Foxfire and Steel

by Nefetiri

Summary:

“If you wanted me against a tree, Tomioka, you could’ve just asked.”

He coughed, casting a sidelong look her way. “I can still call Shinobu.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would.”

“...coward.”
-
Because a world without mischief, doesn't sound like much fun.

Notes:

This is an idea I've had in my head for far too long, that I've finally taken the time to put to paper - so to speak? This story will be moderately Giyu-centric, but still explore romance and intimacy with several of the other characters. All characters have been aged up to 16, where the anime starts and our MC will be 17 as of the current timeline.

Also, there is a few pre-canon context chapters. I recommend reading them! They're short and really build up the MC, and Giyu is introduced really early into the timeline during these chapters.

Chapter 1: The Foxfire’s Kit

Soft blonde lashes crack open, slowly, to pools of swirling, dusty red. An infant's eyes, searching, scanning, taking in the unknown. And to her, that was most everything.

The first thing she knew was the scent of damp earth and crushed maple leaves. The second was warmth - a slow, radiating heat against her bare skin, like sunlight filtered through red-veined wings.

"Oh?"

The voice was liquid silk, amused, curling around her like smoke. Delicate hands and long fingers, tipped in claws like garnet - lifted her from the cradle of moss where she’d been left.

"Now what are you?"

Blinking up, the infant saw fire. Not the kind that burned, but the kind that danced: twin embers suspended in a face of moon-pale skin, framed by hair like spilled ink. A kitsune, surely, by the twitch of ash tipped ears atop her head. The realization should have terrified her - should have sent her scrabbling back with the weight of memories she couldn’t quite grasp (a hospital bed, beeping machines, the last choked sobs and unsaid pleas of a dying mind). But like a sieve, her thought slipped like water through tiny fingers.

The demon tilted her head, nostrils flaring as she inhaled the child’s scent. "No fear. No tears. Just wonder.” A claw traced the curve of the baby’s cheek, careful as a sculptor testing clay. "And something else.” Her pupils contracted to pinpoints. “Something old."

A rustle in the undergrowth. The kitsune’s ears twitched, her nine tails fanning like a peacock’s display, acknowledgement of the bear demon sauntering through the ferns, large clawed paws flattening the earth beneath it, drool slicking its maw and dribbling down its chin. "Give it here," it grunted. "Fresh meat’s rare this deep in the woods."

The kitsune’s smile didn’t waver. "Mmm. I think not."

In the space between breaths, the air twisted. The bear demon’s snarl died as its beady eyes glazed over, fixed on something only it could see - a phantom, a nightmare, a memory. With a shriek, it turned and fled, crashing through the trees like a thing scalded.

The infant giggled, clapping her hands.

"You like that, little fox?" The kitsune nuzzled her, a purr of laughter vibrating through her chest.
"Good. That’s your first lesson: the world is a game, and the best players cheat."

She named the child Miku - "of the beautiful sky" - though privately, she thought "mischief" might suit her better.

Chapter 2: Lessons in the Dark

By the time Miku could walk, she’d learned three truths:

The forest was alive, and it lied.

Mother’s illusions tasted like sugar and stung like nettles.

Humans were the most dangerous creatures of all.

"Again," Mother said, flicking her wrist. The clearing warped, the trees elongating into skeletal fingers, the shadows pooling into open mouths. Miku’s pulse skittered, but she clenched her fists, forcing her tight shut eyes open. ‘It’s not real. It’s never real.’

She darted left, then right - feinting - before leaping straight through the grinning specter that lunged for her. The illusion shattered like glass, and she landed, with a practiced - yet unrefined tumble - in Mother’s lap, grin bright on her face and eyes seeking approval.

"Clever fox," the demon purred, tweaking her nose. "But you’re still breathing wrong."

"I am not!" Miku protested, puffing out her cheeks.

Mother tapped her sternum pointedly. "Here. Your human lungs are weak. You must trick them into holding more." She touted, demonstrating - a slow inhale, a pause that stretched too long, then an exhale laced with ember-bright sparks and a power Miku didn’t quite grasp. "Kitsune don’t just breathe air. We breathe possibility."

Miku mimicked her, small chest puffing out with her deep inhale, her blonde lashed eyes scrunched in concentration, and at its apex, a fleeting feeling of something deeper, just barely out of reach. Then it fizzled, slipping through her chubby hands.

She hunched over in a fit of sputtering and coughs when her untrained lungs burned with too much air and the scorch of foxfire tingled her throat raw.

Mother laughed, but her eyes were soft. "You’ll master it. And then…" She leaned close, her whisper, a secret tucked between them: "Even the night will fear you.”

-

The blade was colder than she expected.

Miku twisted it in the dappled moonlight, her reflection warping against polished steel - a grinning girl with sun bleached hair and eyes like dusted ash and burning embers. The hilt was wrapped in fraying indigo fabric, the edge still stained with something dark.

"Why’s it purple?" she asked, lips curling up in a slight sneer, poking the Nichirin metal with a claw. (She’d started growing them last winter, much to her delight.)

Mother reclined on a low hanging maple branch, tails swaying lazily. “It changes color when it bonds to its wielder. Or it would, if you were a proper demon slayer." Her smirk was all fangs. "Lucky for you, we’re better."

Miku swung the sword experimentally. It felt wrong in her hands - too stiff, too heavy, too honest - but Mother had insisted: "Illusions are knives, little fox, but even a mirage cuts deeper with steel behind it."

A growl rumbled through the trees.

Both their heads snapped toward the northern thicket. Something massive was moving - branches splintering underfoot, the air thickening with the stench of wet fur and old blood.

"Ah," Mother sighed, stretching like a cat. "The bear demon from black peak. He’s gotten rather bold, wouldn't you say?”

Miku’s pulse leapt, all too telling lilt to her lips as she spoke. "Can I scare him off?"

"Mmm. Scaring is for prey." Mother’s eyes gleamed. "Kill him."

Miku moved like the forest breathed - silent, fluid, smiling. She’d played this game before (hide-and-seek with Ezo foxes, tag with Sika deer), but never with stakes so sharp.

The bear demon was a mountain of matted fur and scar tissue, his muzzle twisted from decades of battles. "Kitsune witch," he snarled, claws gouging the earth. "This territory isn’t yours to claim."

Miku giggled, her laugh a taunting jingle ringing across the forest scape.

The demon lunged, but she was already gone - just a rustle of leaves. Her voice a whisper, "Kitsune Breathing, First Form: Three Tailed Mirage."

Her body split into three.

The bear roared, swiping at the nearest Miku - his claws passed through her as she broke apart into mist. The second dissolved into fireflies. The real Miku dropped from above, blade aimed for his neck -

- and flinched at the last second.

The strike went wide, carving a gash across his shoulder instead.

He staggered for a moment but held strong. "Pathetic!" The bear demon backhanded her. She tumbled to the ground, tasting copper. "You’re still human. Weak." He spit venomously, large nostrils breathing deep, tasting her scent in the air.

Miku spat blood, her fingers clawed into the soil, small bursts of blue sparking between them, burning the moss. For a heartbeat, she wasn’t in the forest - she was elsewhere, strapped to a bed, machines screaming, a voice (her voice?) sobbing "I don’t want to die-"

Then Mother’s voice cut through the fog: "Breathe, little fox."

Miku inhaled.

The world bent.

"Kitsune Breathing, Second Form: Phantom Waltz of a Thousand Blades”

Her next strike wasn’t a single slash - it was a dozen. The blade flickered like candlelight, weaving illusions with each arc: left, right, above, below. The demon staggered, swiping at afterimages, until-

"Got you."

Miku’s steel parted his throat.

The bear demon crumpled, his body already flaking to ash. Miku panted, her hands trembling. It wasn’t the blood that unsettled her (she’d seen Mother eat deer whole). It was the stillness after. The way his milky eyes glazed over, just like…

"You hesitated." Mother warped beside her, wiping a smear of dirt from Miku’s cheek. "Why?"

Miku stared at the fading corpse. "I… saw something."

"Ah." The curve of her smile, stilling. She pressed a kiss to Miku’s brow. "Next time, don’t look."

Miku forced a grin, shaking off the weight. "Next time, I’ll get them so good, even you'll look away!" She darted backwards, nose scrunching as she laughed, Mother swiped at her with mock outrage.

But that night, as she curled in their den, she dreamed of white walls and silent tears. 

Chapter 3: When it Rains

The stranger smelled like rain and steel.

Miku had sensed him long before she saw him - his footsteps too light for a human, she thought. His presence cut through the forest’s hum like a blade through silk. She tracked him from the canopy, her claws pricking bark as she tilted her head.

Her nose twitched. He moved unlike any demon she’d ever seen - fluid, deliberate. His half toned haori caught her eyes, like all things mischief, the haughty green and yellow checkered pattern on his left half had her steeling her fingers, so as to not reach out. Curious of its feel, heavy, silken, rich, worn? She had many questions for this… demon-man-thing?

His footfalls were light, as he stepped over the creek dividing the forest from human land. His sword gleamed under the moon; Miku wondered briefly if its edge was sharper than Mother’s claws.

‘Interesting.’

Miku’s fingers twitched. A demon slayer. Mother’s warnings hissed in her ears (”They’ll cut you down just for breathing wrong”), but curiosity burned hotter - as it often does.

She dropped behind him, landing soundlessly on the balls of her feet.

“You’re lost,” she announced, arms crossed over her chest.

The man’s sword was at her throat before she finished speaking.

Miku didn’t flinch. She grinned, watching his deep blue eyes flicker over her - lingering on her clawed hands, her sharp canines, the way the shadows seemed to cling to her like a second skin.

Yet a flicker of recognition in his eyes had him lowering his blade just a bit.

“You’re not a demon,” he said flatly.

“And you’re not very friendly!” She said, pink tongue poking out mockingly as she ducked under his blade and out of reach.
“I’m Miku… Who’re you?”

He blinked slowly, still as stone and startlingly beautiful. The thought caught her off guard, a strange heat crawling up her throat. She forced it down. 

“...Giyu Tomioka.” He didn’t sheathe his sword. “Why are you in these woods?”

“Why are you?” She mimicked his stern voice, then giggled when his frown deepened.

A beat of silence.

“Hunting demons.”

Miku’s eyes lit up, her grin widening to show just a hint of too sharp teeth. "Oh! I love hunting demons!" She spun on her heel, arms sweeping wide as if painting the scene. "Well - hunting makes it sound so serious. I prefer playing with them. Watching their eyes go all wide and panicked before they-" She mimed a claw swipe, then giggled. "It’s hilarious."

Giyu’s grip tightened on his sword.

“Ooh, is that a Nichirin sword? Can I touch it?”

“No.”

Undeterred, she trailed him all morning. At first, he tried to shake her; vanishing into thickets, doubling back, but Miku was the forest itself. She melted between trees, her laughter echoing always just out of reach.

“Do you ever smile?” she called, perched upside down from a branch.

Giyu ignored her.

“Are all slayers this grumpy?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose.

But then-

“You’re strong,” she mused, watching him cleave a lurking swamp demon in half without breaking stride. “Do you ever lose?”

Giyu paused, contemplative. “Yes.”

“Huh.” She kicked a pebble. “What do you do then?”

“...Get stronger.”

Her steps faltered.

-

When he stopped to refill his canteen, she snatched it and took a dramatic swig. “Tastes like boring,” she declared, wrinkling her nose.

“Give it back.”

“Make me!” She darted away - but soon yelped as his hand closed around her wrist, dragging her to him. She froze. 

His palm was calloused, warm. Human.

Miku’s pulse quickened. ‘Oh. He’s fast.’

She wrenched her hand free, dropping his canteen to the floor, water pouring out onto the grass. She turned her back to him and crossed her arms over her chest, red blush creeping onto cheeks and an indignant pout on her face.

Giyu’s lips downturned at his spilled canteen, picking it up off the floor and refilling it a second time. His shoulders tense.

“You should leave. These woods aren’t safe.”

“For you?” She looked over her shoulder, a smirk creeping back onto her lips.

“How old are you anyway?” He asked, eyes unimpressed at her comment.

“Fifteen!” She faced him, puffing out her chest. “Old enough to know you’re terrible at conversation.”

A flicker - almost a smile - before he stilled. The air changed. A presence, thick as blood, coiled around them. The trees bent unnaturally, whispering.

Mother.

Giyu’s hand flew to his hilt. “Miku. Run.”

But she was already gone - vanished into the shadows, her heartbeat echoing through her ears in an anxious thump. As she ran, she held tightly to the memory - black hair and blue eyes.

-

“You fool.”

Mother’s tails lashed, her claws gouging the earth. The den reeked of burnt cedar - her anger made tangible. Miku’s words came out thick and heavy against the tense atmosphere. “He wasn’t hurting anyone!”

“All slayers hurt us,” Mother snarled. “They see demons, they kill. They see you - a human with demon tricks - and they’ll kill you worse.”

“He didn’t even try to kill me!” Miku argued, crossing her arms, her brows knitting tightly in defiance.

“Because you’re a child!” Mother’s voice dropped to a hiss. “But children grow. And when you do, they’ll see you the same as they see all demons - something wrong.”

Miku recoiled. Her words hurt. A tangible pain in her chest, as sharp as Giyu’s blade.

“You, are what's wrong.” She spit, ghostly red eyes glowering in defiance, against Mother’s brazen fire.

Mother stilled.

Notes:

Hey all! Do let me know what you think so far, or don't! :) This is purely self indulgent and I figured hey, why not invite others along on this ride? See you guys soon!

Nef

Chapter 4: The Fox’s Lament

Notes:

Sorry T/T

The rain painted the forest in muted grays, the kind of weather that made even sound seem distant. Giyu Tomioka moved through it like a shadow, his footsteps leaving no trace on the sodden earth. His mission was clear: proceed to the northern mountains, carry out his duty, and kill any demons he finds. 

Yet.

His thoughts flicker to the tick at the corner of his mind - blonde hair, too bright for these woods; sharp, burning eyes. 

She had been an anomaly. Clawed hands, sharp teeth; a pulse, breath, warmth. ‘ Human .’ Well, mostly?

She had followed him for hours, pestering him with questions, poking at his sword, her laughter ringing too loud in the quiet forest. He had ignored her. Or tried to.

And then, just as suddenly as she appeared, she was gone.

Giyu exhaled, slow and measured.

Irrelevant.

His duty was to the innocent, to those who needed saving. The Corps had no orders regarding strange, clawed girls, who spoke in mischief and vanished like smoke. If she was a threat, evidence would surface. If not…

The rain soaked through his coarse jet hair, as he adjusted his path northward. The mountains awaited. 

Behind him, the forest swallowed his footprints whole.

-

Miku slept fitfully beneath the roots of a hollow cedar, far from the den. Far from Mother.

She dreamed of white walls.

The beeping of machines, slow and merciless, like a countdown. The scent of antiseptic and wilted flowers. A woman - weeping into clenched hands.

"I don’t want to die."

Her own voice (she thinks?) was thin and frayed. A child’s plea.

Then - falling.

Miku woke gasping, her claws digging into the moss beneath her. The forest was silent, save for the whisper of leaves. Small hands reached up for her cheeks, wet - she noted, absently 

Again. These dreams - these memories - had haunted her since childhood. But tonight, it felt sharper, heavier, as if the past were a blade pressed to her throat.

She needed her.

-

The kitsune was waiting.

Mother’s ears twitched before Miku even stepped into the clearing. She sat by the embers of a dying fire, her nine tails coiled around her like a living cloak. Without turning, she said, "You cried in your sleep again."

Miku stiffened. "I didn’t-"

"You always lie poorly, little fox."

An indignant frown on her lips. “Who's the liar now?”

Miku slumped beside her, pressing herself into Mother’s back. The demon stilled for a long while, her claws flexed - once, twice - before dragging Miku to her lap, chin resting on her head in resignation.  

"Tell me," Mother murmured.

And Miku did.

The hospital. The fear. The fall.

Mother listened, her eyes reflecting the firelight like smoldering coins. When Miku finished, she exhaled, slow and measured. "You died once," she said at last. "And then I found you."

"...Why?"

A flicker of something unreadable passed over Mother’s face. "Because the sky wept the day you left your world. And I have always been greedy for beautiful things."

Miku still held many unanswered questions, but for now, the weight in her chest felt lighter.

-

Life resumed.

Miku trained harder. Her Kitsune Breathing grew sharper, more refined - illusions layered upon illusions until even the trees seemed to dance at her whim. Mother watched, critiqued, praised.

"Good. But your footwork is still human-clumsy."

"I am human!"

Mother’s smirk was all fangs. "Are you?"

Miku huffed, but her retort died as she caught her reflection in a stream - her pupils slitted straight vertical. So very… Kitsune. 

(She didn’t mind.)

-

Eight months had passed since she’d met the blue eyed slayer, who still (much to Mother's dismay) flitted through her thoughts on occasion.

And yet today…

The forest seemed to forget its shape.

Miku noticed it first in the way the shadows clung too long to the treeline, how the wind carried whispers that didn’t sound like birds or beasts. Even the creek where she’d once chased minnows with her claws ran sluggish, its waters tinged rust red at dawn.

Mother noticed too.

She took to patrolling the borders of their territory at odd hours, her nine tails flicking like agitated serpents. When Miku asked, she’d only hum, low and tuneless, before redirecting with a lesson: "Your Third Form lacks malice. Demons won’t hesitate - why should you?"

But at night, when the fire burned to char, Miku would catch her staring at the moon, with a look in her eyes Miku’d never seen before. Grief? Worry? Fear?

"You’re hiding something," Miku accused one evening, kicking a pinecone into the flames.

Mother’s laughter was a dry thing. "I’m a demon, little fox. Lies are my native tongue."

-

Then came the nightmare.

Not fragments of a hospital this time, but fire -so much fire - eating the walls of a mountain home. A boy with sun-red hair screaming a name “Nezuko! Nezuko!”, his hands slick with blood that wasn’t his own. And behind him, watching, a man with eyes like cracked amber who turned - slowly, so slowly - to stare right at her.

Miku woke, choking on the scent of charred flesh.

Her legs carried her frantic, barefoot through the undergrowth, branches whipping her arms raw. Her pulse hammering in her throat.

She found the trail near the eastern ridge - splintered trees, earth gouged in unnatural arcs. The air reeked of ozone and something sweetly rotten, like overripe peaches left to ferment in the sun.

Her hand hovered her blade.

The forest held its breath as she followed the wreckage, each step heavier than the last. Then-

-silence.

The clearing was a graveyard of broken illusions. Mother’s favorite maple tree lay split down the middle, its trunk oozing sap like amber tears. And at its base - 

No.

Her body, propped against its roots as if resting, save for the gaping wound at her neck, oozing thick, sulfurous blood. Fingers curled around strands of hair - white as fresh-fallen snow, threaded between her claws like macabre embroidery. Their ends were singed black, as if burned.

Miku didn’t remember falling to her knees.

Mother’s eyes cracked open

"Ah… you’re here." Her voice crumbled like dry leaves.

Miku pressed her forehead to Mother’s chest, as if she could will the flesh to knit itself whole. "Who did this?"

A wet chuckle. "He smelled… like winter."

Her claw traced Miku’s cheek, leaving a trail of fading warmth. "Take this."

Mother pressed to her hands, a kitsune mask.

It’s pale ceramic, still warm from her touch. "This is my heart," she whispered. "Wear it… and lie to the world. Even - " A cough, black blood staining her teeth. " - even to yourself."

"Mother please... I don’t know what to do-"

"You will." Her body began to dissolve, embers swirling upward like reverse snowfall. "When the time comes… follow the white thread."

Then only the mask remained, cradled in Miku’s bloodstained palms.

Chapter 5: A Fox in the Forest

Miku wore her mother’s mask like a second skin.

The smooth ceramic curves hugged her face, red painted smile forever frozen between serenity and menace. She wore it when she trained, when she hunted, when she slept with her back against the oldest tree in the forest - the one whose roots cradled the last traces of Mother’s ashes. 

The mask smelled of burnt sugar and unfinished stories.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, she swore she heard whispering - not from the trees, but from the mask itself.

"Little fox," it seemed to sigh, "when will you stop running?"

She never answered.

-

The stolen Nichirin sword at her hip was a cold, unfamiliar weight.

Its dull purple hue mocked her. This is not yours, it seemed to say. You are not one of them.

She hated it.

But she needed it.

So she learned its balance, its heft, how to make it sing alongside her claws. She carved through demons with a dancer’s grace, her movements fluid, her strikes precise. The stolen steel became an extension of her rage - a temporary tool, a means to an end, she affirmed herself. 

Just until…

Until I find him

Until I make him pay

-

The first slayers came like wounded deer - stumbling through her territory with bloodied bandages and trembling swords.

Miku watched from the shadows of the pines, her mask hiding the snarl of her lips at the intrusion of these humans in her forest. Though a flash of blue at the back of her mind, had her lowering her fingers from her hilt.

"Seven days," one gasped, clutching his gut. "Just seven days in this hell-"

‘Seven days?’

She’d survived these woods as a child with nothing but her teeth and Mother’s tricks. These humans, with their polished blades and stinking wisteria, acted as if the mountain were a death sentence.

By the third group she stalked, she pieced it together:

A test. A trial.

Final Selection - where the Corps tossed their weakest lambs to the wolves and called it tradition. Miku couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. 

How surprisingly brutal, she mused.

-

She smelled him before she saw him.

Charcoal and snow, salt and stubborn hope. A scent plucked straight from her nightmares.

Miku crouched in the canopy, her mask tilted as the boy with hanafuda earrings stumbled into her clearing. He was older than she remembered from her visions - broader, stronger, his hands calloused from countless hours with the sword. But his eyes…

Those were the same.

The eyes that had watched his family die in her dreams.

Tanjiro paused, his nose twitching. He turned slowly, scanning the trees.

"You can come out," he called, voice steady. "I won’t hurt you."

A silent hum on her lips, not even Giyu had sensed her when they’d first met.

‘Oh, this one’s interesting.’

She didn’t reveal herself. Not fully.

Instead, she played with him - darting just beyond his sightline, leaving footprints too small to be human, snapping branches in perfect rhythm with his heartbeat. When he lunged towards her hiding spot, she’d vanished. When he turned his back, her laughter echoed from empty air over yonder.

Kitsune games. Mother would’ve approved.

But then - 

"You’re sad," Tanjiro said to the darkness, his brow furrowed. "And angry. But… you don’t have to be alone."

Miku froze.

No one had ever smelled her emotions before.

-

That night, she watched him make camp. Watched him pray before eating, offer his rice to a mouse, whistle a lullaby to the wind.

He was nothing like the demons. Nothing like the slayers who’d hunted Mother. Something new. 

And when he whispered "Nezuko" in his sleep, Miku’s chest ached with something she couldn’t name.

She slipped away before dawn, her stolen sword heavy on her back.

Her mind made up.

-

The seventh night smelled of iron and ash.

Miku stood atop a mound of dissolving corpses, her stolen Nichirin blade dripping black onto the moss below. The forest had gone quiet - not in fear, but in surrender. Even the demons had learned to avoid the masked girl with the foxfire eyes.

She flicked the gore from her sword and tilted her head. Somewhere in the distance, a slayer was sobbing. Another prayed.

Weak. She sighed. 

She had expected a challenge. A trial worthy of Mother’s memory. Instead, she’d found only prey.

Her legs carried her back down that familiar trail - the ground scorched and torn. Mother’s maple tree still bore the scars of that night - deep grooves in the bark, the earth beneath it permanently stained. Miku knelt, her claws digging into the soil.

The stolen sword - purple and unloved - slid from her grip.

"I don’t need you anymore," she told it, her brows set tightly behind her mask. 

If it meant finding him. The demon with hair like winter snow, Miku would spin a thousand lies. 

This blade had been a tool. A stepping stone. But the Corps would give her a new one. A true one.   

Miku didn't look back as she stood.

The wind carried the distant echo of chatter from the mountain's base, so foreign against the atmosphere of her once quiet forest. 

The treeline was a barrier between worlds.

Miku lingered in its shadow, her mask turned down, toward the gathering before her - slayers, battered and bleeding, their voices a discordant hum of relief and exhaustion. The scent of iron and sweat clung to them, thick as fog.

Humans.

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Her eyes lingered on the boy from earlier, red hair like deep amber, his hands pressed together in quiet gratitude.

There was a yellow one as well. He smelled… like the moment before a storm breaks. She didn’t like it. 

And the other, she mused, raking over his wild cut hair and scarred face. Her mind briefly flitted towards ‘demon’, but she soon reasoned he wasn’t. Shame. 

Her steps were silent as she slunk from her perch like a ghost, taking her place off to the side, nearest to Tanjiro (she believes is his name?)  but still distant from the rest. The muscles in her calves were tensed, like an animal, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.

The twins stood before them like porcelain dolls - pale, pristine, their voices weaving together in eerie harmony.

“Welcome.” They started.

“Congratulations”

“We’re pleased to see that you’re all safe.” Miku found them disconcerting. 

The scarred one cut through their introductions with an ill mannered "Where's my fucking katana?” Miku’s brows raised in amusement.

“First, we shall issue you all uniforms. We will take your measurements, after which your rank will be-” 

In full honesty, Miku didn’t care much. Her claws twitched restlessly at her sides, ember eyes locked on the ore behind them. She wasn’t one for long winded build up - more of a do now, think later type fox. 

Her stance cocked, unimpressed at the winded list of ranks ‘yada, yada, yada-’

“Today we will let you choose the ore for your swords. However, they’ll take fifteen days to complete.”

‘Fifteen days!’ She reeled, almost in unison with the same fiery voice from earlier.

“Are you kidding me! Don’t give me that shit!” His words cut through the air like a cleaver. He shoved forward, his scarred face twisted in a snarl. When the twins ignored him, he seized the girl's white hair, yanking her head back. "I ain't asking twice!"

The clearing froze.

Miku bristled.

She moved before she could stop herself, her hand clamping around his wrist like a vice.

"Let go," she said, voice low. 

He whirled on her, pupils thinning to slits. "The hell's your problem?!"

The buzz of tension between them was palpable in the air, wisps of pale gold frizz stood on edge in anticipation.

Miku tilted her head. Up close, he smelled like iron shavings and pepper -  and something deeper, older, like hungry blood. ‘Interesting.’

“You’re loud.” She said, “And stupid, threatening the ones who hold your sword?” Her claws pricked his skin, just enough to draw beads of red, but holding the promise of much more. 

He bared his teeth at her, brows drawing together into dark jagged lines across his face. His fingers twitched for a moment, considering, weighing the risks, before he wrenched out of her grip. “Tch, masked bitch.” He spit over his shoulder.

Miku smiled, voice light despite his words. “Good dog.”

The clearing erupted into chaos.

Chapter 6: Honey Crisp

The mountain air smelled of damp earth and burning cedar.

Tanjiro knelt at the edge of Urokodaki’s training ground, his calloused hands pressed to his thighs, his body still humming from the morning’s drills. The old man moved through the mist like a specter - silent, sharp-eyed, his red tengu mask turned toward the tree line.

Watching. 

Always watching. 

"Again," Urokodaki said, his voice graveled but not unkind. "Your stance is still too wide."

“Sure!” Tanjiro adjusted his footing without complaint. All toothy smiles and flushed cheeks, despite his strained breathing in the thin mountain air. 

A twig snapped in the forest.

Both of them turned.

"...Fox," Urokodaki muttered after a pause, though his grip on his hilt didn’t loosen.

Tanjiro nodded, but his nose told a different story.

Iron and flowers - with the faintest hints of something wild.

Someone was out there. He briefly thought he'd smelled them before. 

-

Miku perched on a sun-warmed boulder, memories from the prior night playing in her mind. That scar-faced boy. lunging for her after she'd mocked him, only for… Tanjiro to jump in unprompted, holding him back with a tight grip on his shoulders, sputtering all frantic in an attempt to deescalate the situation. 

"Wait, wait, please don't-!" he yelped, strained, holding him back with all his strength.

“She started it! " He snarled. 

Miku laughed - a bright, chiming sound that made both boys freeze. "Ohhh, he's like a rabid dog!" she'd crooned, leaning closer to his face, poking a pointed finger at his furrowed brow. "Does he need a muzzle? Perhaps a leash too?”

Tanjiro's horrified expression had been worth every second.

-

Miku had no interest in being seen.

But she was hungry.

From her perch in the pines, she watched Tanjiro set his lunch - a humble bento of rice and pickled vegetables - on a flat rock near the stream. An offering, perhaps. Or just stupidity.

Either way, it was hers now.

She waited until he was distracted by Urokodaki’s drills, then slipped down like a shadow, snatching the meal and vanishing back into the leaves.

The rice was cold. The fish was bland.

She ate it anyway.

Then, because she wasn’t completely feral (yet), she left half of it behind - along with a handful of wild berries she’d gathered that morning, glistening an assortment of bright, tantalizing colors. 

There. Balanced.

-

Tanjiro found the remains of his lunch at dusk.

The box was neatly closed, the chopsticks laid parallel across the lid, unbroken, much to his confusion. And beside it -

"Berries?"

Urokodaki peered over his shoulder. "Hmph. Polite thief."

Tanjiro lifted one to his lips. It burst sweet and tart on his tongue. "They’re good!"

The old man sighed. "Eat quickly. Then check on your sister."

-

Haganezuka arrived like a storm.

"KAMADO TANJIRO!" he bellowed, shoving a long, cloth wrapped bundle into the boy’s hands. "THIS BLADE IS A MASTERPIECE! TREAT IT WITH RESPECT OR I’LL KILL YOU!" His voice carried across the mountainscape, loud and imposing.

Tanjiro bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the ground. "I’ll cherish it with my life!" Black blade gripped reverently in his hands. 

Urokodaki crossed his arms. " And the other one? " He questioned, a second wrapped bundle by the smiths feet.

“Other-?”

Before anyone could react, a shadow dropped from the trees.

Miku landed in a crouch, her kitsune mask glinting in the sunlight. She straightened slowly, her patterned haori fluttering around her like a living thing. 

Silence.

Then-

"You," Haganezuka hissed. "You’re the thief who stole an ore!"

Behind the mask, Miku’s lips curled. "Borrowed."

Tanjiro’s eyes widened. "You - you were at final selection!"

She half turned to him, fingers waving lazily.

"So you’re the one who’s been stealing my student’s food." Urokodaki exhaled sharply through his mask.

Miku found it funny, not quite denying it. She turned back around, plucking the second cloth bundle from the ground and unwrapping it with deliberate slowness.

It fell away, revealing a blade of unremarkable steel - dull gray, lifeless, indistinguishable from any other unfinished sword.

Haganezuka’s eye twitched. "This isn’t-"

Then Miku’s fingers closed around the hilt.

A pulse.

The metal shivered.

Golden veins erupted across the blade like cracks in thin ice, spiderwebbing from the tang to the tip. The steel itself seemed to melt, not into liquid, but into something luminous - molten. The air around it warped with heatless flame, casting foxfire shadows across the clearing.

Haganezuka’s jaw dropped.

Tanjiro gasped.

And Miku-

Miku laughed, low and delighted, as the glow settled into a steady, shimmering gold. The blade hummed in her grip, a sound like distant wind chimes.

"There you are," she murmured.

Haganezuka’s voice wavered. "That’s… impossible."

Miku tilted the sword, watching the light dance along its edge. "It’s mine."

No one argued.

-

Tanjiro was the first to break the silence.

"Your sword… it’s beautiful," he said, genuine awe in his voice.

Miku paused, then sheathed the blade with a quiet click. "It’s sharp."

"That too!" He smiled, undeterred by her bluntness. "I’m Tanjiro Kamado. What’s your name?"

A beat.

"Miku."

"Miku," he repeated, as if testing the weight of it. "Are you… also waiting for a mission?"

She tilted her head. "Are you?"

The loud cawing and sharp beat of wings against the crisp air, interrupted them. A Kasugai crow descended in a flurry of black feathers, its beady eyes locking onto them with unnatural focus.

It screeched, voice like rusted hinges. "ATTENTION! ATTENTION! SLAYERS, YOU MUST GO TO A TOWN NORTHWEST OF HERE! HURRY, YOUNG GIRLS ARE DISAPPEARING.”

Tanjiro snapped to attention, hands reaching for his newly awakened black blade. "Understood! We'll leave immediately-”

“We?" Miku's voice was a dry rasp behind her mask. Her saunter, lazy, one hand rested on her hip, unimpressed as she passed them by, heading back to the treeline she first emerged from. 

Tanjiro blinked, then offered her a hopeful smile. "Well... yes! If you'd like to come with me, that is. It's dangerous to travel alone, and-"

"Pass." She flicked a stray leaf from her shoulder. "I work better alone."

The crow let out an indignant squawk. Tanjiro's shoulders slumped - just slightly - before he caught himself and bowed. "Ah, of course! Stay safe, Miku!" Her name, far too familiar on his lips.

Yet

She watched him trudge down the mountain path, his silhouette growing smaller against the afternoon sun. The earnestness of his wave - as if they were parting as friends - made something prickle under her ribs.

Idiot.

-

Miku gave him a twenty minute head start.

Then she followed.

Not out of concern (obviously). Not even out of curiosity (mostly).

It was just... efficient. Same destination, same prey. Why shouldn't she use his noisy steps to mask her own?

Through the dappled forest shadows she moved, a ghost in gold and indigo:

When Tanjiro paused to help a fallen merchant's cart, she rolled her eyes - and pocketed the apple that tumbled from his repaired load.

When he shared his lunch with a stray dog, she scoffed - then left a strip of dried venison on his abandoned pack when he wasn't looking.

When he sang softly to himself while gathering firewood, she memorized the tune - just to spite him with a whistled echo later.

Again. Mother would’ve approved.

-

Night fell like a velvet curtain.

Miku perched on a low hanging branch, polishing her golden blade with a scrap of silk as she watched Tanjiro struggle to light a fire, blowing uselessly at the stubborn kindling

"Having a hard time?"

Tanjiro jumped, caught off guard.

"M-Miku?! How long have you-" He stopped short. Then, slowly, his face split into a grin. "You were following me!"

She rolled her eyes behind her mask, ignoring him. "Need some help?" she lilted, flicking a claw. A wisp of foxfire danced at her fingertips, pale blue and taunting.

Tanjiro startled, then looked to his dejected fire, smiling sheepishly. "Ah... yes, please."

Miku extinguished the flame with a flick of her wrist and a giggle on her tongue. "Too bad. Do it yourself."

His indignant squawk was music to her ears.

After a few more minutes of struggling through damp tinder and restless winds, the flames roared to life. A bright smile on Tanjiro’s face at his accomplishment.  

Miku studied him curiously.

She tossed something at him. Tanjiro caught it on reflex - an apple, crisp and red, with a single bite taken from its side.

"...Thought you might need the energy," she added, already turning from him, sprawling out lazily across the thick branch. 

Tanjiro's laughter followed. "Thank you! Goodnight, Miku!"

Behind her mask, she smiled.

Definitely an idiot.

Notes:

I'm not going to go too deep into the next arc, we'll probably have some more short character interactions between Tanjiro and Miku, before introducing Zenitsu and Ino to the mix at the start of the next arc. Super stoked!! See ya soon.

Chapter 7: Berries and Blood

The forest hummed with late afternoon light, streaking the underbrush in gold and shadow. Miku ran her fingers languidly through the foliage lining the forest path, plucking another berry from the bushes, rolling it between her claws before popping it into her mouth. Perfect.

Tanjiro hovered a few paces behind, his nose twitching at the unfamiliar scent. "Are you sure those are safe to eat?"

‘Ever the worrier’ She thought

Miku didn’t turn around. "Mhm. Sweet as candy." She held one out between two fingers, the juice staining her claws a stark red. "Try one."

Tanjiro hesitated - then, trusting as always, took it.

The moment it hit his tongue, his face contorted.

Miku’s laughter was a bright, chiming thing, muffled only slightly by her mask. "Oh, that face-!"

"That’s vile!" Tanjiro spat, shuddering.

"Liar," she crooned, tossing another into her mouth, thoroughly entertained at his recoil "They’re perfect."

Tanjiro wiped his tongue on his sleeve vigorously. "You’re evil."

Miku’s grin was all teeth. "And you’re easy."

-

Tamayo’s estate was quiet in the late afternoon, the air thick with the scent of herbs and clean linen. Tanjiro, ever the domestic, had already scrubbed his own uniform, Nezuko’s kimono, and - because he couldn’t help himself - Tamayo’s curtains.

Miku watched from the porch, arms crossed.

"You’re insufferable," she decided, aloud. 

Tanjiro blinked up at her, soap suds clinging to his forearms. "Huh?"

"Who just volunteers to do laundry?"

He smiled, earnest as sunlight. "It’s nice to help!"

Miku scoffed.

She stomped off to the riverbank, her own haori - bloodstained from the previous night - in hand aggressively swishing it under the water like a feral racoon. The stains remained. 

Growling, she tossed it aside, falling back on her haunches in a big huff. 

She caught the scent of flowers.

Oh?

Abandoning the haori entirely, she followed the trail, pouncing on a cluster of bluebells. A rabbit darted past, and she gave chase. By the time she sauntered back, the sun had dipped below the trees, and her haori was gone.

When she’d returned to her bedroll, there it was, miraculously clean, folded with an unnerving precision. She stared at it for a long moment - hands reaching up to her hair, carelessly tossing a wildflower on Tanjiro’s head as he slept.

"Don’t read into it." 

(She didn’t see him smile into his blanket.)

-

Their last night at the Tamayo estate held the promise of rain, air cool and thick and all too telling. Tanjiro sat criss-cross by the low table, scribbling notes on demon biology, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Miku draped herself over his shoulders in typical mischief, her chin propped on his head. "Your handwriting’s awful, sunshine.”

Tanjiro stiffened, his ears turning pink. "I-I’m trying my best!"

"Mm. Cute." She plucked the brush from his fingers, her claws brushing his knuckles. "This is how you actually write-"

A small, insistent thump against her leg interrupted her.

Nezuko - tiny, fierce, and glaring - had wedged herself between them, her little hands planted on Miku’s thigh like a territorial kitten.

Miku’s mask tilted. "Oh? Is someone jealous?"

Tanjiro, bright red, flapped his hands. "P-PLEASE DON’T ANTAGONIZE MY SISTER!"

(He meant himself.)

Miku flicked Nezuko’s forehead, delighted. "Relax. I don’t want your brother." A pause. "But his reactions are delicious."

Nezuko’s eyes flickered between the two. After a moment of deliberation, she growled, settling for stomping on her foot with all her tiny might.

Tanjiro looked ready to combust.

Miku laughed so hard she snorted.

-

Morning came too soon.

Miku stood at the edge of the estate, her golden sword strapped to her hip, mask firmly in place. Tanjiro hovered nearby, shifting his weight like he wanted to say something.

…

"You’re leaving?" Tanjiro finally asked.

Miku shrugged. "Got my own path."

A beat. Then-

"You’ll follow me again, won’t you?"

Miku’s mask hid her smirk, but not the amusement in her voice. "Don’t flatter yourself."

Tanjiro grinned. "So that’s a yes."

"Keep dreaming, sunshine.” She lilted, fondly.

Tanjiro smiled brightly. "See you soon Miku!"

Miku waved with a lazy hand - then vanished into the trees, her patterned haori the last thing to disappear.

Tanjiro watched the empty space for a long moment before turning back toward the road, 

Somewhere ahead, a crow cawed.

Somewhere behind, a fox laughed.

Chapter 8: Pretty Piglet

The scent of blood clung to the mansion’s bones. Rot in the wood, ghosts in the air.

Tanjiro stepped inside, hand on his sword. He looked back once - at Nezuko’s box tucked beneath the gnarled oak - and then the shadows swallowed him whole.

He didn’t see the flicker of gold in the treeline.

Didn’t hear the soft click of claws against bark.

But he knew.

Cedar smoke. Crushed wildflowers. Iron, raw and grounding. Untamed.

Miku.

Somewhere in the forest, Miku watched.

And that was enough for him. 

-

Zenitsu Agatsuma was not a brave man.

He knew this. Accepted it, even.

So when the boar headed demon slayer burst from the mansion - dripping blood, twin blades flashing - Zenitsu did what he always did. He shoved Shoichi in front of him.

Cowardice in motion.

At least he had the decency to feel a sliver of shame about it.

The wild figure stormed past, feral eyes fixing sharp on Nezuko’s box.

"DEMON."

Zenitsu’s blood turned to ice. The boar charged.

And Zenitsu - cowardly, trembling, pathetic Zenitsu - threw himself between them, arms spread wide.

"STOP!”

Snout to his nose, the boar snarled. “OUTTA MY WAY, WEAKLING.”

"N-No! I-I won’t let you-!"

"TCH. WHY?"

"B-Because-!" Zenitsu swallowed hard. "That box… it’s precious to Tanjiro!"

"SO? DEMON’S A DEMON."

"I-I don’t care!" Zenitsu’s knees shook, but he didn’t move. "He’s kind! And if he’s protecting it, then - then there’s a reason!"

Silence.

Then then blow.

Zenitsu hit the dirt, ribs screaming. A kick followed. Another. Each one heavier, crueler. “PATHETIC.” A boot to the chest. “USELESS.” Again, harder, until his vision blurred.

“DIE ALREADY.”

The fist cracked across his jaw, blood splattering dark across the grass.

Zenitsu curled in on himself, gasping, trembling. But when the boar raised his blades toward the box - Zenitsu still reached. Fingers clawing the dirt. A broken plea tearing his throat raw.

“N…no…” His voice was a ragged cough, blood on his teeth. “S-Stop…”

The swords rose.

“DIE, DEMON!”

-

Steel never fell.

A blur tore the air. Sparks lit the clearing in gold.

A fox mask gleamed, red eyes painted bright, cheek-slashes fresh as blood. Strands of golden hair spilled wild from beneath it, soft waves catching the light like fire. 

Zenitsu froze. Breath caught. Human? Demon? He couldn’t tell - and he couldn’t look away.

She glanced down at him once, eyes lingering. Faintly, Miku recalled him from Final Selection - cowardly, trembling, a boy who somehow survived when stronger ones did not. Her lips curved under the mask, though not kindly.

“You’re still alive? Hm.” A small tilt of her head. “Didn’t expect that.”

Then her eyes turned.

Miku’s voice slid through the chaos like silk over a knife’s edge. “Demon, huh?” Her laughter was low, curling out like smoke. “The only one I see is standing right in front of me - tusks and all.”

The boar roared, the muscles of his biceps bulging as he clenched his swords. “WHO YOU CALLIN’ DEMON, YOU MASKED FREAK?!”

“Prove me wrong,” she purred. Shoving him back.

The fight erupted like wildfire. His twin blades slashed wild and furious, a storm of raw strength and feral instinct. Each strike came heavier, faster, his body moving with a predator’s rhythm. Miku felt it in the strain of her grip against his, the rush of air past her cheek - he wasn’t just wild. He was skilled, in his own brutal, untamed way.

She would never say it out loud.

She slipped through his strikes like water around stone, her laughter bubbling bright. Each clash rang louder, each dodge more deliberate. She was playing with him - and they both knew it.

“Too slow, boar boy.”

Her kick swept his legs out from under him, planting him face first in the dirt.

“RAAARGH!” He scrambled up, veins straining in his neck. “I’M THE STRONGEST! THE KING OF THE MOUNTAIN!” He pounded his chest, voice cracking with feral pride. “I’M INOSUKE HASHIBIRA!”

Miku tilted her head, mask catching the sun. Her voice was honeyed venom.

“Hashibira? All I see is a wild piglet squealing in the mud.”

The insult burned hotter than her kick. His body shook, rage spilling wild. Green eyes flashing through the slits of his mask.

Miku laughed, stance deepening. “Kitsune Breathing… Fourth Form: Will-o’-the-Wisp.”

The world shifted. Smoke curled where she’d stood, and in a blink, she was gone. A shiver of air - then behind him, her blade was already at his throat, sharp and promising.

She spoke with a sneer, “You reek of blood and beast. If that isn’t a demon’s stench, what is?”

…

“STOP!”

Tanjiro’s cry cut the clearing.

He stumbled from the ruin, sword drawn, chest heaving. “He’s not a demon! He’s human! Same as us!”

Miku’s blade pressed deeper, a bead of blood sliding down his neck. “This thing?” Her voice dripped disbelief. “You trust it?”

Tanjiro’s eyes burned steady. “I do!”

Her silence stretched, sharp and weighing. Then, with a scoff, smoke curled around her - and she was gone. Perched against a tree, arms crossed, bored.

“Humans aren’t fun,” she muttered.

Inosuke roared, swinging wild at the fading smoke. “COWARD! COME BACK AND FIGHT ME!”

But Miku’s attention was gone. 

Inosuke gritted, his eyes snapping to Tanjiro’s instead. “THEN I’LL CARVE YOU UP!”

He came at him like a storm given flesh. Twin blades whirling, slashing high, sweeping low, never in rhythm yet never without purpose. Tanjiro barely caught the first blow, the second nearly took his arm.

Inosuke bent backward, spine arching like a bow as one blade skimmed past Tanjiro’s chest. Then, with a snap, he flipped forward, heels scything through the air. He fought like a creature unbound by bones - savage, flexible, unrelenting.

“STOP!” Tanjiro shouted, straining against another strike. “You’re hurt - your body’s torn up, you can’t fight like this!”

Inosuke only laughed, sharp and breathless. “This- this feeling-” His blades spun, silver arcs carving the air. “This is everything! Right here, right now - nothing else matters!”

Their swords crashed again, sparks scattering like fireflies. Tanjiro’s jaw clenched, his pulse thundering.

“You’re wrong!” he roared, meeting Inosuke’s wild green eyes. “The future matters! You can’t throw yourself away for a moment’s thrill!”

Then he surged forward.

CRACK.

Their foreheads slammed together, the sound like splitting wood. Inosuke’s boar mask hit the dirt with a hollow thud.

-

Silence.

-

Zenitsu blinked through one swollen eye. “…Wait… what?”

Green eyes glared beneath thick lashes, framed by a wild mane of dark blue hair. His features were sharp, but there was something uncannily soft about them too.

Inosuke bristled, “HUH?! YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH MY FACE OR SOMETHING?”

Color rose in his cheeks, hot. He jabbed a finger into his chest, sputtering. “I’M THE STRONGEST! THE KING OF THE MOUNTAIN! INOSUKE HASHIBIRA-!”

Tanjiro, earnest as ever, blurted, “It’s not a bad thing! Your face is… actually very attractive. Soft. Feminine. Beautiful, even-”

The clearing cracked open with laughter.

Miku, who had been watching with arms loosely folded, finally broke. Laughter spilled out of her like a flood, sharp and bright. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, mask tilted askew as if even it couldn’t contain her mirth.

“Oh- oh no-” she wheezed. “ That’s the same piglet? That feral little storm?”

Inosuke flushed a violent shade, blood and fury warring on his face. “WHAT’S SO FUNNY?!”

She straightened, only enough to stab a clawed finger toward him, laughter still bubbling.

“You-your face- gods, like a pretty little doll!”

“SHUT UP!” He swung, wild and humiliated. His movements were jerky, embarrassed more than enraged.

Miku skipped back with foxlike ease, every dodge punctuated by another fit of laughter. 

“Oh no, don’t scowl - you’ll ruin it! Such delicate lashes… Such a lovely pout! Truly, the terror of demons everywhere.”

Even Zenitsu, half-conscious and broken on the grass, let out a shaky, bewildered laugh. “He… he really is… kinda pretty…”

“STOP SAYING THAT!” Inosuke howled, clutching his blades with shaking fingers

Tanjiro winced, guilt flushing his cheeks. “S-Sorry! I didn’t mean-” 

“-I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!”

He lunged.

Then staggered.

The ground pitched. He stumbled two steps, lifted a blade-

-then collapsed, face-first, into the dirt.

Silence.

Miku's laughter redoubled, spilling bright and unrestrained as she kicked lightly at his limp body. “The mountain king, felled by a forehead! What a twist!”

Zenitsu peeked through shaking fingers. “I-is… is he dead?”

“No,” Tanjiro sighed, crouching to check his pulse. “Just… concussed. Oops.”

“Fragile and pretty,” Miku snorted, mask cocked at an angle, still breathless with laughter and all too unbothered.

Notes:

Ino is fun as fuck to write. I think him and Miku will have a great dynamic - them both being wild things after all - they're only a year apart at this point. Some light interactions next chapter before we get to the Mt. Natagumo arc. Unlike the mansion arc, I'll actually cover Miku's interference and how it effects the canon timeline of the events that go down here. It won't be too crazy - but I also don't like the idea of writing in a character and having them effect literally nothing of the main story. Also!

Miku is not like... hashira level in strength, or even close. We'll explore this more in future chapters. But she does have the upper hand over these boys, considering she spent 15 or so years training beneath the guidance of a demon. At some point the power scaling will even out more - but as of now, she can definitely kick some serious cheeks.

T/T I hope yall enjoyed. See you soon!!

Chapter 9: Wisteria Blooms

Splat

“Eh..?”

Splat

Splat. Splat.

Inosuke twitched, groggy, a smear of something wet dragging across his cheek. His hand came away sticky, purple.

“WHO-?!” He shot upright, swords half raised-

-just in time for another berry to burst against his face, dripping violet down his nose.

Miku’s laughter trickled down from above, low and lazy.

His head snapped upward.

“There we go,” she mused, legs swinging from her perch. Another berry rolled between her claws before she flicked it, perfect arch, perfect splatter, bleeding blue down his neck.

Her voice curled, light as silk. “Morning, beastie.”

Miku swore she saw a vein pulse in his forehead. What a lovely thought.

“YOU-!” He lunged for the tree trunk, scrambling up in a fury. 

Miku leaned back, out of reach, easy as a cat stretching.

“Come down and fight me, you FOX FREAK!”

“Mm. No.” Another berry. Smack. Right against his temple. “This is much more fun.”

Her claws drummed idly against bark, eyes narrowing amused. Look at him. A wild animal. All bark, no - well… She smirked. Perhaps he does bite.

“Ah! Inosuke!” Tanjiro’s voice carried across, relief bleeding into the words. “You’re awake! I was starting to worry there.”

He froze halfway up the tree, twisting toward him. “HUH?!”

Tanjiro nodded toward the half dug graves nearby, dirt streaking his hands. His voice softened, heavy with care. “Will you help? We want to bury everyone properly.”

“Pfft. Waste of time.” Miku stretched languidly along the branch, flicking a berry up and catching it neatly in her palm. “They’re dead, who cares?”

Tanjiro’s jaw tightened. But before he could reply, her crimson eyes caught in the mask’s slits, glinting sharp.

“Besides-” she said, voice sly, “he’s too weak to help you Tanjiro. Just look at him.”

The trap snapped shut. Inosuke whipped around so hard he nearly slipped.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!”

“You heard me,” she purred. “Too weak. Can’t even dig a hole.”

Her grin widened. Strike the nerve. Watch the beast dance.

“TOO WEAK?!” Inosuke dropped from the trunk in a rage, swords thudding into the dirt. “I COULD BURY MORE BODIES THAN ANYONE! TEN TIMES MORE! A HUNDRED!”

“Prove it, piglet.”

He snarled at her, teeth bared. “JUST YOU WATCH, BITCH!” He stomped off, fists balled, roaring with every step. “I’LL BURY ‘EM ALL, YOU’LL SEE!”

Tanjiro exhaled, weary but grateful.

Miku tipped her head, laughing, her golden hair spilling. “Look at him go. Strongest piglet in the forest.”

-

The sun bore down mercilessly.

Not that it was Miku’s problem. She stretched beneath the shade, one arm pillowing her head, the other draped listless at her side.

She watched.

Tanjiro’s careful digging - each stroke measured, each mound shaped with deliberate care. His hands trembled, but he pressed them together after each grave, lips moving in quiet prayer.

Zenitsu’s pitiful attempts - barely three scoops before he collapsed in a heap, whimpering, clutching his ribs. How pathetic, she thought.

Inosuke was... entertaining. Less digging and more… attacking the ground violently, with his shovel - dirt spraying in all directions. She even had to dodge once when a clump flew her way.

Miku blinked slow, claws idly staining purple from the berries in her palm. No reason to move, no reason to help. Humans clung to their rituals like lifelines.

And yet-

The curve of Tanjiro’s shoulders as he bowed, the whisper of his prayers, the tremble in his hands-

Her claws tapped restlessly against her thigh. When I died… did anyone pray for me?

The thought lodged like a thorn. She could almost taste earth in her mouth, smell the damp of her own grave.

Then she blinked hard, shaking the thought loose - and with a sharp flick of her fingers, watched another berry burst in Inosuke’s wild hair.

“Dig faster, piglet. You’re falling behind.”

-

By the time the last grave was packed, the sun had dipped low.

The children stood at the foot of the trail - Kiyoshi, Teruko, and Shoichi clutching the little pouch of wisteria blossoms the crow had spat into their hands.

Zenitsu was a mess. Tears streaked his cheeks, snot dripping shamelessly, clinging to Shoichi’s sleeve like a man drowning. “Don’t leave me! Shoichi! You’re the only one I can trust!”

Shoichi’s eyes were wide, panicked, looking to Tanjiro like a cornered rabbit.

A sigh.

He pried Zenitsu off like peeling barnacles from a rock, then gave the children a gentle bow. “Thank you for everything. Please, get home safe.” His smile was soft, warm.

Miku found him cute.

The crow cawed harshly overhead: “ FOLLOW SLAYERS, FOLLOW! FOLLOW MEEEE~ ”

And just like that, their odd little band was off again.

-

The path narrowed, damp earth muffling their steps. The sun bled lower, shadows stretching long.

Zenitsu clung to Tanjiro’s sleeve like a child to his mother’s skirts, wailing every other breath. His voice scraped at her nerves.

The crying. Gods above, the crying.

Trailing above them on a low branch, Miku’s claws drummed against the bark. Her hair caught the dying light, a flare of gold in the gloom. Finally, she said it aloud, tone light and yet, not.

“If he cries any louder, I’ll put him out of his misery myself.”

Zenitsu shrieked, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Y-you can’t just say that! Tanjirooo, she’s serious!”

Tanjiro glanced back, smile apologetic, almost pleading. “She’s not serious.”

A pause.

“...Right?”

Miku’s lips curled beneath her mask. “Hn.”

Zenitsu nearly fainted.

Tanjiro sighed.

“You’re patient,” Miku mused, tilting her head at him. “Most would’ve drowned him in the nearest river by now.”

Tanjiro chuckled, quiet but warm. “He’s kind. Just frightened. Someone has to look after him.”

Her gaze lingered on him, a beat too long. Then she clicked her tongue, turning away. “Tch. That’ll get you killed one day.”

-

And still - Inosuke circled her like a wolf, vibrating with pent-up energy.

“FIGHT ME!” he barked, blades brandished, eyes burning. “I’M READY NOW! LET’S FINISH WHAT WE STARTED!”

Without looking, Miku plucked a berry from her pouch and flicked it straight at his forehead. Pop. Juice dribbled down his boar mask.

Inosuke sputtered, fists shaking. “I’LL- I'LL KILL YOU FOR THAT!”

She sighed, amused. “Promises, promises.” Her voice slid sly as smoke. “Catch me if you can… little boar.”

His roar shook the canopy, scattering birds skyward.

Tanjiro pressed his palm to his forehead, laughing despite himself. “You two… honestly.”

-

The crow’s rasp died as they stopped before a high gate, the sigil of wisteria blooming purple across its wood.

The old woman opened it soundlessly, bowing low. “Demon Slayers. Please, come inside.”

Miku lingered, claws tapping her thigh. She wasn’t fond of indoors  - walls pressed too close, ceilings too low. Containment was a human thing.

Still, she followed.

Hisa led them to a dining room, air thick with grilled fish and steaming rice, lanternlight warming the low table.

Zenitsu sat primly, chopsticks pinched delicately between two fingers. Tanjiro pressed his hands together, gratitude glowing plain across his face.

And Inosuke-

Inosuke slammed both fists into his bowl and tore into it like a wolf.

“HEY!” Zenitsu screeched, voice cracking. “You-you don’t just grab it like-like some BEAST! Use chopsticks!”

Inosuke ignored him, cheeks full, soy dripping down his chin. He swiped a skewer straight from Tanjiro’s plate with speed that was nothing short of feral.

Tanjiro pinched the bridge of his nose, caught between horror and helpless amusement.

“Unbelievable…” Zenitsu reeled, holding his bowl out of Inosuke's reach.

Miku shifted lazily away from everyone. Her feet pursed up against the wall, as she leaned back, shoulders flush to Tanjiro’s. Mask tilted just enough to slip food beneath. golden hair spilling like sunlight over her shoulder. She ate with her hands - messy by human standards, but each bite neat and precise. 

“Figures,” she murmured, voice muffled. “The boar eats worse than I do.”

Inosuke’s head snapped up, eyes wild. “WHAT’D YOU SAY?!”

Slow, deliberate, she licked her fingers clean. “At least I don’t look like I’m gnawing on bones.”

Tanjiro winced. “Miku, please-”

Inosuke slammed a fist into the tatami, veins bulging. “YOU’RE DEAD!”

Zenitsu flailed, chopsticks brandished like holy wards. “S-stop it! You’ll flip the table!”

But Miku only slouched further down Tanjiro’s back, claws drumming the rim of her bowl. “Go ahead, boar boy. Try stealing from me. See if you keep all your fingers.” 

For a heartbeat, he froze. Pride snarled against the dull ache of his ribs.

Her head cocked, golden strands spilling forward. “Thought so.”

He bristled, fists shaking, growl stuck in his throat.

Zenitsu groaned, collapsing against the tatami. “I’m trapped with wild animals.”

Miku thought that was the best part.

-

Hisa had led Miku to a different room.

“It’s not proper for a young lady to stay with boys,” the old woman lectured, voice kind but firm. “Here, this will be yours.”

Miku had followed, if only to entertain her host’s whims. The futon was neatly folded, the space quiet, the sliding doors aligned just so. All very human. All very proper. 

She was a wild thing.

-

The house had gone quiet.

Tatami creaked under the old woman’s steps, lanterns dimmed to a soft hush. Three boys lay in futons lined neatly across the floor, their breaths uneven with pain. Broken ribs had a way of silencing even the loudest of them.

Tanjiro breathed carefully through the ache in his chest. Zenitsu whimpered, clutching his blanket like a lifeline. Inosuke laid rigid on his back, staring at the ceiling as if sheer stubbornness might intimidate his bones into healing faster.

It was heavy, that silence. A silence of pain, of frustration, of being forced still.

Then-

The window stirred.

Miku sprawled across its sill, kimono loose around her shoulders, golden hair spilling into moonlight. The kitsune mask tilted just so, slits glinting faint where her eyes burned through.

Floating somewhere between worlds.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t tease. Just… sat. Her stillness hummed, like leaves whispering against the dark.

It was Inosuke who cracked first. As he often did.

He staggered over to her, jaw already parting to bark - but the sound caught. Froze somewhere in his throat.

Her kimono slipped as she shifted, the pale curve of her chest, stark in the moonlight. The sight dragged his wild eyes down. His chest clenched with something he couldn’t name.

Far.

Far too long he stared, his breath rough in the silence.

Miku turned and met him head on, unashamed.

“See something you like?”

It was thrown like a knife, sweet and terrifyingly lethal.

“I-WHAT-NO-SHUT UP!” he howled, his whole face flushed red. Stumbling back, sputtering denials until-

His heel clipped the wooden box in the corner. 

He went down hard, elbows and pride both cracking against the floor. 

A creak. Wood strained. The air thickened.

Then - slowly - the lid shifted. Pale fingers curled over the rim.

Zenitsu’s eyes bulged. His scream tore the stillness as Nezuko pulled herself free, moonlight catching in her wide, unguarded gaze. A dream still clinging to her lashes.

“-GIRL?!” Zenitsu shrieked, scrambling backward on all fours. “A g-girl in a BOX?!”

His voice rose into an awful wail of disbelief, awe, and - was that a marriage proposal already spilling out of his mouth?

Tanjiro, patient even now, stepped quickly between them. At first to defend his sister. And then, inevitably, to pry Zenitsu off her.

Inosuke didn’t see half of it.

His face burned too hot, chest too tight, ribs aching as if something had crawled beneath them and refused to let go. 

Eyes stayed locked on Miku - lazily draped in the windowsill, hair a spill of molten gold, mask catching the glow. He didn’t understand why his throat felt dry, or why the sight of her made his heart hammer harder than any fight ever had.

‘What the hell… is this?’

Chapter 10: Threads and Sparks

The Wisteria House had fallen into rhythm. 

By day, cicadas screamed in the trees. By night, lanternlight pooled soft across the tatami.

Miku perched on the low wall outside, one leg swinging idly, claws clicking against the wood as she plucked apart a grape with absent care. She wasn’t used to stillness. Stillness invited thought. And thought - well, thought was dangerous.

The boys each bore the weight of recovery in their own ways.

Tanjiro trained through the pain, ribs protesting with every breath, stubborn as fire in the rain.

Zenitsu complained, slept, and tried wooing the caretaker with watery eyes. Miku nearly gutted him for the noise.

And Inosuke - her gaze slid to him - refused to settle.

He tried climbing trees, wrestling stones, once even attempted to chase down a deer, hand clutching his ribs - as if it’d make a difference. The boys had dragged him back, swearing he’d tear himself apart.

Now he prowled circles in the dirt, boar mask tilted down, shoulders twitching like a caged beast.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the ground,” Miku drawled, voice muffled beneath her mask.

“SHUT UP, FOX-FREAK!” he snapped back - instant, like a reflex.

She grinned. There it was. That spark.

She slid down from her perch, silent as shadow.

Inosuke stiffened immediately.

She circled him slow, claws tapping against bark. Head cocked - curious, or cruel.

“What’s with the pacing, piglet?” she lilted, her tone all lazy silk. “Are you rabid?"

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” His voice cracked, sharp. His mask followed her steps, but his body stayed rigid.

She hummed in amusement, drifting closer, close enough that the edge of her haori brushed his arm as she passed. Shoulders high. Breath held tight.

Miku’s grin widened. "What’s wrong?” she pressed, “Too close for comfort?”

“NOTHING BOTHERS ME!”

But-

She saw it. The way his jaw locked and his breath held tight.

Miku paused, tilting her mask toward him, savoring the moment like a cat with cornered prey. She leaned in, just enough that he felt the weight of her presence - heat, sharp edges, and dark promises.

Her voice dropped, velvet over steel. “What is it, then? Afraid of me?”

“I’M NOT AFRAID OF ANYTHING!” he exploded, body coiling like a spring, as if shouting it loud enough could make it true.

The silence rang.

Tanjiro, overhearing from where he knelt with his practice forms, frowned softly. “Miku, don’t tease him-”

But she wasn’t looking at Tanjiro.

She was watching Inosuke with burning eyes. 

Her grin widened beneath the mask. Got you.

-

That night, sleep was cruel.

The dream clung like cobwebs. Silk tightened. Limbs bound, mouth sewn shut. Thousands of legs skittered. Panic swelled in her throat like she was drowning.

And then-

Eyes.

Blue. Cold as ice, sharp as steel. Piercing through the haze like moonlight cutting fog. 

She jolted awake, mask hot and suffocating. Her body was rigid, breath tearing sharply through her chest.

The room was dark. Too still. She hated it. Hated the fear, the weakness crawling under her skin. 

Mother

God’s, she wanted Mother. 

Her eyes snapped to the rustle beside her. Tanjiro stirred, half asleep, the faint scent of earth and warmth rolling off him. His voice was a murmur, slurred with exhaustion, “...Miku?”

Miku froze. Reluctant. But the dream still clung - cold, sharp and skittering.

So she moved. 

Her body slipped down beside him, silent as a shadow. One arm wound softly around his waist, her chest pressing lightly to his back, cheek resting against his shoulder. No words at first. Just the steady drum of his heartbeat under her ear.

Tanjiro froze.

Every muscle in his body went stiff as a board. She was pressed against his back - warm, soft, close enough that he could feel every breath she took. His ears lit up so hot they had to be glowing.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t-

Then silk shifted. Her kimono slipped against his arm, brushing bare skin. Smooth. Warm. He forgot how to breathe.

Oh no.

His thoughts scattered like startled birds. He couldn’t even look. He didn’t dare look, already choking on his heartbeat. His face hotter than the forge back home.

Everything about her screamed wild and untouchable - Gods. Except here she was, holding him like he was the only steady thing left in the world.

And then that whisper, soft as falling ash: please.

Tanjiro nearly combusted on the spot. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. But - but she was trembling.

She was scared. 

He knew she was. He could smell it, bitter and acrid - it rolled off her in droves. 

Tanjiro let out a shaky breath, lowering his shoulders by sheer force of will. He wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t ruin this for her.

It didn’t matter if his face was red, if his lungs barely worked, if his thoughts were all tangled in chaos. What mattered was that she’d reached for him.

So he stayed. Perfectly still. Perfectly steady. If it gave her even a little peace, then he’d endure every second of it.

-

The wails started before the sun was fully up.

Zenitsu’s voice split the stillness like a crow’s caw. 

“UNBELIEVABLE! TRAITOR! TANJIRO, HOW COULD YOU?!” His finger shook accusingly at the futon. “You-you were cuddling with her! CUDDLING! That should’ve been me!” His sobs pitched higher, eyes glistening like a scorned lover.

Miku stirred at the noise, still curled around the warm figure beside her. One arm draped over Tanjiro’s waist, her cheek pressed against his back. Her voice was husky with sleep as she muttered, “...What now?”

Tanjiro wished the earth would swallow him whole. His face burned scarlet, breath stuck somewhere between a choke and a squeak. He tried to move, but her grip tightened, pulling him closer.

“SEE?!” Zenitsu wailed, collapsing to his knees. “She’s holding you like-like it’s nothing! Like it’s natural! WHY DOESN’T ANYONE EVER HOLD ME?!”

No one answered.

Miku shifted. She stretched with a slow, feline roll of her shoulders, golden hair spilling forward. Her mask had slipped askew in the night, showing just the edge of her mouth: red-stained lips parted in a soft yawn, the glint of a canine flashing in the light.

Zenitsu froze mid-wail.

Inosuke flushed hot.

Tanjiro’s ears went redder.

Utter silence.

Tipping her head, still half asleep. “...What?” she murmured, voice rough. Her hand reached back, tugging gently at Tanjiro’s sleeve. “Back to bed,” she mumbled, trying to drag him with her.

“W-WHA-?!” Tanjiro jolted upright, flailing like a fish on land. “No! I-I can’t-I need-breakfast-training-air!” His voice cracked hopelessly.”

Zenitsu shrieked like his heart had just been torn in two. “TANJIROOOO! HOW COULD YOU?! I TRUSTED YOU!!”

Miku blinked at him slowly, mask sliding further down her cheek. A small, sleepy smile curved her lips. “You’re loud in the morning,” she observed.

Zenitsu fainted

-

Two months had passed within the walls of the Wisteria House. Bones knit slow, bruises faded, and the sharp edge of pain dulled to a low ache.

For the boys, rest had meant recovery. For her… it was confinement.

Miku filled the long days however she could - picking at the tatami with idle claws, watching lanternlight gutter, pricking holes in the silence just to hear it bleed. Sometimes she studied them: Tanjiro’s grit, Zenitsu’s trembling, Inosuke’s restless fury.

Especially Inosuke.

Her lips quirked at the memory. 

His swords had flashed, his mask jerking toward her when she’d pressed too close. 

Her voice lilted with mockery: “Want to fight me… or want me?” The way his roar had broken halfway, shrill with confusion, was sweeter than honey.

Pulling threads, watching him unravel. Affection was measured in sparks and scratches - proof that someone could be moved at all. This was as much truth to her as blood was to the body.

Miku shifted her back against the curve of the boulder, eyes lifting to the night sky. 

“You don’t even know what it is you’re chasing.”

And that thought made her grin. 

-

At the gate, Hisa waited with two rocks in hand. She struck once, twice - sparks snapping against their backs as they passed.

“For luck,” she said simply. “Go well.”

Tanjiro bowed, heart full. “Thank you.”

Zenitsu wept as if leaving behind his own mother. “HISAAA! Don’t let me die out there!”

Inosuke froze mid-step, eyes narrowing at the sparks. His hand shot to his blades. “WHAT WAS THAT?! YOU WANNA FIGHT?!”

It took both Tanjiro and Zenitsu to drag him forward before he lunged.

Miku laughed beneath her mask, claws tapping against her thigh. “Careful, Hisa. He bites.”

The crow screeched overhead, wings beating the air. “TO MOUNT NATAGUMO! TO MOUNT NATAGUMO!”

Finally, they were off. The path ahead darkened with trees, shadows stretching long.

Miku couldn't shake the goosebumps that crawled up her arms, and thoughts of unseen legs skittering just out of sight.

Notes:

Calm before the storm so-to-speak?
I think Miku garners a lot of comfort from closeness and physical affection. She is a fickle thing after all, and the high she gets from making poor ol' Ino squirm - could fuel her for DAYS.

Oh gods, and isn't Tanjiro adorable? We're tailoring him towards a more familial - brotherly role in this story, but even he isn't immune to kitsune charm! Especially when its pressed so closely against his back ///

Chapter 11: Breath of Winter

The mountain reeked.

Damp rot, the sweet-sour of old blood soaking into bark, spider-thread strung like veins across the trees.

The deeper they climbed, the more the air seemed to clot in her lungs, thick and wet.

At the base of the slope, Zenitsu whimpered, hugging his haori around him for comfort.

“I-I’m not going up there! No way, no way - nope!” His voice cracked so high it startled a crow from its perch. “It’s cursed! Look at it! The trees are moving, I swear they’re moving - HEY! Don’t leave me!!”

Miku tilted her head from the shadows. His fear was loud, loud enough to rattle the branches, loud enough to wake the dead. Briefly, she wondered if he wasn’t wiser than the boys who had already charged forward.

Tanjiro’s stride was steady, ribs still bruised, but resolve sharp in his eyes. Scent guiding him upward. 

Inosuke was all noise and teeth beside him, charging headlong and fearless. 

Neither hesitated. 

Neither looked back.

Miku stayed where the moonlight thinned, slipping between root and shadow. Here, light didn’t touch, the canopy was thick, branches and webs knitting a false night. It was cold despite the hour, wet earth sucking at her sandals, tasting of mold.

Her claws pricked bark as she trailed behind the boys, loud and bold in their movements. She flowed instead, a whisper under their thunder, ears twitching at every creak of branch, every unnatural hush between cicadas.

Then - silver glint against the gloom.

Threads stretched across the path, delicate as silk, cruel as wire. At first they looked like nothing at all, just the glimmer of dew. But when the breeze shifted, they hummed faintly, strings pulled taut.

Miku crouched, slit-pupils sharpening. The hair on her nape prickled. These weren’t merely webs - they were tools. She knew it without touching.

Her chest clenched. Memory stirred, heavy as stone. Not the full picture, not yet, but the faint scrape of claws through earth, the sting of white glinting in firelight.

She blinked hard. The moment fading to ash.

Then moved forward, trailing Tanjiro and Inosuke up the slope.

-

The forest grew stranger the higher they climbed. Trees leaned unnaturally, bark split into spirals. The ground was littered with dried insect corpses, bound in silk.

Shapes stumbled into view - human shapes. Torn uniforms, mud-streaked sleeves dragging like wilted banners. Their eyes rolled white, jaws slack, steps jerking like puppets.

Inosuke skidded to a halt, blades raised. “The hell-?!” His grip twitched, ready, but his wild eyes narrowed on the uniforms.

“They’re… Slayers?”

Tanjiro’s breath caught. “They’re alive-”

The first body lurched forward, Nichirin blade swinging stiffly.

Miku crouched high in the branches, eyes scrutinizing. From above, the truth was clearer: fine silver lines stretched from the canopy, circling waists, wrists and ankles. Puppets strung to unseen hands.

She called down, voice sharp. “Look closer! Strings - there are threads controlling them!”

Tanjiro severed a line with his sword, the body crumpling limp to dirt. Inosuke hacked wildly until his foe collapsed as well. But the relief was short-lived. The strings slithered back, reattaching, hauling bodies upright once more.

Not good.

“They’re alive,” Tanjiro said firmly. “We can’t kill them.”

What?

Miku started, incredulous. “Then what will you do - let them thrash until your throats are cut? Sever their limbs-”

“No,” Tanjiro barked, fiercer than she’d ever heard. His jaw set, eyes blazing with stubborn fire. “They’re human. They can be saved. I won’t kill them.”

Foolish. That kind of thinking got you buried. And yet - this was Tanjiro. His conviction never bent, no matter how ridiculous. It frustrated her to no end. 

“You’ll regret this,” she said flatly, melting back into the canopy. “But do as you please.”

From her perch, she watched as Tanjiro adapted - wrapping the unconscious bodies in the branches, knotting their threads so they hung suspended. It was messy. Inefficient. But it worked for now.

Her gaze drifted higher.

And froze.

Perched above the treeline was a boy. 

White hair spilled down like snow, bright against the dark. Red eyes watched the fight below with the calm disinterest of a spider tending its web.

Miku’s pulse stuttered. 

White hair. 

Too soft, too young - but still. Her throat burned with memory, the clutch of dying fingers tangled with strands of winter.

She couldn’t look away.

And when he finally slipped from the branches, gliding deeper into the woods, Miku trailed behind.

-

She moved soundless, a shadow within shadows. Vaulting high, creeping low, following beneath tree cover. 

The boy in white.

Rui walked unhurried, gaze cold and dangerous. He never looked back. Why would he? Few ever did.

His voice carried sharp across the hollow where his mother hid. “Kill them quickly or I’ll have to involve Father.”

The mother whimpered - too soft for a demon, Miku thought.

He turned away, dismissing her as one might a cracked teacup, vanishing deeper into the woods, towards the intermittent booms of thunder in the distance. 

She followed. Careful. Patient. A fox’s patience.

Every step closer, her eyes caught on his hair - moon-pale, glinting. Her stomach turned. Her mother’s blood. Her claws were sunk into strands just like that.

Not now. 

Now was for answers.

Miku dropped from the canopy like mist breaking, materializing a few strides behind him. Foxfire licked faint blue at her claws. Her sword leveled at his back.

“Stop.”

Rui did. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, unreadable. 

“Did you kill her?” Miku’s voice was low, steady despite the fire curling in her gut. “The guardian of the Kitsune forest. My mother.”

A flicker in his red eyes. Curiosity, not guilt.

“No.”

The flatness of it raked her nerves raw. “White hair. He smelled like winter.”

His silence stretched thin, taut as thread. Then - “I know who you mean.”

“Tell me.” She hissed. 

…

Rui’s gaze sharpened, his voice quiet. “Earn it.”

“Kitsune Breathing, First Form: Three-Tailed Mirage!”

Her body split into three, each darting at him from different angles, blades flashing, illusions rippling like fireflies. Rui’s threads whipped out, tearing through two of them instantly, smoke bursting where they fell. 

Her true body surged forward, blade clanging against threads, sparks showering.

He’s precise. No wasted movement. She gritted her teeth, feeling the sting as silk grazed her arm. He doesn’t even blink.

Steel rang, over and over. Threads sliced past her cheek, one nicking close enough to sheer a strand of hair. She ducked low, swiping out, splitting air beneath his nose. 

Miku twisted, vanishing into smoke before his webs closed around her waist. She reappeared at his flank, striking hard.

One mistake, and I'm dead.

The resistance felt endless - like cutting water only to have it mend again. Rui waited, patient, until her illusions thinned and her body revealed itself.

Every clash stole something from her - skin grazed, blood seeping, breath shortening.

Then - finally - an opening. 

She lunged, foxfire curling along her blade. Her stance was left wide, Rui’s threads lashed toward her. Silk bit deep across her ribs, hot blood blooming under her haori. She grit through the pain.

“Kitsune Breathing, Seventh Form: Foxfire Severance!”

Her blade lit up, blue on gold, cleaving his left arm clean through. Instantly cauterizing the wound in a flash of searing fire.

Rui froze, brows drawing to the empty space. Something was wrong. 

“Your fire… it prevents regeneration.”

Miku staggered back, hand pressed to her side. She’d known the risk, taken it anyway.

“The name,” She hissed, through gritted teeth.

Rui studied her, with a renewed bloom of interest and the faintest curve to his lips. “Douma.”

Her breath hitched. His name seared into her mind, Douma. White hair. Winter.

Threads snapped forward fast. Miku barely raised her blade in time. “Kitsune Breathing, Fourth Form: Will-o’-the-Wisp!”

Her body dissolved in blue fire, reappearing in a distant canopy. Blood seeping hot beneath her kimono, but she grinned all the same.

Rui stood beneath the drifting ash, severed arm useless at his feet. A hum on his lips. She was… interesting

Chapter 12: Ghost

Inosuke’s chest hammered like a drum in his ribs. Each breath scraped, shallow, ragged. The beast in his blood screaming at him to move. To attack. To win.

But he didn’t move.

Not when the forest shook with each lumbering step. Not when the guttural rumble of the thing called Father pressed closer. It reeked of acid and rot, thick enough to gag.

Inosuke crouched low against the split trunk of a cedar, hands gripping his blades tight enough to ache. The ground trembled with each thunderous step, vibrations crawling up his arms. 

“I wanted… stronger prey,” he muttered under the boar mask, throat raw. “But this-” Another quake rattled the soil loose. “This is… too much.”

The words tasted bitter. Weak. Like something cowardly.

Then, sharp as a needle, her voice struck from above. 

“Prey hides.”

His head snapped up. A white mask and red eyes peered down from the branches overhead. Miku sat hunched, cocked at an infuriating angle, legs dangling loose.

She was smiling - he knew it, even behind the mask.

“Hunters move,” she added, tilting her chin toward the shadow drawing closer.

Heat rushed under his mask. He half sprang to his feet. “I’M NOT PREY!”

Her laughter came light and cruel, “Strange. Prey crouches. Prey trembles. I thought you were supposed to be wild.”

His grip tightened, heartbeat thundering.

“I - WILL - TEAR - YOU - APART!”

“Not if you hide there.” She leaned forward, golden hair glinting in the fractured light. Even from here, he caught the faintest scent of smoke and copper from her. 

She was bleeding. And still, she mocked him. That thought infuriated him.

The forest rattled as Father’s step shook the roots. Inosuke straightened fully, voice raw and defiant: “I’LL SHOW YOU! I’LL SHOW EVERYONE!”

“That’s more like it.” 

Miku slid off the branch, landing soft as a cat in the muck beside him. She stepped close enough for him to feel her presence, then passed him, blade tilting toward the oncoming giant. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He snarled, smashing his blades together, sparks shrieking. Her taunt lit something hot inside him, burning away the edges of fear.

The ground split as Father barreled into view, limbs thick as trunks, nine eyes locked onto them. 

Inosuke’s muscles coiled. “DIE DEMON!”

As Father’s arm came crashing down, the two surged forward together - teeth bared, blades flashing.

-

Steel clashed. Flesh split. The forest roared.

Father’s massive limbs carved craters into the ground, roots snapping like bones.

Inosuke swung wild and reckless, leaving himself open - but Miku was always there, a shadow slipping into every gap. Where he overextended, she struck; where the beast’s fist sought to crush him, she cut clean at the joint.

“Not bad… for prey,” she taunted, blade sparking on Father’s hide.

“HAH?!” Inosuke bellowed, blood dripping from his arms. “I’M THE KING OF THE FOREST’S, STUPID FOX.”

“Then stop making me save you.”

His roar was half laugh, half rage as he stabbed through Father’s arm, holding it at bay. Miku darted in low, foxfire flashing. The limb cracked under their combined strike.

Together, they pressed. Relentless. 

Strength and precision.

Father toppled, thrashing, the opening wide. Inosuke leapt, blades crossing overhead; Miku dashed beneath, in an arc of gold. Their strikes cleaved deep and the giant head rolled. Ash scattered on the wind.

Inosuke swayed, chest heaving, bloodied but upright. “SEE?!” he roared at the night, trembling legs defiant. “NOT PREY!”

Miku watched him silently, fondness flickered behind her eyes a breath longer, before she struck his temple with her hilt. He crumpled, unconscious.

She crouched beside him, brushing her fingers tenderly against his chest. Blood smeared her touch. “Idiot.” 

The weight of her wounds pressed heavy, but she forced herself up all the same, shadows tugging her forward.

She needed to find Tanjiro.

-

Her steps dragged, each one harder than the last. Arm clinging to the bark of a tree, her other pressed uselessly to her ribs where blood soaked through. A bitter thought in her head, if she hadn’t helped Inosuke, if she hadn’t gone to this mountain, if she never met Tanjiro - then maybe, she wouldn’t be here, bleeding red across the forest floor like the pitiful thing she was.

Tch. Regret. How disgustingly human of her. 

Her eyes broke through the clearing, where the battle had been loudest.

She found him in motion.

Rui’s threads snapped apart like brittle glass, shredded beneath the sweep of water that wasn’t water at all, but blade and breath and something more. Like a river carving stone, it moved - inevitable and effortless.

And at the center of it, him.

Black hair catching the silver wash of moonlight. Split haori and eyes the kind of blue that made her want to stop breathing just to see how long she'd last under them.

Her lips parted.

Gods.

Was he a ghost? No, couldn’t be. Not a memory either. He was here, flesh and bone and deadly grace, that same man who’d stood at the edge of her forest, and tilted it just slightly off its axis.

The first slayer she ever saw.

The first doubt she ever carried.

The first beauty she ever wanted for herself.

And that blue - 

It dragged her back, two years ago. Before everything went wrong.

Her chest tightened, but she forced the ache down, nails digging into her palm where her sword hilt pressed. 

Her feet moving before her mind could catch up. 

A twig cracked under her step, sharp in the stillness left behind by death. He turned - those eyes, unblinking, steady, searching. 

And she thought absurdly, Of course he’d hear me. Of course he’d look. 

Miku adjusted her mask tight to her face, like a barrier shielding her from his gaze.

She wanted to speak, but nothing came out. She couldn’t find the right words. Do you remember me? Do you see me, here, now?

The air between them tightened. His sword still gleamed wet in his hand, his stance neither relaxed nor raised. Measuring her. Always measuring.

Her heart beat against her ribs like it wanted to break free.

Tanjiro looked between them, questions burning in his eyes. Questions Miku did not want to answer.

There was a crack from behind. The air thickened, sweet and sharp - like blossoms drenched in poison. Another slayer -  she landed without a sound, the edge of her blade already slanting for her - no, for Nezuko. 

Miku moved on pure instinct, gold sparking against lavender as steel met steel. The force rattled her bones, blood spraying hot against her mask.

The woman’s eyes sharpened, bright, unblinking. She pivoted, fast - too fast. The second blow scraped her mask, and Miku’s legs buckled.

She drew a breath so deep it scalded her lungs. Activating her eighth form, her blade flared with smoke, light bending wrong around them, a shimmer that coiled through the trees. The other slayer froze, just for a heartbeat, her movements dulled as her eyes locked on to something only she could see.

Just enough.

“Go!” She hissed through bloodied teeth, wrenching Tanjiro and Nezuko from the ground. They stumbled, and ran. 

Miku staggered after them, hand clamped to her bleeding side. The forest tilted. She forced her gaze ahead.

Anywhere but back.

Don’t.

Her legs screamed. Her lungs blistered.

Don’t.

Because-

Because if she looked - and he was watching - or worse, if she looked and he wasn’t-

Behind, she thought she heard the faintest cracking of steel against steel. 

She shook the thought from her head. Move forward. 

-

Branches whipped at their faces as they tore through the underbrush. Tanjiro’s voice cracked with every breath. 

“Miku- you’re hurt- you’re bleeding- ”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her jaw locked, blood spilling hot through her kimono. Only one thought: keep them moving.

Above, the crows split the night with their decree.

“Tanjiro Kamado, the demon Nezuko, and the Kitsune are to be brought back to headquarters!”

Her heart lurched. Relief surged through the pain. Detainment. Not execution. They would live.

Then the air soured sweet, cloying with flowers. A blur of pink dropped from the canopy, blade flashing.

Miku twisted, her own sword rising in one blood-slick hand.

“Kitsune Breathing, Fourth Form: Will-o’-the-Wisp.”

Blue fire bloomed, swallowing her whole. Smoke burst and the strike caught nothing.

Miku stumbled against a far off tree, knees nearly buckling, one hand clamped hard to her wound. Breath tearing ragged through her chest. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes for a moment. They’ll be safe now. That’s enough.

As she stumbled forward through the haze, her thoughts slipped where they shouldn’t.

Back to blue.

Notes:

>:) Guess what we finna get next chapter.

Chapter 13: Septic

Notes:

Hey! I made some small chapter edits so that's why it went from 13 to 12. (It's on purpose dw, I just combined 2 and 3 together). Hope you guys enjoy!! And thanks to all the sweet comments and feedback I've gotten ><. Miku is a blast to write and I'm so happy y'all like her too!!

The fight ended abruptly.

One moment, blades in motion, the wet hiss of steel slicing through the air. The next: silence, against the distant rasp of crows overhead. “Tanjiro Kamado, the demon Nezuko, and the Kitsune are to be detained and escorted to headquarters.”

The words carried an irrefutable finality that instantly broke the tension storming between the hashira (mostly).

Shinobu sheathed her blade with one fluid motion. Her smile was polite and reserved as ever, and a stark contrast to her words. “You’ve overstepped Tomioka. Defied Corps law to shield… a demon. ” 

Though her voice was soft, each syllable rolled off her tongue with barely veiled disgust. 

Giyu’s hand lingered on his hilt, knuckles steady. The click was clean and final, as he let his fingers fall from the blade and rest listlessly by his sides. He said nothing. He rarely did.

They began to walk, silence stretching taut between them. Shinobu’s steps were light beside him, “You know, this is why no one likes you, Tomioka.”

His steps faltered just slightly.

A beat.

“I… I don’t think I’m disliked.” 

The line left him flat, toneless. Shinobu’s laugh was immediate however. Bright and sharp, like glass breaking. “I hadn’t meant for you to find out this way-” She started.

Giyu blinked once. The thought had never really crossed his mind.

Should I… smile more? The idea flickered, absurd. He imagined it - his face contorted into something too wide, too bright, and far too reminiscent of Rengoku - a shudder crawled down his spine. Terrible idea. Never again. 

He exhaled, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came, gaze steady as ever.

Shinobu’s laugh lingered, but he gave her nothing more.

-

With Rui’s death, the mountain had at last remembered how to breathe. 

Kakushi emerged from the trees in a ripple of white and black - robes spotted with ash, hands already moving. They fanned across the slope with practiced movements: canvas cots unfolded, lanterns struck, bundles of gauze cracked open with their teeth. The air filled with crushed herb, iron, and the faint sting of wisteria tincture.

“Kocho-sama,” one reported, dropping to a knee. “Multiple corps under thread manipulation. Lacerations at joints and along tendons. We’ve cut most lines but residual silk is embedded - requesting directive on removal.”

“Saline, then salve,” she spoke curtly. “No ripping. Thread will pull deeper. And bring me the poisoned boy first.” 

Zenitsu lay two cots over, small breaths shuddering. A Kakushi eased the band of torn cloth from his arm; beneath it, the veins pooled a bruised purple, spidering up toward his shoulder.

“Fasciculations, diaphoresis… Kocho-sama, he’s showing atrophy from venom exposure.”

“Prepare the compound,” she said, already rolling up her sleeves. “Wisteria-base. Two drops, wait one minute, then two more. He’ll shake - hold him still.”

Giyu gave them space, his feet carrying him through the camp. Blue eyes searched bodies, faces - not quite sure what he was looking for. 

A boy with a torn boar’s head lay half-curled in the dirt, chest rising shallowly under the cracked snout. Two Kakushi hovered at arm’s length, as if he might bite.

“Is… is that a demon?” one whispered.

“It’s wearing a mask,” the other whispered back, like the statement proved anything at all. 

Giyu stopped beside them, eyes catching on the familiar uniform pants. “Corps.” He said, voice even.

They flinched, bowed, then tried lifting the boar’s head free. It didn’t budge.

“Leave it,” Giyu said. “Stabilize the ribs first.”

“But, Tomioka-sama, the airway-”

“Look.” He nudged the mask’s snout with two fingers. Under it, a ghost of fog kissed the leather, slow and steady. “He’s breathing. Tape the mask down so it won’t shift. Splints. Then a cot.”

They obeyed, grateful to be told something so simple. 

He found Tanjiro by the foot of a broken cedar, stripped to his undershirt, a line of bruises dark across his ribs. Someone had already set a board beneath him, binding cloth wrapped in a neat crisscross from sternum to hip, holding the fracture in place. 

He was sleeping - no, drugged. He could smell the bitter edge of sedative in the air. 

Nezuko’s box rested beside him, scuffed but intact. 

Giyu crouched. Pressing his palm - light and sturdy - over Tanjiro’s sternum. Counted. In, out. His breathing was steady, steady enough. 

Satisfied, he straightened and shifted his attention to the box. 

“Kocho-sama said to transport them together,” the nearest Kakushi said, somewhere between apology and defense. 

Giyu gave a small nod, acknowledging.

His eyes scanned the treeline intently, instruction from headquarters still pressing against his thoughts. He hadn’t seen her among the bodies. 

As if they’d read his mind, another Kakushi arrived at a half-run, skidding to kneel in the mud. “Additional report,” they started, “Kanao-sama intercepted an unknown slayer - kitsune mask, gold blade. She escaped before we could detain her. We’ve begun a perimeter search but…”

They hesitated.

“...But she was bleeding,” Giyu finished for them. The memory surfaced unbidden: gold striking lavender, the wet sheen along her ribs, red blooming through cloth. He hadn’t needed a second look to know the cut was deep.

The Kakushi inclined their head. “Yes Tomioka-sama. Profusely.” 

Another voice - older, steadier - came from his left. “Orders regarding the masked slayer? Are we to treat them as hostile? Evade and report?”

Giyu’s gaze dropped to the earth, slick mud reflecting the dim gleam of torchlight. Hostile. The word knotted something in his chest.

“No,” he said flatly. Decisively. “Do not engage. Do not pursue. If you see her, report directly to me.”

A pause. The older Kakushi nodded, accepting the strangeness of the request and filing it neatly under another of the Water Hashira’s peculiarities. “Understood.”

The question lingered anyway, unsaid but heavy: Why?

Giyu didn’t have an answer. Not one he could give them at least. 

Because he didn’t know.

He didn’t know if it was her. He didn’t know if she was okay.

Because she had stood between a blade and a child, and that had to account for something.

His thoughts stuttered, unsteady, brushing too close to a memory that had clung to him far longer than it should have - two springs ago. Toothy smiles, sun-bright hair, and an endless stream of questions.

Distantly, a crow barked a second time: “Escort. Escort. Depart before dawn.”

“Perimeter search, two rings,” he said to the nearest Kakushi. “Slow. No shouting.”

“For the kitsune, Tomioka-sama?”

“For anyone who’s still breathing.”

They bowed and moved.

He lingered for a moment, just long enough to feel the mountain tip toward silence again, before following after them. 

-

Their march back blurred into hours. Dawn broke pale and bled into dusk by the time they were a half-day from headquarters. No one spoke much - too many bodies to carry, too many wounds to tend. The steady shuffle of Kakushi feet, the occasional groan of the injured, and the crows circling overhead were the only rhythms that kept time. When the sun finally slipped behind the ridgeline, they stopped. Canvas stretched between poles, lanterns lit, rations pressed into tired hands. The sharp edge of urgency dulled into something quieter, as the night claimed the forest. 

Perimeters were set, crows sleeping like black stones in the upper branches.

Giyu took first watch.

He moved to the outer ring first. Left flank, then forward. The trees here grew close, their crowns knitting a canopy that turned moonlight to sifted flour. Every few steps, he paused to listen: wind through needles, the distant clatter of a Kakushi pan. All normal.

Then - something else.

A thread of scent caught, thin as a line on still water: cedar smoke, iron, and something sweet at the edges, like burnt sugar. He stilled, head turning.

There. A darker shadow beneath the long sweep of tree limbs. A shape breathed.

He closed the distance in three quiet steps.

She laid folded into the roots. Her body canted on its side as if sleep had tipped her over and the ground forgot to catch.

Blood dried in dark, brittle fans across her haori where fabric clung to skin. The kitsune porcelain had slipped off center, just enough to peek at the edge of a cheek and the corner of a mouth, crusted red.

He wanted to set it right. Wanted to see if it was really her. He crushed the thought before it could reach his hands.

Instead, dropping to one knee and setting his pack down. 

Shinobu’s voice surfaced - not the words, exactly, but the order of things. Airway. Bleeding. Bones. Then pain.

Two fingers pressed at the angle of her jaw, lightly: pulse - present, thready. He slid his knuckles beneath the mask’s edge to check the line of her mouth. No new blood. Good. 

“Can you hear me?” he asked, quiet. 

No answer. Breath sawed shallow and uneven under his hand.

He unrolled the kit on the ground: boiled bandace, tincture, needle, gut thread and a small bottle of clear spirit. Palming the scissors, he cut her haori clean along the seam, instead of peeling it (Shinobu had smacked his hand once for peeling - never peel), then pulled fabric aside just enough to expose the wound.

He paused, thinking - before stripping off his own haori and draping it across her chest. His face stayed neutral; the warmth blooming across his cheeks was completely unrelated. 

The cut ran from rib to rib, a neat, merciless line where Rui’s threads had bit deep, the edges already puckering. 

Meticulously, he cleaned the wound: spirit-soaked cloth dragged in slow circles, applying pressure where it gaped. She flinched in her sleep. 

He waited for the tension to bleed out of the muscle, then worked again. When the bleeding steadied to a seep, he threaded the needle. His hands understood the stitch better than his thoughts did: small, even, close. He wasn’t Shinobu - he would never be Shinobu - but the wound stitched shut beneath his fingers.

Her body shivered once. He paused, looked for signs of shock - clammy skin, blue at the lips. The mask hid too much. A small, frustrated huff left his lips as he reached for the suture scissors again.

Her fingers closed around his wrist.

They were warm. Human-warm. Gripping him with featherlight strength.

Her head tilted, mask dragging faintly across the bark. A pair of ghost-red eyes found him through the slits.

…

“...Am I dreaming?” 

The question was so plain it stilled him. No hidden intent behind the words, just a tired, sincere hope that made his chest squeeze in a way he didn’t like.

“...No.”

She blinked once, slow. Something in her shoulders let go. “Shame,” she murmured, and then, after a beat, “I wanted this under better circumstances.”

He didn’t answer. Pulling his wrist free with a measured tug, his scissors snipped one last knot clean. The wound held. He pressed a clean pad along the length of the stitch, wrapping bandage snug around her ribs. The work gave his hands a reason to ignore his brain. 

“Breathe,” he said. “Slow, if you can.”

Her mouth tilted - he couldn’t see the whole of it, but he could hear the shape of a smile. “Bossy.”

“It's necessary.” He corrected. 

“You always sound like that?”

He didn't look at her. “What?”

“Like you’re giving orders to the river.”

“That’s not how rivers work.”

“It is if you’re you.” A soft wince as the bandage tightened. “Ow, careful.”

“You’ll live.” He said. It came out gentler than he intended.

She watched his hands, quiet for a moment. The night pressed in soft around them; the camp was far enough that their voices could fall into the dirt without being found.

“So… you didn’t call for the butterfly?” She lilted.

He taped the binding off and went still. “I will,” he said. “If you worsen.”

She straightened at his words with a small huff. “Boo.”

A beat passed, before she continued. “Orders said detain,” her voice went light in a way that meant anything but. “Are you going to tie me to your belt, Water Hashira?”

“After the bleeding stops.” He said

“Practical.”

“Yes.”

“Gods,” she whispered, fond and exasperated at once. “Still hopeless.”

He should have asked her name, the proper way. He didn't. He heard himself take the easier path. “You move the same.”

“Do I?”

“Like you know where every root is,” he said. “Even when you don’t look.”

“That sounds like a compliment.”

His face flattened. “It wasn’t.”

“Youre bad at lying.”

He pulled the bandage tail through, checking the knot, then reached past her shoulder for his water skin. Bracing the back of her head with his palm and gently lifting her to him, breath warming the edge of her mask. 

He was, for the first time, grateful he couldn’t see her face beneath the mask.

“Slow sips,” he warned.

She obeyed, mouth clumsily finding the spout. When he drew the water away, her hand came up, resting briefly over his - light, like a fox testing boundaries. 

“Do you remember-” she started, her words trailing off beneath the weight of his gaze. Blue, just like before.

“...Yes.” He said.

A lazy smirk curled her lips, “A young girl,” she continued, “who asked to touch your sword.”

“You tried to drink my canteen.” He flattened.

She made an offended noise. “Semantics.”

Adjusting the bandage one more time, he leaned back, appraising his work. “You should rest,” he said.

“Mm. What if I don’t feel like it?”

“Then don’t move for the next six hours anyway.”

“Tch, bossy,” she repeated, softer. 

A heartbeat passed and her voice slid toward the tone he remembered from back then -  pure, unadulterated mischief. “If you wanted me against a tree, Tomioka, you could’ve just asked.”

He coughed, casting a sidelong look her way. “I can still call Shinobu.”

“You wouldn’t!” She said, scandalized.

“I would.”

“...coward.”

“Practical,” he corrected, just as she had earlier. The corner of his mouth tilted up. It wasn’t a smile. Maybe the memory of one.

She watched that flicker like it was a swallow of heat in winter. When she spoke next, her voice cracked with sincerity. “I’m glad you’re not a ghost.”

He tightened the knot once more - not because it needed it, but because his hands did. “Stay awake a few more minutes,” he said. “Then sleep.”

She gave a soft hum, the corner of her mouth curving. “I won’t be here come morning, you know.” The words were quiet, almost casual - like she was telling him the weather.

His eyes flicked up to her, unreadable. Of course she wouldn’t. He’d already known. Still, his voice came even: “The master has summoned you. You’ll be there tomorrow.”

“I’ll think about it. Depends if you’re there.” She lilted, tone far too teasing for his comfort. 

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Don’t make me drag you.” The words came flat but there was an undercurrent to them - somewhere between exasperation and something else he refused to name. 

Her laugh was warm, as her eyes fluttered closed behind the mask. “Until morning, then.”

Chapter 14: Held

Miku crouched low along the beam of the Ubuyashiki Mansion roof, weight balanced to keep wood from groaning. Breath shallow, her fifth form wrapped like a second skin - eyes slid past her as if she weren’t there at all. The trick wasn’t vanishing. It was convincing people to look anywhere else.

Below, the courtyard was neat stone and gravel, raked waves catching the sunlight, with Tanjiro at the center of it - pressed face-first into grit, his hands pinned down by a Kakushi. Nezuko’s box was nowhere in sight.

Miku’s jaw clenched behind the mask. Every part of her itched to leap down, to grind that Kakushi’s face into the gravel instead. But instinct held her. 

Wait. Watch. Like Mother taught you. 

The first voice cracked the quiet like fire splitting green wood - loud, certain, unshakable. His hair burned red and gold, bright as flame and devastatingly wild. Miku swore she could feel the heat rolling off him, even from down there.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Too bright. Too much. Shifting her weight on the beam, she dragged her gaze away, skimming the circle of figures. Steel. Silk. Stone. Different weights of presence pressing against the air, some catching her longer than others.

The hulking one knelt, with prayer beads rattling softly in hands the size of her head. Blind, maybe? Miku likened his strength to the bears that prowled the deep mountains - deliberate, immovable. Danger that didn’t need eyes to find you.

A hiss snagged her ears, slick and familiar. Snake. Her nose scrunched faintly under the mask; she remembered grilling them with Mother, crisp skin crackling over flame. 

Her eyes tilted upward, trailing to the pale figure draped along a tree branch - mismatched eyes over bandaged lips, words dripping like venom: treason this, punishment that. The serpent coiled across his shoulders flicked its tongue, echoing his disdain.

Her lips curled - not fond, but entertained. Especially when the pink-haired one leaned toward him, hands folded, eyes shining so bright they nearly bounced. 

Hum. Miku’s smile sharpened beneath the porcelain. The snakes caught something soft.  Curious. Worth filing away. If not for later use, then simply because Miku liked knowing where the strings pulled. 

She let her gaze wander again, skipping over jewels and poison, clouds and silk - until it caught.

Blue.

Steady eyes.

Miku found herself leaning forward, as if the rooftop might bend and bring her closer if she asked it to. Her heart thudded hard, traitorous and loud. Did he hear it? She almost wished he would.

Her gaze clung shamelessly. To the line of his jaw. The fall of black hair brushing his cheek. The stillness that set him apart from the others. Her eyes drifted lower - broad shoulders, split haori, the calm weight of his hands at his sides. 

Warm hands.  

Her fingers twitched faintly over the bandages at her ribs, the memory of those hands steadying her, holding her head to drink.

Was he nervous she wouldn’t come? Did he care?

Her claws drummed against her thigh, a restless little tap-tap - habit dressed as idleness. Too much heat in her chest. Too much… something. 

Then-

A new voice tore through, hoarse and rough, like gravel in a storm.

Miku’s head snapped to it.

Wind-blown white hair, scars carved jagged across his skin, eyes sharp as cut glass.

Wolf. The word slid through her mind instantly. Savage, prowling the edges of villages. All teeth and restless hunger. Striking. Yes, dangerous men often were.

Then his blade stabbed through Nezuko’s box.

Miku nearly dropped from the roof right then. Vision bled hot - calves tensed, claws aching to dig straight into his eyes. One more second - just one - and she would have.

But Tanjiro moved first.

Launching himself forward, fury carrying him faster than thought. His forehead cracked against the Hashira’s skull with a sound like stone splitting. The wolf staggered - actually staggered - eyes dazed as his body pitched back. 

She froze mid-crouch, anger short circuited by the absurdity of it all. Heat dissolving into barely-suppressed laughter. She bit her tongue, hard.

Gods, she loved that boy.

Sanemi, she heard them say, grabbed the hilt of his blade, lips curling back. He drew in a deep breath - ready to lunge.

And then he stopped.

Prostrating himself into a deep bow and forcing Tanjiro’s head down with him.

The courtyard followed suit, reverent silence spilling across gravel.

Miku’s gaze fixed on the new figure emerging. White robes and pale skin, scored with scars that caught the sun's light. Two small girls - from Final Selection she recognized - guided him carefully along the wooden veranda.

“The weather is kind today,” he started, voice low but clear. “The air is cool. The maple leaves are fragrant. I am grateful we can all gather to share in it.”

Miku bowed before she realized she’d moved. Not in fear - but respect. He pulled it from her like a tide pulling stones - natural, inevitable.

“Now,” he continued, “let us begin properly.” His blind eyes tilted upward, unerringly, to her. “You as well, Kitsune.”

Her pulse lurched. 

Steel hissed half-drawn. A ripple of tension crossed the courtyard. 

Well… now or never.

She slid from the beam in one smooth motion, landing soundlessly in the gravel. Her knees bent, spine folded into a deep bow. 

“As you wish, Master.” 

When she risked a glance up, his smile was waiting - gentle, too gentle. As if he already knew every part of her. It knotted her stomach.

“You’ve wandered far from your forest, little fox,” he said, as if the words were meant only for her.

Her breath caught. Too close. Too knowing. She dipped her head lower, hiding the downturn of her lips. “I go where I’m needed.”

“Of course.”

Behind, the Hashira murmured.

“Who the hell does she think she is?”

“Unflashy, not my style.”

“Don’t say that! She’s adorable - so mysterious, so cute!”

Miku tilted her head. Their voices painted a good enough picture of who they were - savage, gaudy, sweet. She filed each impression away, like knives slotted into a rack. 

The Master raised his hand, silencing them. “First, the boy.”

Tanjiro lifted his head, confusion and stubbornness burning in his eyes. The Hashira had already told him: trial, execution. But the Master’s voice unraveled it in an instant. 

“I’ve already pardoned him and his sister.” 

Protests erupted. Fire and sound demanded blood, serpent hissed for punishment, even stone rumbled with dissent. The Master stayed unshaken.

One of the children came forward, letter in hand. “From Urokodaki-sama.” 

The words read aloud: Nezuko’s refusal to devour humans, her two years of restraint. The promise of seppuku should she fail - Urokodaki’s, Tanjiro’s… and Giyu’s.

Miku’s claws bit her palms. Tanjiro she understood, even if she didn’t agree.

But Giyu? So quick to bind his life to theirs. Why? 

What about me? The thought was selfish, bitter and entirely unwelcome. She choked it down.

“It proves nothing,” Sanemi spat. “One taste of blood and it's over.”

The Flame Hashira boomed his agreement, “If she kills a human, it cannot be undone.”

The Master’s answer was calm and steady. “It cannot be certain she won’t. But it cannot be certain she will. Two years without incident speaks for itself.”

And then his gaze slid to her. “Kitsune. You’ve traveled with them. What do you see?”

The question landed like a stone in her chest. Every eye turned her way. Miku inhaled, straightening her spine.

“I see a girl who protects. Who shows restraint where others wouldn’t. Nezuko’s been more human than most humans I’ve met.” Her ribs ached under the bandage, but her voice didn’t waver. “And Tanjiro…” Her gaze flicked to him, bruised but unbroken. “…I trust them both. Entirely.”

The courtyard stirred. Love's hands clasped tighter, eyes shining. Shinobu’s smile twitched like she’d bitten something sour.

Sanemi barked a laugh, harsh and sharp. “It's ridiculous. Insulting.” He stepped forward, scars white against his skin, fury etched deep. “Words like that mean nothing.”

Miku cocked her head curiously. Touched a nerve, did I?

She didn’t have time to voice it. His sword was already in motion - steel across flesh, his blood spilled bright and hot. The air thickened, iron-sweet and heavy. 

“Master,” he said, voice low, eager, “let me prove it.”

And he drove his blade into Nezuko’s box. Wood splintered with a crack, a muffled whimper inside.

“Nezuko!” Tanjiro lunged, serpent dropped from his perch, elbow slamming between Tanjiro’s shoulder blades. His face ground into gravel, his arms straining uselessly under the weight.

Miku moved the same instant, claws flaring with dark-blue smoke. Heat curled off her fingertips, body coiled to strike.

And stopped.

Hands seized her arms, strong and unyielding. A chest pressed firm to her back, steady heat bleeding through her haori. His breath was close and sharp against her ear.

“Don’t.”

Her head snapped sideways, mask nearly grazing his cheek. “Let me go,” she hissed. The smoke flared hotter, her body twisting against him.

He didn’t budge. “Don’t,” he repeated, quieter this time, voice a calm undercurrent against the raggedness of her own.

Her lips peeled back in a snarl. “I’ll kill him.”

“You’ll lose everything.” His reply was flat, certain. His fingers tightened at her arms, not to hurt but to anchor. He could feel it: the tremor coursing through her, the frantic hammer of her pulse. She was shaking.

Miku faltered, trembling. The smoke thinned to a wisp, but she still strained against him, sandals digging into gravel.

Sanemi dragged the box inside, stabbing again and again, splintering wood. Nezuko’s muffled cries scraped Miku raw. She lurched forward, but Giyu locked her in place.

Her voice cracked, turning from fury into something more fragile. “Please-” It broke. Her head bowed, eyes glued to the box. Her body shook in his arms, every muscle begging to act. 

Then the lid scraped open.

Nezuko rose slowly, blood streaking her kimono, teeth bared, drool slick on her chin. Her gaze fixed on Sanemi’s bleeding arm.

Don’t. Please, don’t. If you do, I lose you. I lose Tanjiro. I lose…

Nezuko shook with hunger and for one agonizing moment, Miku thought she’d lunge-

Then she turned, her head angled away, shutting her eyes tight. Every fiber of her being rejecting the scent.

Silence cracked over the courtyard.

Sanemi’s face twisted in disbelief. Flame's laugh boomed both shocked and amused.

Miku sagged, breath tearing through her chest. Relief flooded her so hard it made her dizzy. She hated that he could feel it - the tremor of her body against his, the shudder of her ribs, the raw edge of her fear.

Still, he didn’t let go. His hold stayed firm, steadying her like a brace. Maybe he knew she couldn't stand on her own right now. Maybe he didn’t trust her not to try again.

Either way, she didn’t fight it.

The Master’s voice carried, calm and final. “That settles the matter.”

Chapter 15: Pillow Fights

Notes:

Hi. My posture is ruined, but it was all worth it in the end. Please enjoy some tooth-rotting fluff. Gonna be taking a long break from canon now that she's settled in HQ, so expect more my little beasties. <3

Shinobu had separated her.

“That wound needs air,” the Insect Hashira said lightly, though her hands were firm as they pushed Miku onto the futon. “You’ll stay here. Alone. The boys won’t die without you hovering.”

And that was that.

Miku had wanted to argue, but the bandages already wrapped her ribs tight. Her strength had guttered out like fire in the rain. She stayed.

Days blurred. Sometimes she woke to the sharp tang of medicine, Shinobu’s girls changing her dressings with quiet efficiency. Sometimes to voices drifting through paper walls - Zenitsu’s wailing woke her more times than she could count. Bittersweet.

It wasn’t the pain that gnawed. Nor her ribs that ached whenever she breathed too deep. Neither was it the scar tissue pulling hot under salve. It was the stillness.

Miku hated the stillness of it.

On the third night she gave up counting the cracks in the ceiling. On the fourth, she nearly tore off her own bandages just to do something. By the fifth, she was pacing barefoot across tatami, fingers dragging along paper screens, restless as a caged thing.

Her thoughts kept snagging where she didn’t want them. Back to the courtyard. Back to the man in white.

The memory of his voice curled cold under her skin. He’d asked why she was there. Why she’d joined the Corps.

Her answer had spilled out before she could shape it: He killed my Mother.

That was it. As if it explained everything. In her bones, it did.

The Master only nodded, the barest tilt of his scarred face. No judgment. No disbelief. Just quiet acknowledgment, like he’d already understood.

The ease of it made her stomach turn. She didn’t want him to understand. Didn’t want to feel that thread of trust tugging in her chest, where none belonged. Miku hissed under her breath, shoved the thought away. Her hand pressed hard to her ribs. The ache flared sharp, but pain at least was clean.

She needed movement. She needed noise. Like claws snapping shut, the decision was made. She needed her boys.

She slid the door aside. Hallway was cool, faint with antiseptic herbs and damp wood. The mansion creaked around her, beams settling, paper shivering in the night breeze. Lanterns burned low, throwing her shadow long and thin.

Her steps were careful at first, needing balance, fingers trailing the wall. The longer she walked, the easier it came.

The Butterfly Mansion was too quiet.

No forest hum, no river chatter. Just the thin sounds of recovery: a cough muffled through a sliding screen, the clink of a teacup set too hard, someone murmuring in half-sleep. 

Miku’s claws tapped absently against wood. Tap, tap. She bit the inside of her cheek, pushed past the hurt. She wasn’t supposed to be moving yet. Shinobu would scold her if she was caught. But she couldn’t stay in that room for another breath.

Her feet knew where to go. She followed threads of half-remembered voices.

It had been days. Too long. She needed to prove they were still here, that she wasn’t alone. She reached the end of the corridor, paused with her palm flat against the door, catching her breath.

Her hand curled into a fist.

Restless, Miku thought, dry laugh under her breath. Always restless.

She slid the door open.

-

It hissed softly on its track.

Inside, the light was low. A kettle ticked somewhere. Clean bandage smell wrestled with gentle rice porridge. Three futons lined in a neat row. Tanjiro in the center, propped on a pillow, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded but awake. Zenitsu to the right, swaddled like a chrysalis and somehow still dramatic about it. Inosuke to the left, turned away; boar pelt folded on a stool; back a tense curve under the sheet.

Miku’s ribs pinched when she stepped in. She pretended they didn’t.

Tanjiro turned first. He always felt - smelled - people before he saw them. His eyes brightened, soft and relieved. “Miku.”

“Sunshine,” she said, the word came easy. She crossed to him and sat on the futon’s edge, careful not to jostle his wrapped ribs. Her fingers found his hair like they’d been looking for it all week, combing gently through dark strands. Warm scalp. Familiar. Her chest loosened.

Color flushed high on Tanjiro’s cheeks. “I-I was going to come find you when Aoi said you were cleared to-w-well, not cleared, but-”

“Shh.” She smoothed his bangs, thumb brushing his temple. “You lived. That’s all I asked.”

His smile tilted, that stubborn, unbreakable kindness shining right through the bruises. “We all did. Thanks to you.”

“Please.” Miku’s mouth quirked; then she realized she wasn’t wearing her mask and pressed her lips together instead. “I’m taking exactly six percent of the credit.”

“Six?” he echoed, amused despite himself.

“Seven if I stand without swearing.” She tried to rise, ribs protested, and she sat right back down. “Six it is.”

From the right futon, a scandalized gasp. “Excuse me - hello? I’m literally on the verge of death, and no one has greeted me with appropriate tenderness!”

Miku didn’t look over. “Hi, Zenitsu.”

He made a wounded noise. “That’s it? I fought bravely. I was poisoned. I was-”

“Unconscious,” she said, finally flicking him a glance. “Loudly.”

“I was fighting in my heart,” Zenitsu insisted, squeezing bandaged hands to his chest. “My soul was on the battlefield!”

Miku arched her brow. “Mm. I heard snoring.”

Tanjiro choked on a laugh that tugged his stitches. He winced. Miku’s hand was immediately at his side, palm flat and warm, steadying. He breathed through it until the pain slid back into manageable.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be.” She reclined her weight to keep his hair threaded through her fingers. The motion was automatic now; stroke, rake, settle. His eyes threatened to close under the touch; he fought it, embarrassed. The blush refused to leave his face.

“Miku,” he tried, valiantly, “you should be resting. Shinobu-sama said your ribs-”

“Shinobu says a lot of things.” She kept her tone light, but her gaze softened. “I needed to see you. All of you.”

He swallowed, throat working, “I’m glad you did.”

Zenitsu cleared his throat, louder. “I am also glad you’re here. In case anyone is wondering. Perhaps you might… run your hand through my hair? Once? For morale?”

Miku’s eyes slid to him. Zenitsu stared back with the tragic hope of a man clinging to a cliff.

“One pat,” she said, holding up a finger.

He brightened instantly. “I’ll take it!”

She leaned and clapped his forehead with the flattest, most deflated pat in human history.

Zenitsu stared at her hand like it had delivered divine grace. “I feel stronger already. I think the poison’s been reversed.”

“Great,” Miku said dryly. “Tell your immune system I said you’re welcome.”

He sniffled. “You’re very mean to your most loyal admirer.”

“My most loyal admirer is a demon girl who doesn’t eat people,” Miku said, turning back to Tanjiro. “And she doesn’t whine.”

Zenitsu inhaled sharply to protest, then thought better of it. He peeked at Tanjiro, deflating with a sulky mumble.

Miku let the quiet sit. Soft night air pushed the curtains. Somewhere down the hall, a tray clinked. She traced a soothing circle at Tanjiro’s temple with her thumb, and he finally let his eyes slip closed for a heartbeat - trusting it, trusting her. That did something messy and inconvenient to her insides.

“You showed up,” he said after a long moment, his eyes finding hers again. “At the meeting. Nezuko… you spoke for her.”

Miku’s mouth twisted. “Master asked. I answer when asked.”

“Thank you,” he said, simple and earnest.

She looked away, because looking straight at gratitude made her want to fidget like a child. “She’s earned it.” A beat. “You have, too.”

Zenitsu peeked between wrappings. “So… we’re not getting executed, right? Because I had a very scary, very realistic nightmare about that and-”

“No one’s executing anyone,” Miku said. “Your job is to eat soup, sleep, and stop screaming.”

“Stop screaming?” he scoffed, “I can try the first two.”

Across the room, the left futon didn’t move, neither did the sheet. Inosuke faced the wall, laying on his side, back to them.

Miku kept glancing there, curious, a little unsettled. She pretended not to notice for another minute. Then another. Then she failed at pretending.

“What’s wrong with him,” she said, not a question.

Tanjiro followed her gaze, worry streaking his expression. “He… pushed himself too far. Shinobu-sama said he’ll be fine, but he hasn’t wanted to talk.”

“Or yell,” Zenitsu added, bleak. “Which is his whole personality, so.”

Miku frowned. “That’s not funny.”

Zenitsu held up bandaged hands. “I wasn’t - I mean. I’m worried. It’s weird when Inosuke is quiet. Like when a drum stops in the middle of a song and you realize you were counting on it.”

That earned him a slow, reluctant nod from Miku. Fair.

She leaned down and pressed her forehead to Tanjiro’s for a breath - another habit she didn’t examine closely. “Rest. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Pushing herself up, ignoring the stab in her ribs, she crossed the tatami in three quiet steps.

Up close, Inosuke looked younger without the mask, more fragile. His throat was wrapped; bandages climbed his jaw. Bruises shadowed ribs beneath the blanket. Hair spilled wild across sheets.

Miku crouched and tapped the mattress edge lightly with two claws. “Hey, King of the Mountain.”

Nothing.

She waited a beat. “You look terrible,” she tried, conversational.

No response.

She set her elbows on the futon, and rested her chin on her forearms, bringing her face level with his. “Are you ignoring me because you’re mad?” Her lips twisted into a grin, “Or because you’re dramatic?”

A small, almost imperceptible twitch at his shoulder.

Good. He was in there.

She let her voice go flat on purpose. “There’s a rumor going around that a certain boar boy bit off more than he could chew.”

Inosuke didn’t move. But the blanket twitched.

Miku’s mouth tugged. She softened, quieter. “You did good. You’re alive. That’s the win.”

Still nothing. The room listened with her.

She shifted; her ribs bit hard enough to pull a hiss through her teeth. The sound was small, but enough: Inosuke’s fingers - half hidden under the sheet - curled. Concern? Annoyance? Either better than…this.

“See?” she said, voice pitched low between them. “Hurts. I hate it. And I’m going to make a very big deal out of it for days, so you’ll have to yell at me to shut me up. That’s motivation.”

Zenitsu added from across the room: “I will support you by complaining in harmony.”

“Not invited,” Miku and Tanjiro said together. Zenitsu squeaked, offended.

Miku’s eyes returned to Inosuke “I’m coming back tomorrow,” she told the back of his head matter-of-factly. “And the day after. And the day after that. Scowl at the wall all you want. I’m very patient when I want to be.”

He didn’t flip over or roar. Not even huff. But the blanket tugged again, a muscle flexing under a too-tight wrap. First thread pulled. Good.

She straightened - slowly, because movement made her vision blur at the edges - and padded back to Tanjiro’s side.

He watched her with that soft, steady look that made people confess things by accident. “How are your ribs?”

“Attached,” she said. “Annoying.”

The crease in his forehead deepened. “You should be resting. If you push, it’ll take longer.”

Miku’s mouth twitched like she might argue, but instead she nudged his shoulder, careful of the bandages. “Eat. Sleep. Heal. Then I’m dragging you both outside. I can only stand so much tatami.”

Zenitsu propped on elbows, scandalized. “Both? You mean me, right? You’re going to take me outside for a gentle stroll under the wisteria and—”

“Zenitsu,” Miku said, deadpan. “If you can walk to the door without fainting, I’ll hold your hand for exactly five seconds.”

He lit up like a lantern.

“Tomorrow,” she added. “When you’re not made of porridge.”

He deflated with a groan and flopped back dramatically. “Cruel.”

Miku’s gaze lingered, moving from him to Tanjiro’s bright eyes to the stubborn curve of Inosuke’s back. Her chest loosened, just a little. They were alive. That was enough.

The door slid. Aoi stepped in, arms folded, voice clipped. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Miku raised both hands, caught red-handed. “Guilty.” She stood slowly, ribs tugging, and started toward the hall.

“Good night, Miku,” Tanjiro called, warmth threading through the weariness in his tone.

She paused at the threshold, smile hidden by the lantern’s shadow. “Good night, sunshine.”

She slid the door shut, hall air cool against her cheeks, and started the slow walk back to her room, already planning ways she’d annoy them into healing.

-

The next morning, she kept her word.

Miku slipped her door open with two fingers, shoulder braced so the panel wouldn’t rattle. She padded the corridor barefoot, mask left on the pillow, bandages snug under her haori. Aoi had glared when Miku “borrowed” a covered tray, but no one wrestled a determined patient carrying soup.

The boys’ door gave its soft little hiss. Same room: three futons, window propped with a stick, kettle ticking on a trivet. Tanjiro’s eyes found her first.

“Morning,” she said, voice soft - it always was with him. “Brought bribes.”

Zenitsu sat bolt upright. “Is that miso? I’ve been wasting away. It’s tragic. It's preventable.”

“It’s for Tanjiro,” Miku flattened. “You can have the onion if you behave.”

He deflated. “I always behave.”

Miku snorted.

Tanjiro tried to sit up farther, failing when his breath caught. She set the tray on the tatami and slid in close without thinking, knee on the futon, shoulder to shoulder. She righted his pillows, tucked them so his ribs stayed level, then lifted the spoon and blew until the steam curled away. His eyes followed her movements, soft and steady.

“Small sips,” she murmured. “Pretend it’s poison.”

He barked a laugh, then winced because laughing hurt. She arched a brow. Brilliant move, sunshine.

She tipped the first spoonful to his lips. His blush was instant. Still, he leaned forward and took it graciously, swallowing slow. She waited, spoon poised, brushing damp hair off his forehead with her free hand and telling herself it was to check his temperature, not because her fingers missed the feeling.

Zenitsu wailed from the other futon. “How come he gets royal treatment? I nearly died and nobody’s spoon feeding me!”

“Soup’s hot,” Miku said, not looking over. “Want it in your lap instead?”

He sputtered, then restarted. “…Are you really keeping your mask off now?” Wonder tipped his voice; a grin tugged wide. “How’d we get so lucky?”

Miku’s hand stilled halfway to the bowl. Heat climbed her cheeks before she rolled her eyes. “It’s easier to breathe this way during recovery. Don’t get used to it.”

“We prefer it,” Tanjiro said, earnest and immediate. Pink rose on his cheeks as soon as it was out, but he didn’t retract it. “I-I mean I do. You look… you…”

“Eat your bribe,” she cut, light. Her thumb rubbed away a drop of soup from his lip before she could think better of it.

Zenitsu clutched his blanket. “Miku, if you pat my head today, I believe my bone marrow will triple in quality.”

“Incredible,” she said dryly. “We’ll sell it on the black market.” She stripped an onion sliver from the bowl edge and flicked it toward his waiting mouth without looking. It missed, landing on his cheek. 

He looked personally betrayed.

She let herself breathe in the room for a minute. The sun made a pale square on the floor; a dragonfly tapped the paper screen twice and found its way out. Far down the hall, a tray clinked and someone called not to run.

It felt normal. It felt like getting found again after a bad dream.

Inosuke faced the wall, same as last night. No movement save the faint movement of his chest.

Miku slid the empty spoon from Tanjiro’s lips and set the tray aside. “Back in a minute.”

He made that worried noise again. “Go easy.”

“On who,” she asked, “me or him?”

“Yes.”

She went straight for Inosuke, tatami groaned as she crouched, ribs aching, and leaned until her nose nearly brushed the blanket’s edge.

“Inosuke,” she said softly, sing-song. “You’re still sulking? Boring.”

The lump under the covers didn’t move. Shoulders rose once, sharp, then stilled.

Miku tilted her head, then slid lower - elbows on mattress, chin in her palms. Her face hovered just above his, close enough to catch the heat radiating off him. “Hello? Anybody in there?” she whispered, playful.

For the first time in days, he moved. His head jerked at the proximity of her voice, and his eyes cracked open, catching hers before he could stop it. Wide. Startled. His gaze flicked down her bare face - mask abandoned - and stuck.

Color flared across his cheekbones so fast it almost startled her. In an instant he yanked the blanket to his ears and burrowed deeper, turning his back as if she’d burned him.

Miku’s grin bloomed slow - all mischief. “Ah. So you can see me.”

No answer; just the hard set of shoulders. But his ears were pink.

Aoi’s silhouette cut the doorway like a scolding deity. “You,” she told Miku, “are supposed to be prone.”

“Prone is a suggestion,” Miku said, already standing and failing to hide a grimace.

Aoi sighed with the weight of a woman used to dealing with children. “Back. Now.”

Miku saluted with two fingers. “As commanded.”

-

It became a rhythm. Not days with names - just a string of mornings where lantern light turned to sun and back again while the world scabbed over.

Miku dropped by early, before medicines made them drowsy, and late, after the halls quieted. She brought whatever she could steal or trade a grin for: cut fruit, the good tea, mochi that somehow always ended up in Zenitsu’s sleeves. She kept her mask on a peg by her door and pretended it was convenience, not choice.

She learned their rhythms. The way Tanjiro’s stitches pulled when laughter ambushed him, and how a steady palm against his side eased it back down. Zenitsu demanded constant heroics; she dispensed head pats like rations - flat, minimal, never enough to truly satisfy because she refused to spoil that beast. She swapped out Aoi’s wilted herbs, kept her claws busy with the small tasks that made the room softer. She never admitted, even to herself, how often she found comfort in counting the rise and fall of their breathing.

With Inosuke, it took a more straightforward approach.

The first time she leaned her shoulder into his, it was a soft, small contact: solid enough to notice, easy enough to ignore. He went still for a full minute. Then breathing resumed, as if he’d remembered how.

Next time, she let her hair spill where his cheek would see it if he ever turned. He didn’t. She pretended not to care and came back anyway.

“Roar and get it over with,” she told him a morning later, sprawled on her stomach across the foot of his futon like a cat in the sun. “You’ll feel better.” 

No answer.

“If you’re saving it for a special occasion, fine. I can enjoy suspense.”

His fingers tightened and released under the sheet. Miku watched the tendons like a hawk watches a field.

Patience frayed some afternoons. She’d flip onto her back and stare at the ceiling. “Roar,” she suggested lazily. “Bark. Growl. Hiss. I accept hissing.”

His hand twitched. Victory, small and ridiculous.

She started dragging them outside when Aoi couldn’t stop her without actual rope. At first only the veranda, where planks held the day’s heat and she could lean against a post while Inosuke lay beside her like a corpse with his eyes closed. She narrated the world in a lazy voice.

“Bird,” she’d say. “Two tiles loose on the roof. A spider with more attitude than sense. The wisteria smells like candy.”

When he didn’t react, she added, “Tanjiro says the river sounds like a drum. He’s right.”

The first time his chest loosened for a deeper breath, she pretended not to notice.

By the next morning she’d dragged the futons out with her. Zenitsu complained about the draft while secretly inching closer to the sun. Tanjiro laughed - and had to stop halfway through; she pressed her palm to his sternum and breathed with him until the pain eased.

“You’re good at that,” he admitted after, eyes low and stubborn about it.

“I’m good at a lot of things,” she said.

He looked at her bare face in the light and smiled, soft and sincere. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“For now,” she said, and failed to make it convincing.

Zenitsu, incapable of letting sincerity sit, sighed loudly. “I too am glad she is here. For the record. In case I die dramatically and everyone writes songs.”

“You’re not dying,” Miku said, tossing him a dried plum.

He caught it, blinked in surprise, then preened. “She feeds me.”

“Like a loud finch,” she agreed.

He pretended to be offended for exactly eight seconds before wolfing it down and nearly choking on the pit. She smacked his back hard enough to make Tanjiro laugh again, then soothed Tanjiro’s ribs again, and the whole stupid circle felt so normal she could’ve cried.

-

On a day when the sun dragged slow honey through the window square, Aoi barged into Miku’s room. “Shinobu-sama says to stop straining yourself!” she recited, then scratched her cheek with the back of her wrist and added, “Tomioka-sama said to tie you down if we have to.”

Miku stared like Aoi had two heads. Her pulse did something weak and traitorous. “He said that?”

“Apparently,” Aoi said, tone neutral. “Eat your soup.”

Miku ate her soup and said nothing. The knowledge lodged under her ribs next to the ache and made breathing feel different for the rest of the day.

How annoying.

-

Progress with Inosuke came in pieces. She sat in his space until he learned she wasn’t a threat and also absolutely a threat. She crawled onto his futon uninvited and sighed like it was the worst pillow alive. Rolled to face him, chin in hand, and announced he’d lost at the mountain because he’d forgotten rule one: “Climb even when your legs shake.” He glared but didn’t deny it.

When he finally spoke, it was because she needled him into it.

“Roar,” she said, lazy dare turned ritual. Two fingers under his jaw, feather-light. “You didn’t lose. You didn’t win either. That happens. So roar and we’ll call it done. You can stop pretending you’re stone.”

He caught her wrist. The grip wasn’t gentle, but not breaking either. He stared at her like she put a hand on his food…and failed to remove it. She stared back, refusing to blink.

“Stop,” he grated, voice splintering. First word he’d given her since the mountain.

Miku smiled like he’d handed her a gift. “Make me.”

He let go of her so fast she swayed. Rolled to his back. Glared at the ceiling like daring it to fall. Then, low in his chest - rough, uneven - a sound.

Not much of a roar. Not yet. Ugly and beautiful because it existed.

Miku’s throat burned. She covered it by clapping once, soft. “There he is.”

He glared harder, because he didn’t know what else to do with the feeling. 

By evening, windows were bruised purple. Zenitsu dozed. Tanjiro fell asleep mid-sentence. Inosuke paced the room like a caged cat testing bars - ending up back on his futon by gravity more than choice.

Miku stayed until Aoi kicked her out.

-

Then one day Zenitsu crossed the room without weeping and only mildly screaming.

Tanjiro stood on the veranda and looked at the trees like they belonged to him again.

Inosuke grunted when she sat too close and she grunted back, and somehow both looked away too fast. 

Her favorite came on a morning that tasted like rain.

She nudged the door with her hip, hands full of contraband mochi, and found Inosuke propped on his elbows, hair spilling dark down his back. He looked at her directly this time. Not past. Not at the floor. At her.

“Fight me,” he said.

Miku’s grin cut across her face before she could stop it. “Finally.”

“No sparring!” Aoi’s voice traveled down the hall like a thrown shoe.

“We’ll use pillows,” Miku called back.

Inosuke’s mouth twitched. Tanjiro laughed and ruined his stitches, Zenitsu begged someone - anyone - to write a ballad about how heroic he’d be. 

They ate stolen mochi and pretended it was doctor’s orders. When she passed one to Inosuke, her fingertips brushed his knuckles. The jolt shot up her arm like static. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t hold on either. He didn’t know how yet.

She sat back on her heels, watching the three of them steady in their own ways, the room small and warm around them.

Letting herself be here. Just here. No mountains. No demons. No master with a too knowing smile. 

No river-blue eyes cutting her open.

Not now. Not yet. She folded that thought and put it in the drawer where she kept things she wanted too much.

Tanjiro’s lashes dipped. He caught her sleeve with a quiet little tug, “Stay?”

“For ten minutes.”

She stayed for eleven.

Chapter 16: Burnt Sugar and Ozone

Tanjiro, Miku decided, set the bar far higher than she was comfortable. Not in his raw physical capability, but his relentless motive to train and improve himself. It was almost concerning. Scratch that - she was concerned. The boy bled determination like a cracked gourd leaked water.

So when she strolled into their room that morning, miso soup balanced in one hand, she fully expected to find him upright but wincing. Zenitsu still bundled in three different shades of comforter, and Inosuke sulking in his futon. That would’ve been normal. 

Instead: empty futons. Cold sheets

Miku stopped dead in the doorway, narrowing her eyes. What the fuck?

Aoi passed by with a stack of folded linens, eyes already rolling. “Training hall,” she said, before Miku could ask.

“Training?” Miku repeated, scandalized. “They can barely stand.”

“Not according to them.” Aoi’s sigh was weighted. “Follow the noise.”

Miku set the soup down on the nightstand with exaggerated care, muttering to herself the entire walk down the corridor. The Butterfly Mansion’s halls breathed quiet on most days, but today, she could discern the sharper sounds of bodies moving. Wood smacking. Water… splashing?

She slid the door open with two fingers.

Inside, the training hall buzzed. A low table stretched between participants, lined with half a dozen small cups filled to the brim. Kiyo explaining the rules - or well, rule: don’t get wet.

Kanao sat on one end, expression blank. Opposite her, Tanjiro hunched in full concentration, eyes darting between the cups. He reached out - too slow. A splash caught him in the face. He sputtered, blinking water from his lashes. 

“Again.”

Kanao reset the cups and the cycle continued.

Miku leaned her shoulder into the doorframe, claws idly dragging up the wood. Her eyes tracked everything: Tanjiro’s focus, Kanao’s patience. She briefly wondered how many cups to the face he’d already taken

Next, Zenitsu. Already trembling, face flushed and muttering pep talks under his breath. His eyes slid to the three girls spectating, with a wry grin, he called out “W-watch closely ladies! You’re about to witness my unmatched-”

Splash. Water. Right in his face. 

Miku laughed mercilessly, not bothering to hide it. Zenitsu spun toward her, dripping and wounded, her grin spread sharp. “Witness your unmatched… what? Do continue.”

He sputtered, finger shakily pointing at her in accusation, but no words came coherent. Her brow arched.

Inosuke stormed up, cracking his knuckles, then dove at the cups with both hands. Kanao blurred, water splashed across his chest and shoulders.

“Elegant as ever,” Miku snorted.

He whipped his head around, wet hair plastered to his neck, eyes blazing. “All you’re doing is watching!”

“I like watching.”

“If you think you can do better, then PROVE IT!” He exclaimed. 

Miku pushed off the frame with a lazy grin, “Maybe I will.”

Her eyes trailed down Kanao’s blank expression, to the neat row of cups on the table. Claws flexing. 

Miku’s face was all confidence. 

The tell-tale hum of intent before it became action: faint muscle twitches, eye movements, inhales before a strike. Mother taught her to see.

She caught Kanao’s first move, second, third, with ease. Her hand shot out, claws grazing porcelain, water splashing clean across Kanao’s cheek.

Gasps echoed from the sidelines. A rare blink from Kanao. Miku tipped her head, too-sharp teeth showing. Again. Again. Again. Each time faster. Each time her cup hit first, leaving Kanao a shade wetter. The others stared like they’d missed something invisible. 

It wasn’t a hidden technique or breathing form. It was instinct sharpened by a life spent hunting and surviving. And it was easy. Too easy. 

By the fifth round she sighed, flicking her wrist, spraying water across Kanao’s front.

“Boring,” she drawled, damp fingers wiping down the side of her haori. “Games that end before they start aren’t games.”

Kanao gave her nothing, just steady eyes. Miku stared back another beat longer, then turned to leave. She didn’t like boring.

She wanted sun. 

Stretching her arms overhead, she prowled down the hall and slipped outside until she found a wide-limbed tree and a branch that caught the light just right. She sprawled across it, kimono loosened, head tilted back soaking up the heat. Her eyes slid shut against the brightness.

She didn’t need to train, not like that. 

She was a simple thing.

A fox in the sun. 

-

The heat pooled against her skin, heavy and languid. Dragging her into that dangerous in-between, where thoughts wandered without permission. Inevitably, it wandered there. 

Giyu.

Annoying man.

Her chest pulled tight at the memory of him. Of his eyes. River-blue, always too deep, too steady, like he could see straight through her. 

Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

She stretched along the branch, her teeth barred in a lazy grin meant for no one. Maybe it was a sign. Or maybe she was just bored enough to invent signs. Either way, her claws drummed idly against bark.

Where was he now? At his estate, probably - broody and silent as ever. She wondered if Shinobu knew the way. She wondered if she should ask. 

A low hum slipped past her throat, almost a purr, before she caught it. 

Then she rolled to her side, cheek pressing against wood, and let the thought dissolve to sunlight. Later. That was later’s problem. 

-

“Mikuuuuuu!”

Zenitsu’s voice cracked through the courtyard like a dying crow. She didn’t move, just peeled one eye open in slow disdain. He stumbled under her tree, arms flailing, expression already halfway between tears and outrage. 

“There you are! Do you have any idea how unfair you’re being? Everyone’s training! Everyone! Even Inosuke’s out there getting humiliated, and you’re just-just-” He gestured wildly at her, “catnapping!”

Miku yawned, long and deliberate. “Correction. Foxnapping.”

“Thats-ugh, do you even care? ” He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Kanao is graciously training us, so we don’t get eaten by demons on our next mission, and you’re sleeping in a tree!”

Miku stretched long, spine arching like a cat’s. “And yet, I’m dry.”

“Thats not the point!”

“Its the only point.” She rolled onto her stomach, chin in her palm, looking down at him. “You’re soaked. You’re losing. I call that evidence.”

Zentitsu threw his arms up, face both outraged and mortified. “You should’ve seen me on the mountain! I was-I was-” His fisted balled. “I killed that spider demon all by myself!”

“While unconscious,” she corrected. “Which makes it either luck… or delusion. My bet’s on luck.”

He clutched his chest like she’d stabbed him through the heart, staggering back. “You-you-how could you say that?! After all we’ve been through together!”

“You mean me dragging you out from trees by your ankles while you scream?”

“I help!”

“When unconscious.”

“I-” His voice cracked. Deflating, shoulders slumping until his arms hung limp. His head tipped forward, blonde bangs hiding his face. For a moment, she thought he was winding up for another outburst. Instead, his voice fell low and broken.

“...I’m weak when I’m awake. I know,” he murmured. “When I’m asleep, I don't-I don’t think. I don’t feel like I'm going to fail before I start. It’s quiet. I can move. I can… be who I’m supposed to be.”

Miku blinked down at him, her grin slipping. Something stung in her chest. Not quite pity - foxes don’t pity prey. But she knew how it was, to hate the noises in her head. 

She slid from the branch, silent, haori fluttering around her in gold and indigo. He startled, stumbling back half a step. She reached out to him, slow and deliberate. Pressing her palm flat against his chest, at the rise and fall of his ribs.

“W-w-what are you-M-Miku, w-why-” He stuttered, face bright crimson. 

“Breathe”

His mouth worked uselessly.

“Not like that.” She tutted, pressing firmer against his diaphragm, steady pressure keeping him still. “Like before a strike. That stillness.”

He swallowed, throat bobbing. Eyes darting anywhere but her face. “I-I don’t-”

“Shut up.” She leaned in until her forehead nearly bumped his chin, eyes closing as she exhaled long. Her body rose and fell against him. “Match me.”

He tried. Failed. Breath shuddering, half-caught on nerves. 

Miku’s claws trailed down his stomach, just enough to make him twitch, then stilled again. “Tune it all out. Nothing else matters but this, right here, right now. Understand?”

His lips parted, shaky. Nodding.

“Good.” She guided his inhale with her palm again.

Again.

Again. 

His trembling slowed a fraction.

When she looked up, his eyes were raw amber - wide with focus.

“See?” Her lips quirked. “Not totally hopeless after all.”

The noise he made was half laugh, half sob. “Youre so… mean.”

“Correct.” She stepped back half a pace.

Zenitsu dragged a hand down his burning face, cupping his own cheek. “Thank you,” he managed, soft and sincere.

She cocked her head towards him, all mischief. “Payment.”

“H-huh???” His voice cracked high, sputtering. “P-payment?! What are you even-”

Her grin spread killer. “I wanna see that technique you keep boasting about.”

His jaw dropped. “WHAT? Right now?!”

“Consider it tuition.”

“You can’t just-y-you can’t-Miku! That’s not fair.”

“Never claimed to be,” she lilted. Then dropped her tone a fraction kinder. “You’ve got this. Just remember how to breathe.”

A beat.

“You’re really not gonna let this go, huh?”

“Nope.” She popped the “p” with a smile.

Zenitsu groaned into his hands, before stomping one foot in a huff. His voice cracking, but loud. “F-fine! But don’t laugh.”

“Oh, I’ll laugh regardless.”

He half screamed. “Mikuuu!”

Then set his stance anyway. To her surprise, he dropped to silence, shoulders lowering, body folding into a deep crouch. She felt the shift immediately: breath pulling deep from his diaphragm - just like she’d taught him, nerves narrowing into focus. He didn’t stop trembling, but he… condensed. 

The air charged, she felt it. Claws stilling against her thigh. 

“Thunder Breathing - First Form…” His voice was low, rough, caught between anxiety and something hotter.

His sword flashed.

A crack split the courtyard, air lit in gold and lightning. He vanished - no, he was just that quick - reappearing a dozen feet away, blade humming electric.

Miku was wide-eyed. 

Zenitsu stood, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. He looked back cautious, like he already regretted showing her.

“Well?” he choked.

She narrowed her eyes like a predator locked onto prey. Stalking closer, smile wide on her lips. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?! That was-did you see how fast I was ?!”

“Very.” She carded her claws through his hair, like praise. Close enough that her breathe ghosted over him in warm puffs.

Zenitsu thought she smelled like burnt sugar.

“Do it again.”

“A-again?” His cheeks bloomed red.

“Again.” 

He made a strangled sound, half terror, half thrill. Sword shaking in his hand. But gods help him - he set his stance again.

Notes:

Never pretended Miku wasn't rude. Sorry Kanao :(

Chapter 17: Rough Around the Edges

The training field of the Butterfly Mansion washed in that pale, pearly light of early morning. Dew still clung to grass, cicadas starting their morning song. Zenitsu fidgeted at the center of the clearing, his posture stiff, eyes darting between the shadows of the veranda and the slow brightening of the sky.

He paced. Practiced his stance three, four, five times over. Checking the angle of his feet. And checking again.

Because she had asked him, of all people, to teach her.

Zenitsu tugged at his sleeve, throat dry.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he caught movement at the edge of the veranda. Miku stretched her arms overhead in a long, languid arc, a hum spilling from her lips. She padded barefoot across the polished boards and then onto the grass, sleeves trailing loose, stride unhurried.

“You’re late!” His voice pitched high. “You woke me up, shook me out of bed, demanded I meet you here for training ASAP! And you’re the one who’s late?!”

Miku smiled, slow and lazy, like his outrage was entertainment. She stepped in close - too close - until he had to crane his neck back to look her in the eye. His tirade stuttered, cut short into a few leftover huffs.

“You’re very loud for this time of the morning.”

“L-loud-” Zenitsu’s cheeks blazed scarlet. “I’m trying to take this seriously! Thunder Breathing requires discipline. Practice. It’s not some parlor trick you can just-just pick up overnight!”

Miku’s sigh was heavy with false boredom, her lips curving sly. “Then demonstrate, sensei.”

Oh.

Heat licked up Zenitsu’s neck. He liked the way that sounded. Too much. Way too much. 

His chest swelled despite himself, back straightening, the edge of pride giving him an ounce of confidence.

“Watch carefully,” he declared. Ignoring the crack in his voice half way through.

He set his feet in the grass with practiced precision. Sandals scraping into place. Right leg bent, low and firm; left drawn back, straight as lightning.

Thunderclap and Flash wasn’t just a move - it was his pulse, his marrow. It lived in the taut pull of his muscles and the rhythm of his heart. Even on days when he hated himself, when he thought he wasn’t enough, this technique was a testament of what he’d endured.

He let it spark out in a burst of speed, a blur across the grass and back again. His breath caught as he stilled, chest heaving faintly, lightning still buzzing faint beneath his skin.

Miku watched intently. He held her full attention. Zenitsu caught her gaze from the corner of his eye, and warmth swelled traitorously in his chest. She was impressed. Right?

He gave her a beat, then lifted his chin, trying for authority. “Your turn.”

Her smirk was infuriating. Infuriating and - ugh - distracting. Still, she obliged, sliding her bare feet into the grass. Haori sleeves pooled at her wrists as she tried to copy his stance.

Tried, and failed.

Her weight tipped wrong, her back leg slack, her center off.

“N-no, not like that.” He shuffled forward before his courage failed him, hands hovering uncertainly over her hips. He could see every flaw - her balance, her footing - he even knew how to fix it. But as soon as his fingers grazed her sides, he froze up. 

Miku cocked her head, sly smile curling. “What’s wrong? Afraid to touch me?”

“I-I’m being respectful!” he sputtered, the words bursting high-pitched and defensive.

“Respectful’s boring,” she murmured. “I don’t bite. …Usually.”

He choked on air, face blazing crimson. But when she didn’t move and her expression shifted into something dangerously close to expectation, he forced himself to breathe and set his trembling hands at her waist. Just fingertips, featherlight, coaxing her hips into proper alignment.

Miku hummed approval, low and pleased. 

“Better,” she said.

He swallowed hard.

-

Her first few attempts had… personality. Or so she’d call it.

She sank lower into the stance, rolled her shoulders, then sprang forward-

And immediately tripped.

Skidding through the damp grass in an ungraceful heap, coughing, her haori tangled around her ankles.

Zenitsu yelped, half in horror and half in vindication. “Y-you can’t just throw yourself like that! You have to-there’s balance, and timing, and-!”

Miku sat up, brushing grass from her hair. Her smirk hadn’t dimmed a fraction. “Well, that was fun. Not what I was planning exactly, but who said foxes couldn’t fly?”

“This isn’t a joke!!” His voice cracked so sharp it echoed across the field. He flailed his arms, face blotched red.

She grinned wider.

-

Try after try, it was the same. Too much power, not enough precision. She moved like fire, wild and consuming, but Thunderclap demanded straight lines and perfect release.

Zenitsu was nearly pulling his hair out. “No-no! Stop skipping steps! You-you can’t just cut out the parts you don’t like!”

Miku tilted her head, golden hair sticking to her damp cheek, confused. “Why not? If I can make it faster?”

“Because it doesn’t work like that!”

Her eyes lidded, “I can make anything work if I want it bad enough.”

Zenitsu nearly choked. “D-don’t look at me like that while I’m teaching!”

She snorted

When she tried again, he noticed. A subtle shimmer at her heels, foxfire curling faint across the grass where her stride cut. Not enough to burn but enough to leave a trailing afterimage of indigo and smoke.

“M-miku-! You can’t-! That’s-that’s-!”

“Innovative.” She winked, already setting herself to try again.

-

Morning turned to afternoon and Zenitsu teetered on the edge of combustion. A fact Miku was all too proud of. 

Tanjiro padded toward them, footsteps soft across the veranda. Tray in hand, steam curling off three cups of tea and a neat stack of riceballs.

Zenitsu threw his arms up. “Tanjirooo! We’re in the middle of-of critical training!”

Tanjiro smiled, in that disarmingly sun-warm way. “You’ve both been at it all morning. Thought you might need a break.”

Miku snatched a rice ball before he could even set the tray down. “Perfect timing, Sunshine.”

Zenitsu sputtered. “Hey! Focus!”

She ignored him, taking a bite, then holding the rest up toward Tanjiro’s mouth. “Here. Fair trade.”

Tanjiro chuckled, cheeks faint pink, and leaned in to take a bite. Miku stole a bite back from the one he’d been holding.

Zenitsu nearly tore his hair out. “You two-you two are impossible!”

They both laughed, unbothered. “It’s good, right?”

She nodded around her mouthful. Zenitsu groaned into his palms.

-

When she rose again, belly full and eyes bright, something in her shifted. Her stance was still unrefined, but her breathing had steadied, her weight settled lower.

She inhaled.

Moved.

The streak was sharp and short, foxfire trailing her outline in a flash across the field. It wasn’t perfect - her landing jolted, her balance wobbled - but it was there, the beginnings of it.

Zenitsu froze, dumbstruck. “Y-you-you can’t just-! That’s not how-you weren’t supposed to-”

Miku tilted her head, breathless grin spreading. “Does it matter if it works?”

Tanjiro added softly, “It was beautiful.”

Zenitsu’s face went redder than a ripe tomato.

-

By the time the sun dipped low, the training field had softened into dusk. Zenitsu flopped flat on his back with a groan, arms spread wide, face defeated. “I-I’m done. You wore me out. I don’t care if you get it wrong forever.”

Miku laughed under her breath, too tired to gloat properly. She slid down beside Tanjiro, stretching long in the cool grass until her head found his shoulder. He shifted instinctively to make room for her.

The three of them laid there in silence, breathing in the air that smelled of grass and sweat and faint woodsmoke from the kitchens.

Miku turner her head toward Zenitsu, voice tipping sincere, “Thank you.” She paused. “Sensei."

His squeak echoed across the courtyard. Miku giggled, Tanjiro smiled quiet beside her. Right then, the world was simple: tired bodies, soft grass, and the peace of being together. 

Notes:

My babies. Giyu content is on the horizon (sort of). I've got so many scenes and pieces already written out for him. They've just gotta be spaced properly. Also LOTS of Rengoku. I'm Rengoku biased asf.

Hope you guys enjoyed the Zenitsu screentime. I wanted to give our baby some crumbs. Thats it, just crumbs. Luckily, he's the type of guy to appreciate that. See you soon ><

Chapter 18: Adventures of Inosuke and Miku

Inosuke trained like the world might end if he stopped for five seconds. The Butterfly Mansion’s back field was already scuffed into dirt where his feet had carved tracks; the grass gave up trying. He tore through sprints, skidded low, sprang high, dropped into pushups that snapped like bent bamboo. Sweat slicked down his spine, catching sun, as each breath came out hot and feral.

Miku watched from a branch, one leg swinging, cheek pillowed on her forearm. The tree held her like a throne. Her mask sat crooked on the side of her head, half the fox’s grin peeking over her temple. She’d been quiet for… a while. Just watching him, because watching beautiful things was one of her worst habits.

“Lazy fox!” Inosuke barked mid-lunge, not even glancing up. “If you’re going to stare, you might as well just fight me!”

She hummed. “I’m appreciating.”

“Fight-!”

“Appreciating.” She tipped her head, unapologetic. “You move well.”

He froze for a fraction, the word lodging somewhere between his ribs, then covered it by exploding into a backflip no one asked for. When he landed, he jabbed both swords toward her branch. “Get down here!”

“Okay.” She rolled onto her stomach and simply… fell. No warning. Just air and silk.

He caught her.

It wasn’t voluntary. It was instinct, arms shooting out, bracing her fall. She dropped into his hold like she belonged there, hands gliding up his shoulders to loop behind his neck, her knees bumped his waist. They stared at each other, both very aware of how close their faces were.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, voice rougher than a second ago.

“Helping you train,” she said, like it was obvious.

“That’s not- what-”

“Extra weight,” she cut in, eyes bright. “Carry me. It’ll make you faster, stronger.”

The idea sailed straight through his skull and stuck. You could see the click happen. Inosuke’s mouth opened, then snapped shut; his grin edged sharp. “HA! That’s good. I had that idea. You stole it.”

“Of course,” she deadpanned. “It was dangling out your ear.”

“HOLD ON, FOX!” He turned without warning. She adjusted in a heartbeat, crawling onto his back as if she’d lived there for years, arms hooking around his shoulders, thighs slipping snug at his sides. He broke into a run.

Weight changed everything. His first strides punched heavier, breath roaring; then he adjusted, hips drawing tight, steps finding a new rhythm. Miku’s chin rested near his ear. The wind pulled at her hair, gold strands sliding against his neck.

“Faster,” she murmured, a smile in it.

“Don’t - tell me - faster,” he grunted, immediately speeding up.

She laughed, quick and delighted. “Strong boar.”

He bared his teeth and took the corner sharp, feet combing dirt, body leaning just enough to keep her draped securely. She molded to him. Every time his back flexed, her palms felt it; every time his chest filled, her knees felt the stretch.

Two more laps and his breath had a rhythm she tapped her fingers to. When he skidded to a stop, he didn’t set her down; he dropped straight into pushups with her straddling across his upper back, weight warm, steady.

“Don’t squirm,” he snarled into the dirt, already pumping.

She obliged - mostly. Her hands found the planes of his shoulder blades, the cut of muscle around his spine. Her fingers pressed appreciatively, sliding down over the ridges of his back. “You’re lovely,” she said, reverent and lazy at once. “Like something sculpted.”

He faltered. One pushup hiccuped. “D-don’t say weird things while I’m counting.”

“You’re not counting.”

“I’m counting in my head!”

“Your head’s pretty too.”

He slammed out ten more in pure spite, then popped up, hauling her with him. She locked her ankles and laughed against his neck, amusement warm on his skin. He stomped toward the practice post, planted his feet, and bent his knees.

“NOW SQUATS,” he declared. “No touching the ground. If you do, I’ll- I’ll-” He flailed for a consequence.

“Lose.” she finished.

He groaned and sank into the first squat. She slipped lower, legs looping fully around his stomach this time, arms snug across his chest like a determined koala. Her breath blew against the curve of his jaw.

“Posture,” she teased softly, hands sliding down to his abdomen as if she had every right. She skimmed the lines of muscle there, deliberate and admiring. “Tighten here. There you go.”

He made a sound dangerously close to a yelp and threw himself into motion to drown it out. Up. Down. Up. Down. Every rise pushed her closer; every drop set her weight deeper. He told himself he hated it. He told himself it made his legs burn good. He told himself her voice was annoying.

“Better,” she murmured, that easy approval threading through his spine. “Like that.”

He growled, not at her, at everything, and kept going until the burn went molten. Sweat beaded along his hairline; some of it slid to her fingertips where they curved around him. She didn’t stop touching - just little adjustments, little praises, a thumb smoothing the tremor at his side when he held the squat too long.

“You’re going to fall over,” she warned lightly.

“I never fall over!”

He fell over.

It was less a fall and more a forward hurl. He lunged to catch himself; she unhooked and flowed with him, slipping off his front as he planted his hands. They ended in a breathless sprawl: him on all fours, her kneeling in the grass in front of him, hair sticking to her cheek, grin wicked.

“Again,” he said, panting.

“Water first.” She poked his forehead with one finger. “Or you’ll turn into jerky.”

“Jerky is strong,” he argued, then regretted it because it made no sense. “FINE! Water, then we go again.”

“Deal.” She rose, but when he moved to stand, she didn’t back away. She stepped into his space, palms flattening against his chest, curious as a cat. She lifted one hand and drew it slowly down the ladder of his abs, like counting rungs. “I meant it,” she said, voice gone softer. “You move beautifully.”

It suckerpunched his lungs. Inosuke stared at her, speech caught behind his teeth. Compliments he understood were limited to: “fast” or “strong” or “I’ll kill you last.” Beautiful turned everything inside out.

He snarled by default. “Of course I do! I’m the best mover!”

“Mm.” She rocked back on her heels, pleased, then turned and started walking toward the well without waiting to see if he followed. “Come on, boar. If you pass out, I’ll have to drag you, and dragging is boring.”

He stomped after her, swords clacking at his hips. “I don’t pass out. I pass you out.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything!”

They cut across the yard in bickering strides, and fell into a rhythm that looked suspiciously like comfort. By the well, she took the bucket, drew water with practiced hands, and passed him the dipper. He threw it back like a challenge, water running down his chin; she sipped after him, eyes laughing over the rim.

“Again,” he said.

“Again,” she agreed, but her gaze flicked toward the buildings. “After lunch. You need fuel to train and I’m starving.”

He perked immediately. “We should hunt!”

“We’re cooking,” she countered. “And if you try to eat anything raw, I’ll bite you.”

“HA! Like you could!” He puffed his chest and jerked his chin toward the mansion.

“We’ll see,” she said, smile sharpening into mischief as she fell into step beside him. “Don’t make Aoi yell.”

“Aoi can’t yell at me.”

“She can and she will.”

They were still arguing when they hit the back steps, his voice loud and proud, hers lazy and unhelpful. The door to the kitchen slid open, the smell of rice and broth filled their noses. 

Miku’s grin turned positively conspiratorial. “Don’t break anything.”

“I’m going to break everything,” Inosuke declared, and barreled in.

-

The kitchen was made for order, for clean counters and precise measurements. Aoi’s high, exacting standards and the quiet diligence of the Butterfly Mansion girls. Which meant it was the absolute worst place to leave Inosuke unsupervised.

By the time Miku trailed in behind him, he’d already grabbed a sack of flour in both hands, shaking it like a prize catch. “What’s this powder? For fighting?!”

“Inosuke, no-”

Too late. The sack exploded, white dust blooming across the kitchen, coating the counters, the floor, Inosuke himself. He sneezed once, so hard it puffed more flour off his chest.

Miku stood in the doorway, one hand over her mouth, shoulders trembling. “You… you look like a rice cake.”

“Rice cake?!” He swung toward her, indignant, making the flour swirl thicker.

She ducked past him, grabbed a handful of the powder still clinging to his arm, and - before he could blink - smeared it across his face like war paint. “Better.”

His jaw dropped. Then his grin split wide, wild. “You DARE!” He lunged for the bowl of eggs left on the counter.

“Inosuke, don’t you-”

One cracked in his palm. He flung the goop at her like a snowball.

She shrieked, dodged - but not fast enough. Yolk dripped down her sleeve. Her fox mask slipped lopsided down her hair, making her look more absurd than menacing. She caught his stare and dissolved into laughter, breathless and bright.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He upended the whole bowl of eggs in one hand, the shells rattling like gooey promises.

“ENOUGH!”

Aoi’s voice sliced through the chaos. She stood in the doorway, hands on hips, a vein twitching in her forehead. “If you break one more thing-”

A plate clattered off the counter. Inosuke had jumped, startled, and his elbow took the dishware with it.

Aoi shrieked.

Miku doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach. Flour streaked her hair; egg clung to her sleeve. Inosuke barked back with a laugh of his own, feeling triumphant.

Zenitsu poked in, nose wrinkling at the smell of raw egg. “Of course. Of course it’s you two.” His gaze flicked between the mess and Miku’s delighted grin, then to Inosuke, who looked ready to throw the frying pan just for fun. “Do you even know how much trouble you’re causing!?”

“Shut up, Sparrow,” Miku teased, flicking a bit of flour at him. It caught in his hair, dusting him pale.

“Don’t call me that! Don’t-” He stomped his foot, spluttering, which only made Miku laugh harder.

Tanjiro stepped in behind him, carrying a tray stacked neatly with rice balls wrapped in cloth. His nose twitched, and he sighed the kind of sigh only Tanjiro could manage: suffering, warm, resigned. “You two made Aoi cry, didn’t you?”

“She screamed, not cried!” Inosuke corrected proudly.

“That’s not any better!” Zenitsu wailed.

Tanjiro crouched, setting the tray safely out of harm’s way before giving them both a look equal parts stern and gentle. “Clean it up. Then you can eat, deal?”

Miku snapped a mock salute, still grinning. “Aye, captain.”

Inosuke scowled. “What’s a captain?”

“The one who keeps you from getting kicked out,” she said fondly, brushing more flour down his arm.

He didn’t swat her away. He glared like he wanted to but couldn’t quite manage it, because she was smiling at him like he’d done something right.

By the time Aoi returned with rags and a bucket, the pair of them were scrubbing the counters under Tanjiro’s watchful eye, still bickering, still elbowing each other, still laughing like the mess had been worth it.

-

The flour clung stubbornly to the floor, caking sticky with yolk. Miku knelt beside Inosuke with a rag in hand, her grin crooked as she swiped in long, lazy circles. Inosuke scrubbed like he was trying to defeat the floor itself, each motion wild and heavy-handed.

“You’re going to break the boards if you keep that up,” she teased.

“That means I’m winning!” he shot back, voice booming.

“You can’t win at cleaning.”

“I win at everything!” He sat back on his heels, covered in streaks of flour that refused to come off, hair frizzing like a lion’s mane. His grin was all teeth, sharp and unrepentant.

Miku snorted, flicking a dollop of foam from her rag, it splattered across his cheek. He froze, then roared, grabbing for the bucket.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, finger raised.

“I dare!”

Before he could tip it, Tanjiro’s steady voice cut across the kitchen. “Inosuke.”

The single word carried enough weight to stop him mid-motion. His arms shook, bucket poised for launch. After a long pause, he grumbled and set it back down.

“Good,” Tanjiro said, with the kind of patience that sounded like he’d practiced it since childhood. “Now finish up, so we can eat.”

By the time the kitchen was halfway respectable again, Aoi had resigned herself to the chaos, muttering dire things about slayers and children while inspecting their work. Zenitsu helped dry dishes with a long-suffering sigh, side-eyeing the two culprits.

“You’re hopeless,” he mumbled at Miku.

She leaned against the counter, lips quirking. “You’d be bored without me, Sparrow.”

His cheeks went pink immediately. “Don’t-don’t call me that in front of people!”

“See?” she crooned, satisfied.

Inosuke cackled, throwing an arm around her shoulder, heedless of the suds still clinging to his skin. “She’s right! You’re fun when you’re squeaky!”

Zenitsu grumbled, clutching his head.

Tanjiro, merciful as ever, broke the cycle, sliding a tray of rice balls and miso soup onto the table. “Come on. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

They gathered, shoulders bumping. Inosuke devoured his share like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, grains of rice sticking to his chin. Miku, perched beside him and stole one of his without hesitation.

“Hey! That’s mine!” he barked.

“You snooze, you lose.” She bit into it with a grin, rice clinging to her lips.

He growled, leaning in, and for a second it looked like he might try to wrestle it back. She cocked her head, daring. The moment stretched taut - until Zenitsu squawked, “Stop it! You’re both disgusting!”

Miku broke first, laughing, the sound spilling easy and bright. Inosuke snorted, mouth full of rice. Tanjiro cracked a smile, shaking his head as he quietly offered Zenitsu an extra, in sympathy.

By the time the meal was finished, the tension from their flour war had melted into something warmer, quieter. The kitchen smelled faintly of soap and steamed rice. Aoi had stopped muttering - though she still glared at the egg stains on the wall - and the four of them sprawled out in the courtyard with full stomachs.

Miku laid back in the grass, hair fanned around her like pale ink. Inosuke stretched beside her, holding his arms behind his head. Tanjiro sat nearby, humming faintly, while Zenitsu complained about mosquitoes.

-

Evening drifted in slow, the courtyard bathed in a syrupy gold that softened into violet. Fireflies blinked alive in the tall grass, their lazy arcs keeping time with the hum of the katydids.

Tanjiro pushed himself up first, stretching out the stiffness in his back. “I should finish my physical therapy, before Shinobu-sama scolds me again.” he said, offering all three a smile and heading toward the mansion. Zenitsu slapped at a mosquito and groaned dramatically, “I’m not getting eaten alive out here.” He stood up and followed after Tanjiro.

That left the two of them in the courtyard, quiet stretching out between the dim glow of fireflies.

Inosuke shifted first, propping up against the wide trunk of a tree, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the horizon. The sky bled out from molten gold to dusky indigo, clouds rimmed in faint crimson. His chest rose and fell with the heavy satisfaction of a beast at rest.

Miku rolled lazily onto her side, then over again, until she plopped herself right between his legs and settled, unbothered.

He jerked immediately, sputtering. “OI! What do you think you’re doing in my lap?!”

She braced back on her palms, head tilted, expression soft and drowsy, though her mouth curved into a smile. “Mm. Comfy.”

“Comfy?!” His voice cracked, disbelief ringing sharp. “Get off! You-you’ve got your own spot right there-”

“Too far,” she hummed, like it explained everything. Her lashes lowered, catching the last glint of sunset, tone carrying that languid mischief she wore so well.

He growled under his breath, already winding up to argue again. Tired of the complaints, Miku cut him off, leaning back and tilting her face up to press a soft kiss beneath his jaw.

He stilled.

Heat shot up his throat, blooming across his face. His pulse hammered so loud he was sure she could feel it. “Wh-” was all he managed, half-choked.

Before she could see the crimson spreading over his cheeks, his arms wrapped around her waist on instinct and pulled her flush against his chest. Burying his face into the tumble of her hair, hiding from her sharp eyes.

Miku’s laugh came soft, low enough to vibrate through his ribs. She opted not to tease him however and let the silence wash over like a blanket. Her body settled against his hold and she tipped her head back to rest just beneath his chin.

The fireflies glowed brighter as the last edge of sun dipped below the trees. They sat quietly, watching the sky’s slow surrender to night.

Notes:

Because I wanna be on someones back while they do pushups, like??? Everything about writing this brought me joy and I hope yall get a good mf laugh because these two are a riot. Definitely the type of duo to get separated during class for disruptive behavior.