. Shinobu has enough room to grip the hilt and aim it upwards before Akaza lands over the pair of them. Her blade pierces his chest, causing Akaza to frown at her. Unlike Douma, he makes no effort to conceal his disgust or disdain with her. Good. She’s had enough of pretending too. 

“Giyuu,” Akaza calls, like she isn’t even there. “Why didn’t you fight back? Why did you take the hit? There’s no point in protecting a mere human.”

Tomioka sits upright. His blood covers him from head to toe, sinking into his hair and staining his clothes. His body has already mostly recovered—except for his stomach. He raises his head, and to her surprise, he glares at Akaza. 

“I already told you,” Tomioka says. At the same time, Shinobu drags her sword across Akaza’s chest, and the Upper Rank lets out a hiss. “Kocho’s strong.”

“Then let’s see.” Akaza waits for her sword to exit the side of his body before knocking her blade aside. “Let’s see how long she lasts against Douma alone. I want to see how you’ve improved.”

Leg Type: Explosive Flurry.

Akaza throws his leg forward, catching Tomioka in the stomach with his foot. He doesn’t even have the chance to shout. The impact sends Tomioka flying upward, and he bursts through the ceiling. There’s a loud bang against the roof as he lands.

“Akaza—” Shinobu snarls. She thrusts her sword through his eye and draws it out in the same breath. At once, his skin darkens with the effects of the wisteria, and he growls in frustration. 

“Focus on your own fight, poisoner,” Akaza snaps. He slaps a hand over his eye to keep it from falling out of the socket. “Without Giyuu, you don’t stand much of a chance.”

He looks like he wants to say something more, but in the end, he leaps through the gaping hole in the roof without another word. 

The dust clears ahead of her. Shinobu hauls herself to her feet, her sword in her hand. If Tomioka’s fighting Akaza, that means she’ll have to ward off Douma alone. Akaza is right. This is her fight, and she can’t afford to worry about Tomioka for the time being. 

Her opponent stands on the opposite side of the room, his fan hiding half of his face from view. A hint of a smile peeks out at the sight of her still standing. 

“I didn’t hit Giyuu-kun too hard, did I?” Douma asks. “My bad!”

She steels herself. This is where the real battle begins.

“Come now, Shinobu-chan. Now that Giyuu-kun’s gone, I want to see what you’re capable of on your own.” He beckons her forward with a wave of his hand. “Try your best!”

She will. Without further prompting, she dives forward.

Each shockwave cracks another tile from the roof, sending it clattering towards the ground. All of Akaza’s attacks are like heavy blasts. A single one is life-threatening on its own, so to have numerous aimed at him in succession is an onslaught he’s struggling to endure. 

Akaza has never held back while they trained, always breaking bones and punching through flesh without remorse, all for the sake of urging Giyuu to get stronger—to fight back. This shouldn’t be a novelty, and yet, this isn’t like one of their spars. Facing Akaza like this, where he can’t ask his superior to stand down, is nerve-wracking. He’s never seen himself as an equal to Iguro or Shinazugawa, much less Akaza, so he is at a loss when it comes to bearing each of his relentless strikes. 

This is a punishment. As a demon—and an Upper Rank, no less—he’s betrayed Muzan. He’s fully deserving of each blow, and he shouldn’t expect any mercy from Akaza.

Still, he can’t swallow back the hurt that swells with each punch Akaza takes. 

Akaza usually laughs while they fight. Not now. His expression is as grim as he’s ever seen it. Entirely focused on the order he’s been given. 

He doesn’t have the time to waste with Akaza. Right below, Kocho’s occupied with Douma, and the longer they fight, the quicker her stamina will run out, and the easier it’ll be for Douma to overpower her. He promised her he would fight with her. He should be down there. Not trading blows with Akaza. 

But there’s no way of wriggling out. Akaza doesn’t slow down, much less leave him an opening. He would’ve thought that, in all their spars, he might have picked up some of Akaza’s tells when it comes to how he fights. Unfortunately, he stands corrected. His teacher is unfaltering, and even his own keen eyesight can’t pick apart any hesitation. 

“Giyuu,” Akaza says casually. He isn’t even breaking a sweat. On the other hand, Giyuu is barely quick enough to swing his sword up and block the punches. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

Giyuu clenches his teeth. He can’t—not when Akaza swarms over him like a hive of bees, ready to sting with each movement. Even when he blocks the hits, Akaza’s sheer strength manages to power through.

Akaza’s fist slams into his cheek, and he hears his jaw crack before he feels the pain.

“Is this all you’ve got? What’s the point in how your fighting spirit looks when you have nothing to show for it?”

Another series of punches, all aimed at his stomach, still tender from Douma’s technique. 

Giyuu swings his blade, and Akaza’s forearm flies off in the opposite direction. That gets a grin out of Akaza, who waits a brief second for the limb to regrow before kicking upwards. 

Leg Type: Crown Splitter.

Giyuu leaps up and over the shockwave. Akaza’s kicked him one too many times today. He isn’t going to let himself be struck that way again. As he lands on the other side of the roof, he takes a moment to consider his options.

At this rate, he’ll never win against Akaza. There is no winning. In their spars, he asks Akaza to stop, and after a while, Akaza acquiesces. There won’t be any of that leniency here. Not when Akaza has been ordered to be as ruthless as his treachery deserves. 

He needs something else—something that’ll give him an edge. 

Akaza throws himself into the air, his fist poised to attack. Giyuu launches himself backward in time for the tile to crumple where he stood a mere second ago. The power Akaza holds is insurmountable. That chunk of the roof collapses in on itself shortly after the impact. 

Blood Demon Art: Dead Calm.

His own technique launches through the air, and Akaza does have to step sideways in order to avoid it. 

“That’s more like it!” Akaza cheers. “More, more!”

His fists fly in a flurry, and Giyuu meets each one with equal enthusiasm. All he can hear over the white noise is the clang of his sword against flesh. He reacts to each strike on instinct alone, their movements too fast for him to process. As Akaza draws back, his hands covered in cuts, Giyuu seizes the opportunity. He twists forward, and his blade slices neatly through Akaza’s midsection.

“Shit!” Akaza says, far too excited for his own good. His eyes have taken on a dangerous gleam, the kind Giyuu knows better than to feed into. When Akaza gets like this, their spars last until sunrise. There’s nothing that enthuses Akaza more than a rigorous battle, and to protect Kocho, he can’t give anything less than his all. “That’s good. Good, Giyuu!”

The blood clots together before the two parts of his body can fully split apart. 

Destruction Type: Disorder.

The technique comes too quickly for him to react. Akaza’s hands spread in front of him as his brow furrows in concentration, and a split second later, the blue light floods from his palms. It hits him like a train, forcing blood out of his mouth as he doubles over with a strangled gasp. He can’t even feel the damage to his flesh. It’s how thoroughly his body has been ravaged. 

This isn’t enough. Even if he’s able to match Akaza’s attacks, it doesn’t give him an advantage. It merely allows him to compete, and that isn’t sufficient for victory. 

He needs to think. What else can he do? 

Tomioka swings his legs out from under him, ignoring the rush of pain that surges through him as he stands, and he kicks at Akaza with all of his might. It doesn’t send Akaza flying, but it forces him back a step, which is all he needs. 

Blood Demon Art: Waterfall Basin.

Giyuu grips Akaza by the fabric of his clothes and plunges his sword into Akaza’s chest. Beneath him, Akaza’s entire form seizes. The technique takes effect a second later. His eyes threaten to pop out of his skull, the veins along his limbs throb, and water forces its way out of his throat. If Akaza were human, he would have died an instant death. 

Drowning is slow. This technique of his has always seemed rather heartless, so he chooses not to use it unless necessary. It transforms the trajectory for his victim, compounding the effects of a simulated drowning, bursting all of their organs within seconds. 

He watches blood pour out of Akaza’s flesh for the briefest of moments before slicing off his head with his sword.

It won’t kill him. It isn’t a nichirin blade, after all, but it’ll slow down his recovery. 

A few seconds pass before Akaza is even able to draw in air, much less speak. Giyuu tosses his headless form away from him as the fibers of skin begin the process of growing Akaza’s head back. 

“Wow!” Akaza says. From his tone, you would never guess that he had his organs ruptured. “I forgot you had that technique. You never use it.”

“It’s painful.”

“And?”

Giyuu presses his lips together tightly. Akaza wouldn’t understand, just as he would never understand why he’d created his technique known as Dead Calm. He liked death to be quick. He didn’t gain joy from fighting or killing. Even when he consumed humans, he saw it as a necessity, not something to thrill him. In that vein, his techniques promise as swift a death as he can manage, something Akaza might never grasp.

“It’s incredible,” Akaza praises him. His head grows with a tearing sound, showcasing how his gaze sharpens. “You really are amazing, Giyuu.”

The compliments are completely out of place when Akaza’s spent the last twenty minutes beating him to a pulp. Giyuu sighs. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you to stand aside.”

Akaza’s expression sobers. “No. You know I can’t do that, Giyuu.”

“I figured.”

“If the poisoner does kill Douma, I have no problems looking the other way. His death is of no consequence to me.” In fact, he looks excited at the prospect. “But I can’t step aside. This isn’t a fight. When I win, I’m expected to bring you to Muzan-sama. There is no other option.”

Giyuu emits another sigh. “I see.” He shouldn’t have expected anything different. After all, Akaza is loyal to Muzan, first and foremost. He would never choose anyone over his leader. He would never go against Muzan if it meant saving Giyuu. All he knows is what it means to be a good soldier. Any thoughts of rebellion would have never come to light. “I understand.”

“Giyuu.” Akaza frowns. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he clams up. “Giyuu.”

His heart swells. This is unfair. No matter what his feelings are towards Akaza, there’s always been respect lodged deep down. 

Shinazugawa and Iguro were left alone. When they became demons, no one guided them or watched over them. But Akaza—Akaza has never let Giyuu wallow in solitude. 

From the moment he woke, the first thing he saw was Akaza’s panicked expression peering down at him. He realized later that Akaza had been holding him in a vice-like grip, like he’d been worried Giyuu would perish. He never remembered to ask about that—about why Akaza looked so worried. It had been swept beneath the rug. After, Akaza barely gave him a moment alone, badgering him to spar, taking him to see fireworks. 

Akaza might not be a good person, but he’s a person who matters to Giyuu, and that’s what makes this so difficult. He cannot help Akaza if he helps Kocho, and he has to help Kocho. Above all else, he knows it’s what he must do. 

He can’t afford to have any reservations about hurting Akaza. When it comes down to it, Akaza serves Muzan, and Muzan—

His chest pangs, and Giyuu’s hand flies to his chest, right over his bruise. He lets out a shaky breath. He can’t hold back—can’t run from what he’s done forever. He promised to serve the Corps as a Hashira. Kocho said that, didn’t she?

“Akaza,” Giyuu says. “Did I ask to be turned into a demon?”

He knows the answer before he asks the question. Even then, he’s unprepared for the guilt that plagues Akaza’s expression. He can’t even respond, stricken as he is.

“Okay,” Giyuu continues. He grips the hilt of his sword. Up until now, he’s been using his sword like an injured limb—halfheartedly. He’s been watching Kocho fight. He remembers how it used to feel, so right in his hands. “I get it.”

“Giyuu.”

“Forgive me, Akaza, but I can’t let you win.”

There was a boy with peach-colored hair. A deep voice and a deep laugh. A kitsune mask. In Giyuu’s memory, he remembers how he wielded his sword. He had all the confidence in the world. Each strike was unerring. Almost like this. 

Water Breathing: Fourth Form: Striking Tide.

His arm moves without thinking. The wind propels him forward as the water gathers around his figure, clinging to his blade. His sword cuts at a rapid pace, unlike anything he’s ever accomplished since becoming a demon, and each slice is like a ripple through water. Akaza’s flesh cuts easily, he realizes.

With a ragged gasp, Akaza dives forward to avoid the brunt of it, but Giyuu adjusts easily. Water Breathing is flexible. He remembers that much. 

Water Breathing: Second Form: Water Wheel.

Ignoring the twist of pain in his chest, Giyuu severs Akaza’s head, then his midsection. 

Still, when Akaza raises his head, he only looks pleased.

“Just like that!” Akaza shouts, his voice ringing through the dead of the forest. “Show me your strength of spirit. Show me that you can win!”

Giyuu raises his arms, his sword poised in his grasp. Again, he thinks, before letting his sword fall.

Chapter Text

Blood Demon Art: Crystalline Divine Child. 

The hall that stretches out in front of her is suddenly filled with miniature replicas of Upper Two, all created of ice in his image. As if one Douma wasn’t bad enough.

“Come on, Shinobu-chan!” the real Douma calls from the other end of the hallway. With each sweep of his fan, another version of him is created and directs its attention towards her. “Don’t be scared! These guys have all the same techniques as me, but they’re only half my size.”

She isn’t afraid, only annoyed. The crystalline replicas are a hindrance in her path, and their presence and abilities force her to hold her breath longer. She understands better how Kanae worried she’d been set up for failure against Upper Two. It would be difficult for any Hashira to lose the full extent of their breathing against such an opponent, and without any physical strength to carry her forward, Douma has all the markings of a bad match for her. Still, that’s no excuse for her to cower.

The replica nearest her swings its arm at her, and she has to dance backwards in order to avoid its arc. The ice it’s made of glints with the moonlight overhead. It must be as sturdy as one of the icicles that imbedded into the wall earlier. In that case, she can’t afford to swing her sword without thought. Her blade is so thin, and any hard strike could shatter it. The last thing she needs is to lose her weapon. 

Her legs pump forward, and she propels herself in a straight line. 

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Bee Sting: True Flutter.

With her sword arm outstretched, the tip of her blade enters the center of each replica. With all of her force, the delicate blade creates fissures at the point of impact before each one shatters around her, like a glass vase that’s been broken. There are six resounding bangs, one for each replica, as the thrust of her sword cracks each one apart. Before she knows it, she’s already crossed to the other end of the hall, putting herself in front of Douma.

“Impressive!” Douma coos. 

Blood Demon Art: Lotus Vines.

By the time Shinobu lands, his next technique is already reaching for her. The vines are an extension of his will, both forcing her back before she can get too close and grabbling for her. She has to flip herself backwards, her heart stuck in her throat, in order to get out of the way.

She can barely get close enough to stab him. He’s trying to exhaust her by using technique after technique to drain her stamina. She doesn’t want to get hit, but she doesn’t want him to control the flow of battle either.

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Butterfly: Caprice.

As she pushes herself upright again, her heel pushes off against the wall. Her body slips through the open air, just above the nearest vine of ice, and she twists, twists, twists. Once she has spun around again, the worst of the vines are behind her, and she’s close enough to Douma to strike. 

With so little distance between them, she can see how his eyes narrow as they watch her close the gap. 

Her sword slices through his arm, then his upper chest, before his fan rises up to slam into her side. He’s strong, and though he doesn’t fight hand-to-hand like Akaza, as soon as the momentum of his swing hits her, any remaining air she had gets stuck in her lungs, and she’s thrown against the far wall.

Her back hits the wall before the rest of her, and Shinobu crumples against the floor in a heap. Shit.

“You did get two strikes in,” Douma says, his voice sounding far away. Then, there’s a brittle cough, and her lips twist in satisfaction. Tomioka was right. This formula is still effective. Though, there’s no telling how long that will last. “Nicely done!”

Her chest aches. Having to hold her breath in lapses is taking its toll. She should be allowed to breathe freely in order to push her body to its maximum potential. Instead, she has to limit herself to keep her insides from freezing. 

She won’t manifest the mark like this. She can’t raise her body temperature when her body is cocooned in this constant cold. Any Hashira would struggle to manifest the mark in these conditions. 

Not to mention that being tossed around is weighing on the rest of her body. There must be bruises all over, cuts hidden beneath the fabric of her uniform from the ice, and there’s a pain in her side as she pushes herself up. Her vision blurs with the sudden movement, but she can see Douma making a slow approach. There’s no way to mistake him. The rush of anger she gets every time she sees his face doesn’t change.

Get up, she thinks. Get up.

Each step he takes is an echo inside the empty shrine. Save for his footsteps, all her ears can detect are the muted sounds of fighting up above. Akaza’s laugh cuts in every now and again. On cue, there’s a loud crash, and the roof behind Douma collapses in on itself. 

“Jeez,” Douma mutters. “Those two are being so destructive.”

She presses her hands against the mats. The flesh of her palms are littered with small cuts, likely from when Tomioka tackled her into the floor earlier, and they sting when she applies pressure to them. Even so, she grabs the hilt of her sword again, and she rises.

A furrow appears between Douma’s brows. “Shinobu-chan. Haven’t you had enough?”

“No.” She wonders how she must look to him—crazed, unhinged, desperate. Like a butterfly whose wings have been pinched, seconds away from death. She doesn’t care. She draws in a gulp of air, knowing well that she’ll need it. “It isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough until you’re dead.”

Douma sighs. “I am sorry about your sister.”

Her vision floods with red. Red as dark as the blood that dripped from Kanae’s mouth as Shinobu held her. 

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Bee Sting: True Flutter.

Her arm extends forward, and the tip of her blade finds its mark in Douma’s eye once more. 

Blood Demon Art: Frozen Lotus.

His fan slides forward again, ice shards forming before her eyes. If she doesn’t move, he’ll hit her. She’s been lucky so far to avoid being struck by one of his techniques. She doubts she’ll survive being hit. 

The ice crystallizes at a lightning-fast pace. It hurtles at her, missing Douma’s enthused expression, and the cold air wraps around her before she even gets the chance to remove her sword.

Not good. 

Shinobu uses her body weight and throws herself forward. She’s always been small—small enough that any jump makes her weightless. With her sword pinned in Douma’s eye, all she needs to do is make use of that crutch. A few of the first shards bite at her exposed skin, stinging her. Ignoring the pain, she swings herself up and over Douma’s shoulder, until her sword has followed her trajectory—and slides with ease out of the back of Douma’s skull.

It’s not enough. It is never enough. 

Before Douma gets the chance to turn around, she strikes.

Dance of the Dragonfly: Compound Eye Hexagon.

Her arms move faster than Douma’s ice. Her sword strikes the vital points with ease—his neck, the torso. She decides to thrust it into his skull another time, just for her own satisfaction. Each time she hits home, the fourth formula coats the blade. It’s all she can hope for—that this can be efficient enough, that she’s given him a large enough dose of poison to slow him down.

“That’s better, Shinobu-chan!” Douma says, but he doesn’t sound pleased about it for once. Good. She wants to knock the smile off his face. It isn’t fair that a monster gets to smile when his victims do not. 

He throws his left arm back, his fan outstretched, but she’s prepared. He needs his fans to control the ice. If he doesn’t react, his techniques won’t form. 

Her sword clangs against the fan, and the impact rocks her back a step. She can’t win against him in a battle of strength. She’ll lose every time. She only needs to delay him. 

Douma swings again, undeterred by the initial block. His smile has returned, almost like he’s amused that she’s trying to meet his attacks head-on. His fan closes in, and again, she moves to block it.

Instead, Douma reels his arm back, having read her movements.

“Nice try!” he titters.

“Nice hit, you mean,” she corrects.

His eyes flit over to his arm, where one of her small blades has struck his wrist, coated in the same poison.

Douma tears it out. “You are smarter than you look, Shinobu-chan. I didn’t realize you were baiting me.” His lips quirk upwards. “Good for you.”

Blood Demon Art: Barren Hanging Garden.

Her small blade can’t carry nearly the same amount of poison as her sword. The amount of time it takes Douma to recover is minimal, and within seconds, his arms spin rapidly around himself. 

It takes her a second to spot the ice shards forming, and a second more to lift her sword to begin to block them. 

They’re as sharp as each of his earlier techniques, and worse, these aren’t limited to a single trajectory. They curve with Douma’s movements, angling as he desires them, and she has to swing further in order to knock her blade against each of the icicles that dance around him. Each hit comes like a crack, and even then, it’s barely enough to ward him off.

The ice reforms in an instant before bending around his body to begin the cycle all over again, so long as his arms continue to command them to. 

He wants her to exhaust herself. Not because he thinks himself incapable of finishing her off now, but because he wants her to give up, to admit defeat. It’s as sadistic as she expects him to be, and the knowledge that he’s looking down on her is a spark against her ever-growing anger.

Shinobu’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Insect Breathing demands that she close the gap between her and her enemies in quick, efficient strikes. Yet, against an Upper Rank whose strength is limitless, this becomes a liability. The more she attempts to approach him, the easier it is for him to overwhelm her with the cold air and the ice that surrounds him. He’s well aware she won’t gain the advantage in a contest of strength, so he backs her into a corner where she has to defend herself instead of going on the offensive.

It’s no use. The poison won’t kill him, and she can’t sacrifice herself. Not yet. No one is around to slice off the head. Tomioka can’t do it. 

Then this battle will end when her stamina does. Douma sees this as a game, evident by his smirks, and for an immortal being, he likely has all the patience in the world to wait her out, simply for the sake of getting under her skin, so that his victory will taste all the more sweet. She can’t let that happen.

She needs something. An advantage. But how can a mere human take the upper hand against him?

As another icicle crashes against her blade, pushing her backwards, the syringe in her pocket knocks against her hip. 

Before her mind gets the chance to dwell on it, Douma aims for her head with his fan. Immediately, Shinobu bends backwards with a grimace, and the frost brushes against her face, narrowly missing.

Blood Demon Art: Wintry Icicles. 

This time, the icicles rain down from above, and Shinobu throws herself out of the way to avoid being impaled. Each one strikes the floor with a thud, causing the shrine to tremble. It’s bad enough that Akaza and Tomioka are slamming each other against the roof. The building won’t last much longer.

They won’t last much longer. She needs to think. Think—

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Centipede: Hundred-Legged Zigzag.

Pressing the soles of her feet against the mats, Shinobu takes off with a burst. She darts back and forth rapidly, too fast for Douma to follow. Like this, she’s certain she almost disappears from sight, only visible due to the way the floor cracks beneath her. She runs across his field of vision, and Douma lets out an exhale as she nears.

Again, he can’t react fast enough to stop her completely. She throws her arm forward, and her sword finds its place in his neck. The outcome won’t be any different; he’ll recover as swiftly as before, but she can’t stand idly. She can’t do nothing. She’ll stab him as many times as it takes for her results to show. 

Still, there’s satisfaction to be had in the crunch of his flesh as the tip burrows home. 

Maybe she should pin him to the wall. If she stabs him and keeps him in place until the sun rises, she could win.

As she withdraws her sword, Douma surges forward. He’s recovering quicker. The fourth formula is losing its effectiveness. His face barely changed color that time. 

His arm moves in a downward arc, aiming for her skull. 

Before he hits his target, the roof above him collapses. Shinobu gasps. The noise, combined with the fallen tile, breaks Douma out of his concentration, and his arm drops back to his side. All she can see out of the newly-formed large gap in the ceiling is Tomioka’s silhouette before he drops down amongst the debris. 

Blood Demon Art: Waterfall Basin.

His sword extends first, impaling itself in Douma’s skull. Douma lets out a small tsk of annoyance, but then falls silent. As Tomioka’s feet crash against Douma’s back, forcing Upper Two to double over, the veins in Douma’s face pulse. His eyes bulge a dangerous amount. As he collapses, water bursts from his mouth.

What is this? Another Blood Demon Art of Tomioka-san’s?

She’s never seen this one before. Dead Calm is frightening, but quick. This one—judging by how Douma’s body quivers, his insides must have imploded. It’s brutal and gruesome. Blood leaks out of the corners of his mouth and his eyes. 

“Kocho!” Tomioka calls, half an order.

She understands what he wants. Shinobu bursts forward again, right as Tomioka lands on the floor. Her sword stabs Douma multiple times in quick succession—in the chest, the neck, the eye. It’s easy to mark him repeatedly when he isn’t fighting back. Because of Tomioka’s technique, he has to repair all of his ruptured organs before he even gets the chance.

Even so, he puts in a good effort. His fan moves out of the corner of her eye, and she’s prepared to dodge until Tomioka grips Douma by the wrist. He wrangles the arm behind Douma’s back, then does the same with the other. 

Douma struggles beneath Tomioka’s iron-tight grip. He might’ve been able to fight him off if he wasn’t poisoned and suffering the effects of Tomioka’s technique. As it is, Tomioka pins him in place with ease, and his fans clatter to the floor. 

He won’t die even if she poisons him a hundred times. The only surefire way to kill him will be by beheading him. She’s never been able to behead a demon before, much less an Upper Rank, but she has to try.

Drawing in air, Shinobu slams her blade into Douma’s neck. It strikes flesh, barely digging in. 

Come on, she thinks. Come on! Just this once.

Her arms tremble as she summons any remaining strength she has. However much she has to give, she wants to dedicate it to this—to sliding the blade through his neck, to severing his head from his body. She can do this. She has to do this. 

But the blade isn’t moving. There’s a pang in her chest. Of course. She’s never been strong enough. So why would today be the day?

“Fuck off!” she snaps. “Fuck off!”

One of Douma’s rainbow irises rolls up to watch her, and even despite the pain he must be in, it crinkles in amusement. “Oh, my dear Shinobu-chan! You truly thought you could do it. I feel a bit bad for you.”

Before Douma can say anything else, Tomioka releases one hand from around Douma’s wrists. His fingers wrap around the tip of her blade from where it sticks out near the back of Douma’s neck. Within seconds, blood trickles around his fist from how tightly he grips her blade. 

“Tomioka-san—” she starts.

Her sword slides deeper into Douma’s neck.

Oh, she realizes. He’s pushing it through.

Tomioka continues putting pressure on the blade. Given how thin it is, it can easily crack beneath an excessive amount of force. If she’s not careful, even slicing through this demon’s neck will break it. It’s why he holds it despite the blood running down his forearm: he’s guiding it through Douma’s neck, using his strength to urge it the rest of the way.

“Tomioka-san!” Shinobu gasps. Her arms quake as she throws the last of her strength into her swing. It’s halfway through now. “Tomioka-san!”

Tomioka grits his teeth together. The veins in his forehead pop, but he continues pushing. The sword digs in deeper. It’s almost three-fourths of the way through. 

Nearly. Nearly.

Shinobu risks a look downward. Douma’s expression isn’t that different from Tomioka’s, but for a different reason. As Tomioka fights to kill him, Douma fights to recover. The air around them is getting chilly. If they can’t slice through the rest of his neck now, he’ll bounce back.

There’s the distinct sound of muscles and bones cracking. His shoulders flex, and his elbows fold inward. She realizes what Douma is doing a beat later, when he tears his arms from his body.

No. No, no, no.

Tomioka seems to be on the same page. Throwing Douma’s discarded arms aside, he wraps both hands around the blade. It’s so close. It’s nearly reached the other side. 

There’s a ripping sound of flesh as Douma’s arms regenerate in front of their eyes. A new fan grows out of one of his palms to replace the ones he lost. She doesn’t pull her sword out quick enough to avoid the punch to the stomach. 

“Wow!” Douma says cheerfully. “You almost had me! Interesting tactic. Is that a new technique, Giyuu-kun?”

Tomioka doesn’t have the chance to respond before a new icicle forms, dives through the air, and pins him against the furthest wall. He shouts as the building buckles beneath his weight. When he lifts his head, he looks as frustrated as she feels. 

They were so close. They could’ve killed him.

Another crash resounds from overhead, and Shinobu dances out of the way in time for Akaza to land beside Douma. 

Despite the fact that his limbs are intact and he looks otherwise unfazed, his clothes are soaked in blood. Tomioka must have done a number on him, otherwise he would have rushed to engage Tomioka again. They lost their best chance to take out Douma. Akaza was occupied. It was perfect.

A snarl of frustration builds up inside her. 

“He’s always had that technique,” Akaza says proudly. “He doesn’t use it often, though.”

“Lucky me then.” Douma dusts off his shoulders. He glances back over his shoulder at her as he brushes down the front of his shirt. “Are you ready to give up, Shinobu-chan? You couldn’t behead me. Giyuu-kun had to help you.”

Her eyes narrow. 

“I suppose I should give you both credit. You caught me by surprise.” Apparently done fixing himself, he wanders across the room to where Tomioka hangs. “Aren’t you tired of fighting back, Giyuu-kun?”

Tomioka’s gaze falls to the icicle piercing through his stomach. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around it, as if testing how strong it is. There’s blood clotting around his wound already, the remains dripping down his front. Each breath he draws is ragged. Rough. 

“Did you hear me?”

Douma takes another step forward—until he reaches one end of the icicle that Tomioka is stuck on.

Shinobu steps forward, too, intent on interfering, when the syringe in her pocket hits her side again. Her mind flashes back to Tamayo’s letter. 

We won’t know until we test it, so please try this on a demon whose life you’re willing to bargain with.

The cure in her pocket. Her hand clutches at where it’s buried, and the familiar shape of the syringe greets her. Tamayo asked her to test it, didn’t she? She warned her that if this cure failed, it would likely kill whichever demon it was used on. She imagined she would find a bottomfeeder demon to test it on. Someone who hadn’t killed that many innocent people. 

There are two possible test subjects in the shrine with her. If they die because of this injection, that’s fine. She won’t bat an eye. The problem lies in whether they live. Can she live with knowing that she chose to turn an Upper Rank demon back into a human, giving them a second chance they do not deserve?

While they’re hoping for success, the harsh reality is that using this on any demon means changing a killer back into a human. She has to live with that. That demon’s choices and actions after the transformation will be on her hands. 

It’s not how she imagined testing this cure. But they need to swing the momentum back in their favor. If she takes one of these Upper Ranks out of the equation, they’ll have a greater chance.

Then who does she choose? Douma, standing over Tomioka now, taunting him without reservation as Tomioka’s lungs rasp through the blood. Akaza, watching, glaring, but doing nothing to stop it.

This could kill Douma now. All she needs is to slam the syringe into his neck, and he’ll either become a vulnerable human or die. 

No. It can’t be Douma. If he lives, she’ll want to kill him, and they’ll need to keep him alive long enough to study him. She won’t be able to bear it. It can’t be Douma.

Her attention turns to Akaza, who’s seething now as Douma jams the icicle in deeper, causing Tomioka to cry out in pain. 

Akaza, who killed Rengoku, who turned Tomioka into a demon. Is she truly willing to bear that sin if she uses the cure on him? 

Tomioka’s scream pierces her eardrums, and her head whips back in time to watch Douma drive the icicle deeper. Blood dribbles from his mouth in full force. He shakes from where he’s pinned against the wall, his body fighting to recover.

Akaza shakes almost as much as Tomioka, but in anger, not pain. His fists clench at his sides. She watches as blood drips from his closed fists and onto the floor. 

It has to be Akaza. A Hashira for an Upper Rank. Just as Muzan took three of her comrades, she has to repay the favor.

There’s a sharp crunch, and Shinobu’s eyes flit back over to Tomioka. One of his hands grabs Douma by the hair. The other slams against Douma’s back, urging him forward. But as soon as Douma shifts forward, his own stomach is pierced by the same icicle holding Tomioka down.

“Wait,” Douma blurts.

Blood Demon Art: Waterfall Basin.

Tomioka drags Douma further by his hair, until he’s equally impaled by the icicle as Tomioka is. It’s Douma’s turn to lurch and gasp as Tomioka’s technique ripples through his body. Everything about the action is ruthless, and yet, she can’t tear her gaze away. 

But she has something she needs to do.

“Tomioka-san!” she shouts. Tomioka cracks open one eye. “I’m going to fight Akaza. Can you hold Douma off?”

At her words, Akaza’s neck snaps in her direction. “What? No. I don’t want to fight you.”

Ignoring him, Shinobu keeps her attention on Tomioka, who looks as wide-eyed as Akaza. “Let’s switch,” she says. If Tomioka was right before, Akaza doesn’t kill women. It should work to her advantage. “Give me a few minutes.”

His expression clears, and he gives her a firm nod. He must see something in her gaze. He must trust her enough to lend her this time while he faces off against the bigger threat. With that, his hold on Douma’s hair tightens, and there’s a harsh tear as he separates the head from the neck with brute force.

Shinobu turns away with a small smile forming on her lip before directing her attention to Akaza.

There’s something off about Akaza. Although Tomioka told her before that he refuses to eat or kill women, she hadn’t expected this moral code of his to be so strict. She wondered if his restrictions could be stretched, if when it came to a fight between him and a female Hashira, he’d relent. From her perspective watching him now, that does not appear to be the case. 

Akaza is skittish. His eyes continuously dart past her to where Tomioka is in the middle of fighting off Douma. His fingers flex at his side, the physical manifestation of his nerves. He doesn’t want to fight her. That much is clear. What started as an exciting battle between him and his student has turned into something of a nightmare. Even though she stares him down with her sword outstretched, his expression barely shifts. 

“Akaza,” Shinobu calls. The brightness has returned to her voice now that there’s some distance between her and Douma. She might have hatred for all demons excluding a select few, but the anger she feels towards Douma is personal. It’s a small relief to be able to step away and return to her mask for the time being. “No need to be afraid. As you’ve said before, I’m weak.”

Akaza bares his teeth at her. Still, he doesn’t take the first step. 

Will he engage her if she moves first? She can’t imagine that he won’t fight back. If she were to twist her blade towards his neck, he’d definitely stop her. But perhaps, that is what Akaza wants to avoid: any scenario in which he’s forced to attack.

She has no opposition to that. In fact, this will all go easier if Akaza doesn’t respond. 

“I know I’m not Tomioka-san, but we can still have some fun, can’t we?” After she finishes speaking, Shinobu darts forward. As she expects, Akaza dances out of reach. It’s almost comical how far he’ll go to avoid her. “I didn’t get to see the aftermath of how you reacted to the poison last time. Can we try that again?”

Shinobu lunges. Again, Akaza leaps into the air, flipping over her and landing a few yards away. 

If he continues to keep his distance, it’ll prove difficult to inject him with the cure. She needs to get in close, to have enough time to press down. But he’s intent on avoiding her at all costs. She’s going to have to use speed in order to pin him down.

“Akaza!” 

“Quiet.”

“Akaza!” 

Shinobu lands beside him. The moment her feet hit the ground, Akaza launches himself towards the door, a fair distance from her. This isn’t working. She needs him to engage her, at least a little. Then, she can quicken her pace.

“I’m so curious,” Shinobu says. “Why do you refuse to fight me? I already know how much you hate me. I’m sure you’d love to be the one to kill me. Was the poison so horrible?”

Akaza grimaces, and as Shinobu bounds closer, that slight shift in his expression tells her that this is the button she needs to push. 

“It won’t hurt so badly the second time, I promise!”

“Shut up, poisoner.” He spits out the name like an insult. She’s been looked down on before by many demons for her use of poison. To them, it’s a cruel and unfair trick. They can at least respect a demon slayer that approaches them head-on instead of using deceit to kill. But with Akaza, it sounds personal. “I don’t want to fight you because you’re not worth my time.”

“But Tomioka-san is doing so well fighting Upper Two,” she says. “I thought it would only be fair to let him take the lead there.”

Akaza harrumphs. This time, when she raises her sword, he uses an arm to block the tip from entering his chest. Her eyes light up once she’s thrown back a step. This is better. 

“Oh, you’re fighting back?” Shinobu teases. She ducks low as Akaza swings for her head. Once she’s positioned near the floor, she slams her weight into her heels and propels herself upwards. At this angle, even Akaza can’t stop her from impaling his torso. “That’s good!”

Akaza’s eye twitches. Seconds later, it begins to darken in color, the effects of the wisteria setting in. His lips curl, and alarm bells sound in the back of her mind. She rips her sword out of Akaza’s flesh just in time. His fist was seconds away from knocking against the blade, and she has a gut feeling that the punch would have broken it in two if the connection had struck. 

She needs to end this now. The longer this goes on, the quicker Douma will overwhelm Tomioka. Akaza needs to be taken out of the equation—dead or alive. He’s close enough now for her to strike. 

Shinobu draws herself to her full height. She grips the hilt of her sword tightly. 

Akaza won’t let her get a clean hit. She’ll have to force it. 

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Centipede: Hundred-Legged Zigzag.

Pulling the syringe from her pocket, Shinobu bursts into her full speed in front of Akaza. His gaze darkens as he attempts to follow her movements, but it’s to no avail. She proceeds at a pace demons can rarely keep up with. Their only choice winds up being to prepare for any possible hit on all sides, and with this form, their minds break themselves down in paranoia before she even lands a hit. That’s all she needs right now: one good hit.

Akaza takes a step back in an attempt to predict her plan of attack. The compass that had been absent before reappears beneath his feet. Faster. She needs to be faster. 

Her hair whips around her face. The cuts she’s gained sting with the speed she’s moving. All of her limbs cry out in exhaustion, and her lungs sag from exertion in her chest. She’s stretched herself thin today, and the battle is far from over. If she manages this, she’ll give herself the room to breathe. 

Her right arm swings first, her sword aiming for Akaza’s eye. There’s a glint in Akaza’s gaze. Despite all her efforts, he sees this coming. His smile grows while his arm rises to stop her. But that isn’t the attack he should be worried about. In the same breath, her left arm moves, and Shinobu lunges for Akaza’s neck. 

Akaza realizes that her movements are peculiar a second too late. His eyes widen, and his fist slams into her side in the exact spot Douma made contact with earlier. But before the momentum can send her flying, she presses down on the syringe, hope blooming in her chest.

All she hears before hitting the opposite wall is the rush of wind in her eardrums. Everything hurts the moment her body bangs against the shrine wall, and that pain worsens once she falls onto the floor. Absent-mindedly, she grapples along her limbs in case something is broken. It wouldn’t be a far-gone conclusion for her to emerge from this with a broken bone. Everything appears to be fine, though, once she finishes her search. 

Shinobu lifts her head to find Akaza clutching his neck. He continues to shudder even as he takes uneven steps. She doesn’t know where he’s trying to go, and maybe neither does he. Maybe he’s trying to run, to put as much distance as he can between himself and the inevitable. Unfortunately, it’s no use, and it’s too late. The cure is already in his system. It’s up to him whether it kills him or saves him. 

“Akaza?” Douma has paused in the middle of slicing Tomioka in half with one of his frosted vines to glance over at Akaza. His eyebrows scrunch, and she wonders if he can sense that something is amiss. 

Akaza doesn’t answer. He doubles over, his claws digging into his neck with renewed force. A spasm brushes through him from head to toe. He coughs once, a rotten, brittle sound, and a puddle of blood collects on the floor beneath his feet. Before Douma can press further, Akaza’s legs give out, and he collapses onto the floor, limp and unmoving.

Did it…work? 

She needs to get closer and check his pulse. 

But there’s a more pressing concern at the moment. Douma turns to look at her, his lips pressed into a flat line. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?” Shinobu asks, playing dumb. She scrambles to her feet. If Akaza is out of the equation, she can refocus on Douma. “I thought you said my poison didn’t work.”

Douma takes a second look at Akaza, but the latter hasn’t stirred. “I can’t sense him anymore. What did you do?”

“Beats me!”

She catches her sword from where it lies a few paces away, tossed aside after Akaza threw her, and she dives into the air. Her sword clacks at each vine of frost it hits, and each time, she bites down on her tongue, hoping that her sword can last a little longer, that it won’t snap prematurely. Somehow, her blade holds, and the vines surrounding Tomioka deteriorate as soon as she cuts through them, as though they’re nothing more than delicate snowflakes.

She lands beside Tomioka, who’s sputtering for breath, crouched on the floor. He must have gotten a few hits on Douma. Upper Two’s hair is now stained through with his own blood, and several discarded fans made from his flesh litter the floor. But at the same time, Tomioka must have endured a thrashing while she took care of Akaza. His breathing is ragged, and each gasp from his mouth grates on her ears with unease. His hair has fallen loose, making him look as crazed as her. 

“Sorry I took so long, Tomioka-san,” she apologizes. She slams her sword against an errant vine at his feet. “Thank you. Are you alright?”

He pushes himself upright and wipes the blood off his face with the back of his hand. “I’m alright. Are you?”

“Yes!” There’s no way she’s going to admit that she’s exhausted, because there’s no way she’s giving up before this monster is dead.

But unlike before, there’s a level of hesitation in Douma’s expression. His eyes continue to stray over to Akaza, like he expects Akaza to jump to his feet at any moment, fully recovered. He doesn’t understand what happened. For the first time tonight, her actions have truly unnerved him.

His eyes narrow, and without another word, he sweeps his fan aside. 

Blood Demon Art: Cold White Princesses.

Two human-like figures made of the same ice materialize in front of him. They look elegant and statuesque, the most breathtaking of his techniques thus far. Their mouths are pursed, and a second later, she realizes why. When they breathe, cold air rushes from their lips, as icy and dangerous as the rest of the frost they’ve faced today. 

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Bee Sting: True Flutter.

She rolls across the floor until she’s on the side of the left-most princess. Tomioka mimics her motions, planting himself on the opposite side, facing the right princess.

Water Breathing: Seventh Form: Drop Ripple Thrust.

Both of their swords thrust forward at the same time to pierce each princess in the center of their necks. Their cold breaths begin to wane, and they both burst into a million tiny shards that fly across the room. A few prick her in the face. 

“You two synchronize fast!” Douma comments.

Her brain barely registers the implications of Douma’s words. At first, it seems obvious. Of course her Insect Breathing would align with his Water Breathing. After all, their techniques have always been closely linked. It’s part of the reason Oyakata-sama favored sending them on missions together. After a few, they found a rhythm in battle in which their individual techniques worked around each other. It’s natural that they’d be able to land on the same page now.

Only it’s not natural. Because for the first time since she’s met him as a demon, Tomioka is using Water Breathing, and that is the biggest surprise of all. 

It surprises her enough that she almost misses the vine headed straight in her direction. Tomioka cuts across her, and his sword slices the vine before it can continue any further. She thinks she hears him let out a sharp breath, like the action has winded him. 

Since when has Tomioka remembered Water Breathing? Has it been a recent development? She isn’t one to turn down good fortune, especially at a time like this. 

Blood Demon Art: Scattered Lotuses.

Douma twists his arms back and forth in two fell swoops. A blizzard gathers around him in the shape of a million tiny petals, each as sharp and deadly as the last. He pushes them forward, and immediately, the storm heads straight for the two of them. 

Tomioka crouches low before his sword slices through the collection of petals at a dizzying speed. 

Water Breathing: Fourth Form: Striking Tide.

Shinobu leaps up over his back. With her left hand, she balances herself on Tomioka’s shoulder blades. 

Insect Breathing: Dance of the Butterfly: Caprice.

There’s a small break in the ice. Shinobu uses that as her leverage and leaps from Tomioka’s back to where Douma stands amidst the flowing petals. Her sword only manages to pierce his neck for a brief second before he reacts, tossing a hand up to knock her away. She bounds out of reach.

Douma’s talking less. With Akaza out of the picture, he has to focus a bit more. He can’t toy with them as easily as he did when he took them on one by one. She can’t tell whether he’s trying his best, but at the very least, he has to try more. The fact that they came close to beheading him speaks to that truth. 

They need to create that opportunity again. 

But Douma is on guard. Akaza being taken out must have rattled him on an intrinsic level. Some part of her doubts this monster understands fear, but he must know unease. A being as formidable and fierce as Akaza wouldn’t have been taken down under normal circumstances. In doing so, she’s changed the understanding of this battle, introduced a new variable, and Upper Two has to decide how best to adapt.

His expression shutters for half a second before that unnerving grin reappears.

Blood Demon Art: Rime - Water Lily Bodhisattva.

The ground beneath her feet starts to rumble. Tremors race up her legs in anticipation. Something’s coming. He hasn’t used this technique yet. But how—and from which direction?

Shinobu looks over at Tomioka. He’s bracing himself for impact already, crouching slightly. As soon as she catches his eye, she races over to him. She reaches his side just in time for the enormous Bodhisattva statue to erupt from the floor. 

“Shit,” she whispers under her breath, the swear lost in the sound of shattering floorboards. 

Before the force can send the two of them flying, Tomioka’s hand clasps onto her waist. His grip tight, he leaps into the air, rising at the same time as the clouds of ice that surround the statue, taking her with him. Her stomach drops out from under her. 

The statue has lotus petals surrounding its figure, similar to the ones that make up the rest of Douma’s techniques. Each one spins slowly, spreading cold air further into the room. The statue itself is nothing to gawk at either. Its size is considerable, crashing through the remains of the shrine roof and bursting the last of its bare structure apart. 

Douma perches himself on one of the statue’s shoulders, waving his fan at them, amused. 

Tomioka lands on the opposite shoulder. Unlike the petals that surround Douma, the lotuses have no mercy for the two of them. They twist wildly, their petals sharpening as soon as their feet brush against the ice, and another gust of cold air washes over them. She holds her breath on instinct, but it’s getting more difficult to do so. There’s only so much more her lungs can bear.

One of the statue’s arms lifts itself into the air, causing the two of them to jostle where they stand. The longer this technique lasts, the more of a problem it poses. 

With that in mind, Shinobu launches herself to the other shoulder, where Douma sits.

“Now, now,” Douma says, inclining his fan. Immediately, the petals from the nearest lotus break off and speed towards her. “You’re getting too eager, don’t you think?”

Shinobu throws herself sideways. The right arm of the statue has started its upward incline. Before that gigantic hand can grab onto her, she uses its forearm to change her direction. With one foot against the ice, she pushes herself towards Douma, out of range of the petals. 

Her sword thrusts forward, only to rattle against Douma’s other fan, thrown up to block her path. His eyes gleam with a satisfaction that frustrates her. Even after all she’s done, he still has the upper hand. Is there nothing she can do?

There’s a light series of footsteps, but before she gets the chance to find its source, Tomioka emerges from around the back of the statue’s skull, his sword already swinging downward. His brows are furrowed in concentration, as if he’s thrown everything into this last effort.

Water Breathing: Ninth Form: Splashing Water Flow, Turbulent.

Douma twists his neck back the second Tomioka’s sword meets flesh. Blood spurts out of the wound, cut halfway into his throat, and for a moment, she wishes Tomioka had a nichirin blade. He’s come close to beheading Douma a few times. With his demonic strength, he might be capable of killing Upper Two. 

“Giyuu-kun has gotten quite brave!” Douma says. “I can hear your breathing getting worse. Are you sure you’re an Upper Rank?”

What? 

Before she has the chance to mull over his words, the statue’s hand makes another attempt at snatching her. She dives forward, her sword outstretched, and she sprints along the arm and down the statue’s exterior, puncturing in small intervals. As she sinks back down to the ground floor, there’s another blast behind her. The statue shatters, following the same end as those crystalline dolls, and a million shards of ice burst before her eyes. 

She waits, expecting to hear two bodies land. But after a moment, there’s only one. She spins in place, halfway to a smile, when she falters.

It’s Douma that stands in front of her, not Tomioka.

It’s Douma who has his hand fisted in the collar of Tomioka’s yukata as Tomioka lies against Douma’s legs, as limp and still as Akaza. 

His chest still rises. He’s alive. The relief that surges through her almost knocks her out.

Then, why…isn’t he moving? Why isn’t he getting up—fighting back? Forcing Douma to release him? 

His eyelids are shut. A stream of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. His sword is nowhere to be found. 

“Tomioka-san,” Shinobu says.

Douma’s insincere smile widens. “I don’t think he can move anymore, Shinobu-chan.”

She swings her sword in front of her. Everything hurts. Her skull pounds with a headache, her lungs twist at each breath she inhales, and her side twinges with each step. None of that matters compared to the anger that controls her voice. “What did you do to him?” she demands. 

“My, you shouldn’t blame me so easily. Who said I did anything?”

She’s heard enough. Shinobu leaps forward, intending to slice through Douma’s hand and haul Tomioka back to her side. But while she’s still in the air, Douma vanishes. She lands in the spot he stood a mere second ago, and spins back around. 

He’s at the other side of the room already. Tomioka’s in the same position, unconscious at Douma’s heel. Meanwhile, Douma looks a bit affronted that she still tried attacking him, even at a disadvantage. 

“Did you really think I’d let you hit me again?” Douma asks. “You’ve gotten slower. You’re getting tired.”

As much as she’d like to deny it, she can’t. Exhaustion settles over her like a warm blanket, even though she knows they’re far from the clear. She can’t afford to relax. Not now. Not when the monster has Tomioka in his grip. “Give him back to me.”

“Don’t be so possessive. Giyuu-kun belongs to Muzan-sama, not you.”

A vein in her forehead throbs.

“I was being honest before, by the way.”

“About what?” she snaps.

Douma spreads a hand over his chest, the one that isn’t holding Tomioka. “I didn’t hurt Giyuu-kun. You could say he did this to himself.”

Against her wishes, a wrinkle appears between her brows. She doesn’t want to let Douma know that she’s interested in what he has to say, but her body reacts before she can stop herself. 

“Let’s see. How much should I tell you?” Douma taps his fingers against his head. “I guess you’ve done me a favor by showing me all of your poisons. I could be generous and tell you what I know.”

Her teeth grind against each other. “Tell me then.”

“Hm…” Douma’s gaze drops to Tomioka. Then, he uses one of his fans to push open the front of Tomioka’s yukata. At that, Shinobu takes a step forward, but something stops her. That dark and unyielding bruise on Tomioka’s chest—looks worse. “I was right then.”

“Right about what?” Her mind runs through the possible scenarios. Perhaps her salve exacerbated the bruise instead, or perhaps Tomioka had lied about its severity. Maybe—

“How much do you know about this bruise, Shinobu-chan?”

The questions grind to a halt. “That your master gave it to him.”

“Correct! He didn’t just give this to Giyuu-kun either. He gave it to all of the former Hashira. You know why?”

“Because Tomioka-san failed to turn me into a demon in Asakusa,” she says bitterly. She hates not being the one with the answers. She hates being at Douma’s mercy, but for Tomioka’s sake, she has to know. 

“Not quite right,” Douma says. He taps the fan against Tomioka’s chest. Still, Tomioka doesn’t rouse, and her worry heightens by the second. He should be reacting in some form. “Yes, it stemmed from his disobedience, but he wasn’t the only one to disobey orders that day. If I remember… Obanai-kun also failed to kill a Hashira on Muzan-sama’s orders. You’re right in thinking this is a punishment. It is! But you should probably see it more as a curse.”

“A curse?”

“Yes!” Douma says brightly. His flippant attitude is pissing her off. “Have you wondered why it hasn’t gone away?”

Shinobu doesn’t answer.

“It’s a curse,” he explains, “meant to punish the Hashira if they begin to remember.”

Remember—their human lives?

“Giyuu-kun was using Water Breathing during our fight, wasn’t he?” Each question he poses is rhetorical. They both know the answers. He only asks to taunt her more. “That would be part of it. If any of the former Hashira resort to their old techniques, the curse worsens, and they experience mind-numbing pain. Did you hear how hard Giyuu-kun was breathing?”

She had. But she never imagined it was because of this. This is cruel. Muzan has handpicked these Hashira to force them to suffer. 

“I might be wrong, but I’m fairly sure that the more he relies on Water Breathing, the stronger the curse gets. Do you want to know what happens?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he continues excitedly, “His lungs burst over and over again!”

Her ears ring. Her mouth is dry. She wants to scream, but she can’t even move, much less draw in air. 

“He must have been in a great deal of pain while fighting me,” Douma muses. He knocks his fan against Tomioka’s head. “I admire him for pushing through it!”

“Shut up.” Her arms shake. “Shut up.”

His expression sobers. “Do you see, Shinobu-chan?” He speaks in a low voice. “No matter what you do, Giyuu-kun still belongs to Muzan-sama. When it comes down to it, Muzan-sama can control everything he does. Did you really think you could save him? You couldn’t even avenge your sweet sister.”

Shinobu thunders across the room before she can even think. Douma’s gone before she crosses the distance, and when she spins around to glare at him, she must look deranged. 

“I don’t know what you did to Akaza-dono,” Douma murmurs. His eyes wander to where Akaza lies, propped up against the wall. He must have been thrown further when the statue appeared. 

“I killed him,” Shinobu says, venom hanging in her words. “I killed him, just like I’ll kill you.”

“Hm.” His lip quirks up. “I suppose we’ll have to see about that.” He waves at her. “This was fun! I hope to see you very, very soon, Shinobu-chan! Maybe then you’ll be worthy of being eaten by me.”

What? No. No. He can’t leave. He can’t leave.

The strum of the biwa rings throughout the space. A door appears behind Douma, that infinite dimension looming within. 

“Until next time!”

No. No. Shinobu breaks off at a sprint, summoning the last of her energy. He’s got Tomioka. He’s taking Tomioka with him. This time, she knows Muzan won’t be merciful. He’ll kill him. He’ll die if he goes in there. 

“Stop!” she screams. She bursts forward, reaching with her sword to close the distance. 

Douma drags Tomioka along, offering a final wave before he steps inside. Shinobu aims for his wrist. If she cuts him, he’ll have to release Tomioka. She can grab him. She can. All of Tomioka’s previous warnings to never go into this dimension come to mind, but all she can think is that she has to save him. That thought alone is all-consuming.

“Give Tomioka-san back!”

Her sword skims the veins on Douma’s wrist. Her hand grazes the fabric of Tomioka’s clothes. Then, the biwa strums again, and the door slams shut in her face. Her sword is embedded in the wall. 

Tomioka’s gone. And she’s alone.

Chapter Text

An hour passes before Shinobu is even able to consider standing, much less think about her options. The shrine has well and truly been vacated now. The once lively setting has been reduced to its original state: an abandoned site tucked into the forest. There isn’t so much as a bird’s call to be heard. It’s like all of the wildlife has decided to keep its distance, declaring the deserted shrine a haunted ground.

There are no signs of life within, save for her and Akaza’s unconscious body a few meters away. She might as well be a ghost. Ever since the door shut, taking Douma and Tomioka with it, she hasn’t been able to move. After removing her sword from the wall, she fell to her knees, waiting, watching, as if the door might open again. It’s been an hour, and her mind has only started to set itself into a panic now.

She needs a plan. She needs to know what she can do now in this moment. She can’t find Tomioka, so what can she do? 

Her brain focuses on the immediate concerns: she’s tired, hungry, injured. She needs to eat something, just to allow herself to wake from this horrid nightmare. She needs to lie down. She needs to check her wounds. There’s a twist in her side every time she inhales. It’s worth looking at.

No. Those are things that can wait. There are more urgent matters. 

She needs to leave. There’s no chance Douma and Tomioka will return, so she shouldn’t wait around for them. She needs… she needs to get back to Headquarters. Yes. She needs to report to Oyakata-sama.

Better. That’s better. A route helps clear the fog in her mind. 

If she has a destination, then she should get up. That would be the reasonable assumption. 

Shinobu looks back over her shoulder, where Akaza remains sprawled by the wall, face-down. She needs—to check his pulse. To determine whether he’s alive or dead. That’s the first step. 

Fighting off the exhaustion taking root, Shinobu pushes herself upright on shaky legs. Even one step causes her legs to tremble, but she pushes through slowly, crossing the room to where Akaza lies.

Once she reaches him, she settles down. She doesn’t bother turning him over. Her hands fumble along his neck in search of a pulse, anything that tells her his heart still beats. His skin is clammy, soaked with sweat. Despite that, he doesn’t stir even when she applies pressure to his artery. It doesn’t take long for a rhythmic thump to beat against her fingertips.

He’s alive. Breathing. Then—did the cure fail?

Shinobu flips Akaza over with a little less care than she normally would. The demon flops like a ragdoll, his arm splaying to the side. At a first glance, there’s nothing different about his appearance. His hair is still the color of pink cotton candy, his skin is still covered in his striped markings, and toothy fangs poke out of his mouth. There’s nothing to indicate that the cure has taken effect at all.

No, wait. She brushes her fingers against his eyelashes. The last time she faced Akaza eye-to-eye was before she injected him. His face had been contorted with an uncontrollable excitement in the thrill of battle. She doesn’t recall his eyelashes being so light in color. 

They need to run some tests. Unfortunately, she’s lacking in equipment and a clear mind in order to handle any of those. No matter how she looks at the situation, there’s only one true option: she needs to bring Akaza back with her to Headquarters. If she leaves him here, Douma might come back, or worse, Muzan. Their only lead on the cure will be lost, just like Tomioka. Currently, Akaza’s well-being stands at great importance to the Corps. If the cure has worked, then they’ll need to study him. He needs to be within reach for her and Tamayo to do proper research.

Even so, though her mind reasons this is a rational conclusion, she hates the thought with every fiber of her being. She’d known this would be a risk. In using Akaza as the test subject for the cure, she’s temporarily absolved him of his crimes—of killing Rengoku, of turning Tomioka—for the sake of their research. They will have to collaborate with an Upper Rank in order to progress their findings, and she doubts Akaza will be a willing participant, not to mention it sickens her to her stomach to have to cooperate with him. Her inner hatred towards demons hasn’t changed at all, it seems. Staring down at Akaza, all she feels in her soul is overwhelming rage.

It would be so easy. She could grab her sword. If he’s becoming human, he won’t need to die by decapitation. She can tear out his throat, draw her sword through his guts, punish him with her poison. She can kill him. The once unkillable Upper Rank is at her mercy.

The image of Tomioka right before the doors slammed hits her like a brick. 

She grinds her teeth together before standing up. She can’t kill Akaza. If Tomioka’s alive, she’s going to turn him back into a human, and she needs Akaza for that. She needs Akaza to tell her where she can find this infinite dimension. She needs to save him—save them all. 

For Tomioka’s sake, she’ll bear this hatred further. 

Shinobu cups beneath Akaza’s armpits first, trying to drag him up. He’s heavier than he looks, though. After a few seconds, she drops him again, and accidentally steps on his hand while trying to pull him by his arms. It takes a few tries, but eventually, she manages to maneuver Akaza onto her back.

The last thing she wants is to give this prick a piggy-back ride back to Headquarters, but it’s either that or leave him behind, and she’s already decided not to do the latter. 

It isn’t comfortable, not when her legs already strain with her own personal weight. Akaza’s not the tallest or the heaviest person, but he is another weight to carry. Her feet drag against the floor as she begins moving. His head knocks forward. His exhales rasp against her ear, and it takes everything in her not to shudder.

Back to Headquarters, she tells herself. She’ll think about what comes next later.

She has to keep stopping every twenty minutes to catch her breath. The descent down the mountain is easier than the upwards trek, but when she made that journey, she hadn’t finished fighting against two Upper Ranks. Her body will decide to give out on her eventually. 

On her third break, a flash of black wings floats in front of her vision. Kanzaburo.

“KOCHO-SAMA,” Kanzaburo says in lieu of a greeting. “WHERE’S GIYUU?”

It’s an innocent question. Still, it forces her to halt. She won’t cry. She doesn’t deserve to cry. But her body won’t stop shaking. It’s a foreign feeling when it isn’t shaking in anger. 

There must be something in her expression that stirs Kanzaburo. For once, he doesn’t repeat the question.

“KOCHO-SAMA IS INJURED AND TIRED.”

“Yes,” she admits, mostly because she’s too strung out to disagree. “I’m very tired.”

“KANZABURO…KANZABURO WILL DO SOMETHING.”

Before she can say anything else, Kanzaburo disappears with a speed uncharacteristic of the old crow. Her eyes try to follow him for a few seconds, but he’s gone before she can track him.

It takes her much longer than it should to reach the bottom of the mountain. It can’t be helped, not when she moves for two. It is a relief, though, that she no longer has to worry about falling into a ditch or tripping over a fallen branch. As soon as she’s on a level surface, relief washes through her. 

She almost doesn’t notice the person sprinting towards her.

“Kocho-sama!” 

Her eyebrows lift. This person is unfamiliar to her, even in the dregs of her exhaustion, but he wears a demon slayer uniform. He carries a sword at his waist. He seems to know who she is.

“Kocho-sama,” the demon slayer repeats once he’s close enough. “Hello.”

“Hello.” She blinks owlishly back at him. Normally, she’d strike up more of a conversation, but the night has been long, and it promises to be even longer until she reaches her estate. “Can I help you?”

Before the demon slayer can explain himself, a familiar crow descends on his shoulder. “KOCHO-SAMA,” Kanzaburo says, pointing with his foot. “THIS SLAYER HAS PROCURED A CART FOR YOU TO TAKE YOU BACK TO HEADQUARTERS.”

“Really?”

“That’s what I was going to say.” He scratches at his neck, somewhat awkward now that Kanzaburo has stolen his thunder. “One of the members of my squadron has broken his leg, so we were sending him back to the Butterfly Estate anyway. This crow tells me you need a ride?”

Shinobu’s eyes flicker over to Kanzaburo. She’s had a soft spot for the crow, who faithfully trails after Tomioka with his loyal love and affection, but she never imagined that the crow would go to such lengths on her account. Does she appear to be so distraught that he could tell?

Or perhaps misery recognizes itself in another, and Kanzaburo wishes Tomioka were here as much as she does.

“Yes, please,” Shinobu says.

“For you and your…”

“Friend,” she lies. There’s no point in explaining Akaza now, and it’s Hashira business anyway. “Yes, please.” 

“Okay! I’ll bring the cart over. Just wait here, Kocho-sama!”

Within minutes, she’s loaded into the back of the cart alongside the slayer with the aforementioned broken leg and a Kakushi member in the driver’s seat. She has to balance Akaza awkwardly against her shoulder to keep him from tumbling out and into the road, though she can’t see that as a tragedy if it were to happen. The markings have started to disappear from his face, she notes. Even so, she angles him away from the other slayer before he can ask questions. 

Once she’s settled in, she releases a deep breath.

“Tough mission?” the other slayer asks, clearly hoping for a distraction. 

“I suppose,” Shinobu replies. Her halfhearted response brings the conversation to a quicker end.

Kanzaburo lets out a caw before tumbling into her lap, a gesture she once thought was reserved for Tomioka. She buries her face against his feathers in an attempt to swallow the emotions that well up. 

It takes a few hours before they reach the perimeter of Headquarters. The ride was spent in a daze, halfway in a slumber while she startled awake at every bump in the trek. The sky is still pitch-black, but it won’t be long before the stars fade and the sun rises over the horizon. As soon as she recognizes the dirt-trodden path up to her estate, she gives Kanzaburo a few orders in hushed tones, away from the ears of the Kakushi or the slayer. 

Kanzaburo listens diligently, and with her permission, he departs from her side into the night sky. 

Her first order of business had been making it home. Next, she needs to figure out what to do about Akaza. She can’t very well bring him with her into the Butterfly Estate. If he wakes up, he might go on a rampage, too overwhelmed to listen to reason—not that Akaza appears to be reasonable at all. There aren’t enough capable slayers to be able to restrain him if needed. They should rely on other tools in their disposal, and for that, she needs input from Tamayo and Yushiro.

It would be easier to pawn Akaza off to them regardless. She wants them to begin studying Akaza immediately, before Akaza has the chance to wake and protest. They’re losing time. With each hour that goes by, Tomioka is in greater danger. The bond is an ever-present threat to him while he’s alive. For that, they need to review the cure in the wake of their success and make the necessary adjustments. Unfortunately, as much as she’d like to participate right away, she’s shattered. 

Her eyes are heavy with sleep. Even holding her head up requires an inordinate amount of effort. The second she falls into an open bed, she’ll pass out. She’ll have to leave the immediate research to Tamayo and Yushiro, at least until she gets some rest. 

The wheels of their cart continue to climb up the path to her estate. The other slayer has pulled himself up to watch the fence appear in the distance. Carefully, Shinobu tugs Akaza towards the edge of the cart. As soon as it slows, they’ll need to jump off. 

The Kakushi guides them to the front of the gate, and Shinobu lets herself down, wincing at the jolt in her ankles. Even her feet ache with the steps she takes. She maneuvers Akaza onto her back to allow the other slayer enough room to climb out.

“Thank you,” Shinobu tells the Kakushi. She turns her attention towards the injured slayer. “Aoi and the others will take care of you.”

His eyes widen a fraction. “Alright!”

There’s a loud caw up above, and Shinobu lifts her head towards the sound. Kanzaburo and En both fly through the air, running circles over a familiar person’s head. Murmuring her farewells, Shinobu trots over to the trio.

“SHINOBU-SAMA,” En greets her, lowering down to Shinobu’s eye level. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” A pause. “WHERE’S THE DEMON?”

“GIYUU’S NOT HERE,” Kanzaburo says. “I TOLD YOU THAT ALREADY.”

“WHY?”

“It’s…a long story.” Shinobu meets Yushiro’s gaze. “Thank you for coming on short notice.”

It’s uncharacteristic of her to be so honest while shedding her typical unwavering smile. To Yushiro, she must seem like a completely different person, evident in how he offers her a strange look. But she’s so exhausted that she can’t muster up her usual facade tonight. She’ll return to it tomorrow once she’s recovered. 

“Now I know something happened,” Yushiro says. Still, he doesn’t ask further questions, unwilling to let his curiosity show. Maybe another night, she would’ve caught him up to speed. Tonight, though… Not tonight. 

“I’ll tell you and Tamayo-san tomorrow,” she promises. “Just…I need to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Yushiro, for once, lacks a snappish response. He simply nods. “What do you need from us then?”

“I have our test subject—for the first version of the cure Tamayo-san sent.” She jerks her head in Akaza’s direction. 

“Did it work?”

“He’s not dead. He’s breathing. I’m assuming it worked, but I need to leave that to you two to test for now.”

“Fine.” Yushiro holds out his hands. “Hand him over.”

“I should warn you,” Shinobu says, helping Yushiro pull Akaza onto his shoulder, “this isn’t an ordinary demon.”

Yushiro rolls his eyes. “I’m sure we can handle it—”

“No, I mean, this demon is Upper Rank Three.”

Yushiro nearly drops Akaza then and there. “You what?” His eyes bulge. It takes him a second to recover, to adjust Akaza from where he hangs. While Shinobu struggled to lift Akaza, Yushiro handles his weight with ease, as expected of a demon. “We told you to test it on any demon. Any demon!”

“I know.”

“Then why choose an Upper Rank? Who knows if he won’t run back to Muzan the second he wakes up?”

“We don’t.” Shinobu is well aware of the repercussions of using the cure on Akaza. But at that moment, she had no other choice. They needed a saving grace in their fight. Not that it mattered much in the end. “But at the very least, Muzan has lost one of his Kizuki.”

“Is that what this is about?” His lavender eyes narrow. “Revenge?”

Revenge. It’s always about revenge. “Sure!” she replies, a hint of her unfiltered self shining through. “But next time, when you fight two Upper Ranks at once, you tell me what you would’ve done differently!”

Her words make Yushiro pause. He emits a low sigh. “I didn’t mean… I know you’re not an idiot.”

“Thank you.” Coming from Yushiro, it’s definitely a comment she appreciates. 

“I know you wouldn’t have done this only because of spite.” He purses his lips. “Maybe it was mostly spite.”

“Maybe,” she admits. 

“How do you expect us to restrain him? Isn’t this guy insane?”

“Sedate him,” Shinobu says. “Keep him unconscious as long as you’d like. I’ll come over when I wake tomorrow. I’ll talk to him.”

That doesn’t reassure Yushiro in the slightest, given how his features continue to contort. “I don’t think Upper Three would like talking to a Hashira.”

“Akaza and I have history.” She waves him off. “Plus, we have a common interest. I need to hear what he says now that he isn’t tied to the bond.”

She needs to hear the likelihood that Tomioka’s alive, and if so, where this infinite dimension is located. She isn’t foolish enough to go on a solo mission, but her brain won’t rest without the answers. Akaza has them, and against all of her dislike towards him, she doesn’t think he hates Tomioka. Tomioka had some sort of reluctant respect towards Akaza. In the glimpses she saw, she believes Akaza had the same kind of attachment towards Tomioka. While tethered to the bond, he had to adhere to Muzan’s will when it came to punishing Tomioka, but now that he’s free, she might be able to learn how he really sees Tomioka—and whether or not he wants to help him. 

If he wants to help Tomioka, their goals align. That is why she needs to speak with him. 

“Whatever,” Yushiro drawls. He shifts Akaza’s weight. “Come by tomorrow then. Get some sleep. You have bags under your eyes.”

As he turns and starts to head off, she’s sure that Akaza’s hair has begun to lose its bright pink color and has darkened instead.

“Shinobu-sama!”

Aoi is the only one still awake at this hour, the only one to catch Shinobu trudge through the doorway like there are weights tied to her ankles. She must have been tending to the slayer with the broken leg. There is a thin gleam of sweat on her forehead. At once, she attaches herself to Shinobu’s side to support her.

“Where have you been?” she demands. Her harsh voice is so reminiscent of her own that it terrifies her. How many times had she said the same exact words to Kanae when her missions ran longer than expected? How many times had she waited for her sister to return while holding her breath? “A crow came and told us you’d be gone longer—that you went undercover—but…”

“It’s…a lot happened,” Shinobu says feebly. She can’t help but lean most of her weight onto Aoi, who’s sturdy beneath her. She wishes she could pretend that she’s fine, that there’s nothing to worry about, but a smile has never felt so out of reach. “I was undercover. I’m fine.”

Aoi’s lips press together. She can tell Shinobu is lying and is debating whether or not it’s the right moment to call her out on it. 

“It was a long mission,” she says. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep.”

Aoi clears her throat as the door to her room looms ahead. “Let me check you first. I don’t trust you to tell me if you’re injured.”

Oh. A weary smile crosses her face. She supposes it wasn’t so far from reach after all. The smile only needed to be coaxed by Aoi’s stubborn love. “Alright, Aoi.”

They make it through the door, though not without banging elbows and knees. Aoi leads her to the bed before shifting into her standard professionalism. She’s quick as possible cleaning Shinobu’s cuts. She winces at the sight of the bruise on her side, no doubt the result of Douma and Akaza’s combined efforts. But after some time, she deems Shinobu fit to leave be. 

“Everyone’s been worried,” Aoi says. “I know we’re not supposed to worry…”

“I know, Aoi,” Shinobu murmurs. It isn’t her intention to hurt any of her girls. She doesn’t want to be the cause of her worry. With age and time, she understands more that it hadn’t been Kanae’s intention to worry her either, but when you care about people, the worrying comes as a part of that. “I’m sorry. Thank you for taking care of everything while I’ve been gone.”

A blush overcomes Aoi’s features. “Well, it’s not just me! It’s everyone, really. Everyone’s been working hard to help while you’ve been away.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“So you can sleep as long as you want,” Aoi insists, gently nudging Shinobu. “I can take care of everything.”

“Mm.” She hums. She does want to sleep. She wants nothing more, except— “Aoi.”

Aoi is halfway towards the door already, but at the sound of her name, she stops and turns. “Yes, Shinobu-sama?”

“Can you do me a few favors?”

“Yes.”

“First, please put some sunflower seeds out for the crows. En and Kanzaburo deserve it.”

It’s a bit of a ridiculous request, and Aoi does smile a bit at her order. “Sure.”

“Then, I need you to keep an eye out for me. If there are any sights of Tomioka-san while I’m asleep, I need you to wake me up right away. If anyone spots him, if anyone hears anything, I need to know immediately. Okay?”

The severity in her voice isn’t lost on Aoi. She frowns. “Did something happen to Tomioka-sama?”

Her hand curls into a fist. “I hope not. If you hear anything…”

“I’ll wake you,” Aoi says, though she sounds none too pleased about it.

“If Tamayo-san calls for me, please wake me up too.”

“Alright, alright!” This time, Aoi shoves her against the bed, causing Shinobu to flop against the covers. “You’re never going to get any sleep at this rate. Good night!”

Her door is shut abruptly behind Aoi, leaving Shinobu alone for the first time in a long while. She used to detest the lack of privacy she had at the shrine. She should be glad to be alone. But now that she is, she hates the silence that reminds her of who’s missing. 

The morning comes far too soon, and in the midst of the haze she has fallen into, her mind is restless. At the first sound of voices through the door, that peaceful spell of sleep is broken. After a few minutes of blinking up at her ceiling and listening to Zenitsu bickering with Inosuke through the walls, she drags herself out of bed. Her movements are a bit sluggish as she changes into her uniform and ties up her hair. Even though her body had given out on her the second she hit her mattress, it will wind up taking a week’s worth of solid rest before she can consider herself recovered from battle, and with that, she allows herself to move slowly, to savor the peace she has before she throws herself head-first into her next steps. 

That serenity doesn’t last forever, though. Once she leaves the safety of her bedroom, a blurry figure nearly tramples her down, cackling while he bursts out the door into the yard.

“Hey!” Zenitsu races past a moment later, his face red from shouting. “Be careful, Inosuke! You nearly knocked down Shinobu-san.”

Despite the reprimand, Zenitsu is just as loud, and he chases Inosuke outside. 

“Shinobu-san.” She turns to find Tanjiro a step away, his smile sunny as usual. Despite the early hour, and the fact that he likely came back from a mission late last night, his disposition shows no signs of his exhaustion. He’s collected as always, the perfect piece in the puzzle to temper both Zenitsu and Inosuke. For once, Nezuko is nowhere to be found. Because of the sun, it’s possible she’s asleep in one of their spare rooms. “It’s good to see you. You were on a mission, right?”

“Yes!” she responds. “You were too, I assume? How did it go?”

“Great,” he says. 

“I’m glad. Nezuko is doing well too?”

He nods eagerly. “Oh, yeah. She’s asleep now. We got back late. But she’s doing okay.”

“That’s good to hear.” For a brief moment, Shinobu debates whether it’s worth telling Tanjiro what—or more specifically, who—she brought back with her last night. He’s one of the few people that would recognize Akaza face-to-face. It won’t be a secret for long. But as quickly as the thought arises, she squashes it down. It isn’t worth saying anything before she gets the chance to speak with Tamayo. This can wait. “I have plans to see Tamayo-san this morning, so I should be going. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

She starts to turn around when Tanjiro speaks up again. “Wait, Shinobu-san!”

“Yes?”

“I asked Urokodaki-san about what we talked about.”

Her eyebrows rise high on her forehead. It feels like ages have passed since she told Tanjiro to reach out to the former Water Hashira. She almost forgot. “Right! What did he say?”

“He sent what was left of Giyuu-san’s haori,” Tanjiro says. “I left it on the chair in your office.”

She’ll take a look later then. “Thank you, Tanjiro-kun.” She offers him a genuine smile. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem!” He sweeps past her to follow after Zenitsu and Inosuke. “Tell Tamayo-san and Yushiro-san I said hello!”

“I will,” Shinobu says to his retreating back. Within seconds, the murmur of conversation outside heightens, interrupted by Inosuke’s dry laugh every now and again. 

With the boys outside, the estate falls into a quiet lull. She almost thought she wouldn’t make it back here. She could’ve died against Douma and Akaza. There were numerous points where her life was only spared by a split second’s difference. If things had been different, the estate would be quiet for another reason entirely. 

Shinobu shakes her head, ridding herself of the sudden momentary flash of guilt. Her plan was decided a long time ago. She can’t afford to backpedal now. 

She almost misses the soft pad of footsteps behind her. “Master.”

“Kanao,” Shinobu says, inclining towards her tsuguko. Kanao’s lilac eyes watch her, taking in how she’s dressed and halfway out the door. She’s in her uniform herself, her hair gathered in her pin-straight side ponytail. She must have a mission to head out on or returned this morning from one. “How are you?”

Kanao’s lips press together tightly, similar to how Aoi’s did last night. They were all worried. If they knew the extent of the danger she put herself in, they might never let her leave their sights again. The difference is that, while Aoi might voice her concerns under enough pressure, Kanao prefers to bottle hers up. In the end, she doesn’t press. “Are you headed out already? What about breakfast?”

“Ah.” Breakfast had slipped her mind. But—how long has it been since she ate? Was it that peach she had for breakfast yesterday? Her stomach has been hungry for so long that it’s forgotten to remind her. “You make a good point.”

“Aoi’s making something. It smells good.”

“Mm.” 

“You should eat.” 

Shinobu gapes at Kanao for half a second before relaxing her features. Kanao never orders her to do anything. For the longest time, it was hard enough for Kanao to decide what she wanted to do herself. It took a coin, an ill-constructed game of chance, and the words of an older sister to convince her she needed to make those choices on her own without being told. If Kanao has taken the initiative to suggest that Shinobu should do something based on her own judgment, it means she’s grown more than Shinobu could have ever imagined. 

She’s already been keenly aware that Kanao has changed over the past year. She hadn’t known, though, by how much. It almost washes away all of the exhaustion in her soul.  

“You’re probably right,” Shinobu says, deciding to indulge her. She doesn’t like to keep Tamayo waiting, but surely, she deserves a warm breakfast in the company of her sisters. “Are you coming, Kanao?”

Kanao nods before following Shinobu towards the kitchen.

The Ubuyashiki Estate is even quieter than her own. It’s like all of the inhabitants are holding their breath, aware that a stranger walks among them, someone responsible for cutting down numerous slayers and innocent lives. Someone still capable of lashing out when the time comes. 

For the first time since she decided to use the cure on Akaza, Shinobu feels a twinge of regret, mostly because her decision has hurt the safety of those who live here, those who’ve dedicated their lives towards the defeat of Muzan. She should offer to relocate Akaza to her own estate, just for the sake of returning their refuge to what it was. 

No one is around to greet her when she arrives. She’s sure the members of the Ubuyashiki family are around. It’s possible they’re letting her tackle their current glaring problem before calling upon her. She traces her steps towards Tamayo and Yushiro’s shared office on her own. As soon as her footsteps reach the door, it cracks open, and both Tamayo and Yushiro slide out.

“Kocho-san,” Tamayo greets her. Although she must have been studying Akaza for hours by now, her eyes are bright and alert in a way only a demon’s can be. Shinobu is sure she looks the same way in the aftermath of an exciting discovery. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Thank you, Tamayo-san,” Shinobu says. “You too.”

Yushiro harrumphs. 

“I’m surprised you’re here so early. I thought you would still be resting.”

“I couldn’t focus,” she admits. “I know that I brought a potential…problem. I wanted to make sure that everything is alright.”

Tamayo’s expression softens. “I’ll admit I was a little surprised last night.” Her eyes flicker towards the closed door. “I’d like to hear more about what transpired on your mission. Can you give us the rundown now?”

Shinobu nods. It won’t be easy to summarize the past two weeks in a few sentences, but she has to try. “The mission I was on led me to the tracks of Upper Rank Two,” she says. Both Tamayo and Yushiro’s eyes widen, but they stay silent. “I found a young girl who’d escaped his cult by the skin of her teeth. She’d watched him eat her sister, and then, he tried to kill her.”

“Is the girl alright?” Tamayo asks.

At that, she pauses. Physically, Saki will heal. It’s the non-physical wounds that will linger, the ever-present ache left behind in her twin’s absence. Time will ease the sting of that pain eventually, but the wound won’t ever disappear. Shinobu’s lived with that for the past couple of years. 

Even when Saki thinks that she’s endured the worst of the grief, it’ll return in full vigor in flashes: she’ll realize she’s forgotten the exact color of Saku’s eyes, she’ll experience a birthday without the one who shared it with her, she’ll watch her own face age and wonder if Saku’s would have turned out the same. These moments will build upon that loss. In that sense, Saki will never be alright again. 

And in trying to spare her the pain of losing another of her sisters, Shinobu failed Saki. Saku’s dead, and Shoko’s gone.

“She’s been taken care of by the Kakushi,” she answers instead. “She’ll live.”

“Good.”

“The girl had another sister still in the cult. She wanted to go back for her.”

With these words, Tamayo and Yushiro must sense where the story is headed. “You went in her place,” Yushiro continues for her.

“Yes,” Shinobu says. “I enlisted Tomioka-san’s help. We decided that I’d enter as a new member, and he would appeal to Upper Two’s good graces in order to stay.”

“Did that work?” Yushiro asks.

“It did. For a while. I found her sister, and I tried to convince her to come with me.” A bitterness stays on her tongue. Shoko’s betrayal stings even a day later. In the time that’s passed, she hasn’t committed to thinking about whether there was something she could have done differently. Something she could have said to convince Shoko to abandon Upper Two. Part of her worries that there was nothing—nothing she could have done to extract her from his sharp claws. His influence might’ve gone too deep. She hates the thought that Shoko was a lost cause; it’s unfair that he had such a hold on her. “But we gave ourselves away when Tomioka-san stopped Upper Two from eating me. We still tried to convince her sister to leave with us, but she stayed loyal to Upper Two.”