Chapter 1: PROLOGUE
Chapter Text
Coughs rattled through the quiet halls of the Ubuyashiki Mansion, each one breaking the silence like a crack in glass. The family had gathered in the dimly lit room, shadows stretching long against the walls. Their frail leader lay upon his bedding, his skin as pale as the moonlight filtering through the shoji. Among those watching in silence was a boy—Kagaya, still so young, his small hands trembling as he clutched his grandfather’s weakening fingers.
The old man’s breath hitched, and a fit of coughing shook his fragile frame. His voice was barely a whisper.
“I am sorry… everyone… I wasn’t able to do much for the Corps…”
Kagaya’s chest tightened. His lips quivered, but his tone remained steady, quiet, gentle.
“Grandfather, please… don’t say such things. You gave everything you could. You guided us with all your strength.”
His grandfather’s gaze lingered on him, a mixture of sorrow and love softening his failing eyes. After a long silence, he forced out another breath.
“Kagaya… I have… a request. My final wish.”
Kagaya swallowed hard, nodding quickly, though tears burned at the corners of his eyes.
“Of course, Grandfather. Anything.”
The old man’s voice became weaker, almost fading into the air.
“You met them… didn’t you? The Hidden Fang of the Corps?”
Kagaya’s eyes widened, surprise flashing across his youthful face, but he quickly composed himself and nodded.
“…Yes. Yes, I have.”
A faint smile curved the old man’s lips, brittle but filled with purpose.
“They entrusted me… entrusted our family… to protect their children.” His breathing grew ragged, words trembling as they escaped. “Muzan does not know they exist… This may be our only chance.”
Kagaya’s breath caught. His heart pounded.
“They… have children?”
Another fit of coughing stole the man’s strength, but he managed the smallest of nods. His hand grew cold in Kagaya’s grasp.
“I ask you… please…” His pulse weakened with every word. “…Take care…”
And with that final whisper, his grip slackened.
Kagaya froze, his young face stricken with shock, his throat tightening as though the air had abandoned him. Around him, his family broke into sobs, their wails of grief filling the chamber. Yet Kagaya remained motionless, clutching his grandfather’s lifeless hand, the weight of his words pressing down on his small shoulders.
Even in that moment of loss, he understood: the burden of their bloodline, and the secret he must protect, had now fallen to him.
The next morning, the gardens of the Ubuyashiki mansion were drenched in soft light. A breeze stirred the blossoms, their petals drifting like pale snow across the stones. Kagaya sat quietly among them, his eyes unfocused, lost in thought. His grandfather’s final words still echoed in his mind— Take care… The weight of that promise pressed heavily against his chest.
Footsteps crunched against the gravel path. Kagaya turned, calm but alert. One of his family members approached, bowing slightly before speaking in a hushed tone.
“Kagaya… we found them.”
For the briefest moment, Kagaya’s composure faltered; his breath caught, and his eyes widened. Then he exhaled slowly, his voice gentle yet firm.
“…Good. Please, take me to them.”
He rose, his robes brushing softly against the ground as he followed inside. When he entered the chamber, his gaze immediately fell to the corner of the room—and his heart clenched.
Two children. Small, fragile, their clothes torn and dirty. The boy stood before his younger sister, arms stretched protectively, his dark eyes sharp with mistrust. The girl clung to him, trembling, peering at the unfamiliar walls with fear.
Kagaya’s steps slowed. He did not speak right away; instead, he simply looked at them with the quiet, tender sorrow that always lingered in his expression. The boy’s defiance reminded him of the countless warriors who had stood against Muzan, and the girl’s innocence reminded him of what was always at stake.
One of the attendants broke the silence, bowing apologetically.
“They… they haven’t spoken a word to us. Nor would they allow us to approach.”
Kagaya nodded slowly, his smile soft and warm though shadowed with grief.
“You have done well to bring them here.” His tone carried no reproach, only gratitude. Then he raised a hand, a gesture of calm assurance.
“Please… leave them to me. I will handle this.”
The attendants hesitated but obeyed, quietly stepping away.
Left alone with the children, Kagaya lowered himself to their level, folding neatly to his knees so his gaze met theirs without force. His voice, when it came, was like the wind through the garden—soft, patient, unwavering.
“You do not need to be afraid… You are safe here.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed, his body tense, but Kagaya did not move closer. He simply sat, still as the blossoms outside, waiting for the children to choose whether to trust him.
The little girl’s fingers trembled as she tugged at her brother’s sleeve. He stiffened, uncertain, but after a long moment of silence, he reluctantly stepped aside to give her room. Slowly, cautiously, she shuffled forward, her bare feet whispering against the tatami.
When she reached Kagaya, she lowered herself to the floor, sitting across from him with wide, wary eyes. Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile as a dying ember.
“Who… who are you? Where are we?”
Kagaya’s lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile. His tone was calm, patient, carrying neither command nor pressure—only warmth.
“My name is Kagaya. I am the grandson of the man who once knew your parents… before he passed from this world. You are safe here, within the Ubuyashiki family’s home.”
Both children’s eyes widened, the truth pressing down on them. The girl’s face fell, grief welling in her expression as she whispered, her voice breaking,
“We’re… we’re sorry. He was a good man.”
Her brother finally moved, his guarded stance softening as he came forward to sit protectively beside her. His voice was low, edged with bitterness and doubt, though his hand never left hers.
“I’m guessing… you’ll be the next leader, then.”
Kagaya inclined his head, calm and solemn.
“Yes. My grandfather’s final wish was entrusted to me… to take care of you both, and to keep you safe.”
The words struck like a silent blow. The siblings’ eyes widened in shock, the enormity of it hanging heavy in the room. Then, the boy gave a sharp scoff, his young pride and suspicion shielding his pain.
“You’re just a child…”
But Kagaya did not falter. His smile remained, soft and unwavering, as he lowered his voice to a whisper, as though promising an oath.
“Even as a child, I will do everything in my power… to make you feel safe, to protect you, together with my family. That, I swear.”
Silence followed. The little girl’s lips quivered, her eyes shimmering with a fragile hope she hadn’t dared feel until now.
“…Will you really?”
Kagaya’s gaze held hers steadily, his nod slow but certain.
“Yes. With all my heart.”
He allowed the quiet to stretch for a moment, then gently asked, his tone respectful as though speaking to equals,
“May I know your names?”
The boy hesitated, his eyes narrowing, but at last he gave a reluctant reply, almost a growl.
“…Itsuki.”
The girl’s expression brightened faintly through her sadness, her voice soft but clear.
“Aiyaka.”
Kagaya repeated their names with care, as though engraving them into memory.
“Itsuki. Aiyaka.” He smiled, though his eyes carried the weight of sorrow and responsibility. “I am honored to know you.”
And in that quiet room, a shift seemed to stir. For the first time in countless years, after loss upon loss, after despair that had nearly drowned them all, the faintest glimmer of hope flickered into being—embodied in two frightened children, and the boy who would one day lead the Corps.
Chapter 2: The White Crane and the Black Fang
Chapter Text
Midnight cloaked the forest in silence, broken only by groans of the wounded. Young demon slayers lay scattered across the ground, some dead, others bleeding, many barely clinging to life. The Kakushi rushed frantically among them, carrying what supplies they had, their faces pale with dread.
“We don’t have enough men,” one whispered, despair thick in his voice. “There are too many who need treatment.”
Nearby, a young girl slayer, barely scratched, scoffed as though the suffering around her meant nothing.
“Oi! I need medical attention here! A girl like me needs her meds!”
The Kakushi ignored her, their hands trembling over broken bodies.
“What do we do? We didn’t even bring enough supplies…” one muttered.
The rude girl folded her arms, sneering. “Honestly! What are you even good for ?”
Before her complaint could echo further, a voice drifted through the night—gentle, calm, and steady.
“…There is no need to act like this.”
The girl froze. Something in that tone, soft, unshaken, silenced her tongue. She turned toward the source, and her eyes widened.
From between the trees, she emerged. Not a girl, not merely a woman—something the slayer could only fumble to name. Her long black hair, tipped faintly in purple, caught the moonlight as if spun from silk, bound with a crimson ribbon. Her white sakura-patterned haori fluttered lightly over her navy uniform, its wide sleeves trailing like wings. Pale skin glowed against the darkness, and her amber-gold eyes shone with warmth, as though they alone could drive away despair. Even the faint scent of sakura blossoms reached them, tinged with a whisper of iron.
The slayer’s breath caught in her throat. An angel…?
One Kakushi dropped to his knees immediately. “Ah—Hashira! Please forgive us!”
“Hashira…?” the rude girl thought numbly. She had never seen a Hashira like this. Not even close.
Another Kakushi barked sharply at her. “Mind your eyes! You stand before the Elysian Hashira—Kurobane Aiyaka!”
The girl’s lips parted in shock, trembling. Elysian… Hashira…?
But Aiyaka only smiled, her voice a balm upon the blood-soaked clearing.
“There is no need for apologies. What matters is that these young slayers fought bravely and survived. That alone is worthy of respect.”
She turned, her gaze soft as it swept over the Kakushi.
“Please, gather as many of the wounded as you can carry.”
Her smile lingered, calm and sweet, though it left the uninjured weak at the knees.
“As for the rest… I will take care of them.”
The sound of steel grinding against steel echoed through the Butterfly Mansion’s resting room. A harsh, grating scrape—slow, deliberate, unending. Like nails across bone, it gnawed at the nerves.
One young demon slayer bolted upright from his futon, veins throbbing at his temples. Sleep-deprived and irritated, he snapped without thinking.
“Whoever’s making that damn noise, cut it out! I’m trying to—”
His words strangled in his throat.
Across the dim room, a figure sat by the window, the moon casting his shadow long and jagged. A monstrous cleaver-like blade rested in his scarred hands, its edge glowing faintly with blood-red veins as he dragged the whetstone across it again. And again. And again.
The sound stopped.
The man turned his head, eyes locking on the boy. Crimson irises, black rings. Almost demonic. His stare alone could have split stone. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
The young slayer’s blood ran cold. He suddenly realized the horror of his mistake. His lips stammered, voice cracking.
“M-My apologies… M-Mr. Executioner—”
The man’s voice cut the air, low and sharp.
“Excuse me?”
The boy nearly collapsed in on himself. “I-I mean—The Black Fang Hashira—sir!”
The man kept sharpening. His expression didn’t change. The boy’s sweat poured so heavily it soaked through the futon. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, but no sound came.
Finally, he sighed, rising from the window with predatory grace. His scarred arm flexed as he hefted the cleaver onto his shoulder. His voice was flat, merciless.
“Kurobane Itsuki.”
The boy nodded frantically, heart pounding. “Y-Yes—I know—I mean, I’ve heard—you’re—”
Itsuki brushed past him without a glance. “Don’t bother.”
At the doorway, he paused just long enough to throw one last line over his shoulder.
“…A little advice. Change your pants.”
Then he was gone, the sound of his boots fading into silence.
The boy sat frozen, unable to breathe until he was sure Itsuki had left. Slowly, trembling, he looked down—only to find his futon damp, his legs soaked.
He had, in fact, pissed himself.
The corridor of the Butterfly Mansion was quiet, save for the heavy echo of boots against wood. Itsuki walked with his usual unhurried stride, cloak torn at the edges like the shadow of a wolf. The metallic tang of iron clung faintly to him, even here.
From behind, a soft, lilting voice floated down the hallway.
“Ara, ara…”
Itsuki’s steps slowed. He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. Shinobu approached with her ever-present smile, her graceful form framed by the lantern light.
“You know,” she teased lightly, “you never seem to get angry when I call you Executioner-san.”
Itsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning against the wall, an expression carved from stone.
“That’s because you’re a Hashira.”
Shinobu’s laugh was delicate, almost musical, but her eyes were watchful as always. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. Still…” her tone softened, genuine beneath the teasing, “…thank you for bringing that boy back here alive. I half-expected you to leave him on the roadside.”
Itsuki scoffed, gaze flicking away. “Had no choice. I knew you—and Yaka—” he corrected himself gruffly, “—Aiyaka would scold me to no end.”
Shinobu’s smile brightened, though there was steel hidden in her warmth.
“Of course we would.” She tilted her head, curious. “Speaking of Aiyaka, where is she now?”
Itsuki shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling like a restless beast.
“Probably dragging more half-dead slayers back here. Heard she went south with some Kakushi to help. Seems the Corps is running out of supplies.”
Shinobu’s brows arched slightly, surprise flickering across her usually composed face. “Running out? Truly?”
Itsuki’s lip curled in disdain. “How should I know? Those weaklings keep getting torn apart faster than we can patch them up. Supplies or not, if they can’t survive, they should quit before they waste our time.” He pushed off the wall, starting down the hall without looking back.
Shinobu’s smile faded as she watched him leave. Her voice remained light, but her eyes darkened with thought.
“The same heartless man as always…”
But as the last echo of his boots vanished, her smile disappeared entirely. Her gaze sharpened, her whisper barely audible in the empty hall.
“…Still. Shortages in the Corps… that
is
unusual. Perhaps I should bring this to Oyakata-sama.”
The soft crunch of gravel marked Shinobu’s arrival at the Ubuyashiki estate. She knelt gracefully in the stone garden, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Lantern light flickered faintly, but the moon bathed everything in silver. Before her stood Kagaya Ubuyashiki, his pale face serene, the faint scars across his skin softened by his gentle smile.
Shinobu bowed deeply. “Oyakata-sama, I’ve come to report something troubling—the Corps is suffering a sudden shortage of medical supplies.”
Kagaya’s eyes closed as he tilted his head toward the sky, breathing in the night air. His voice was soft, almost like a lullaby.
“That is unfortunate. Without supplies… our young demon slayers will suffer longer, and many may not return to battle.”
Shinobu’s lips pressed together. With uncharacteristic urgency, she said, “Please allow me to look into this matter. I cannot shake the feeling that someone is behind it.”
For a moment, Kagaya said nothing. A faint smile touched his lips, serene yet knowing, as though he were already several steps ahead.
“There is no need,” he murmured. “I have already sent someone to investigate.”
Shinobu blinked, surprised. “You have?”
Kagaya finally looked toward her, his gaze warm and steady. “Yes. You needn’t burden yourself with worry. I’m certain the truth will come to light soon enough. Please—continue your duties. The Corps needs your presence where you already shine.”
Though hesitant, Shinobu bowed once more, her smile polite but thin. “Yes, Oyakata-sama. Then I’ll take my leave. Please… have a peaceful day.”
When she departed, the garden fell quiet again save for the wind stirring through the flowers. Later, Kagaya remained among them, seated while one of his children carefully adjusted the blanket over his shoulders.
From behind came another child, their voice light with excitement.
“Father, the White Crane of the Corps has sent word.”
Kagaya’s smile deepened faintly, as though the words were expected. “Ah… so soon? The day is not yet over, and already she has found the source.” He accepted the folded letter, though he hardly needed to open it.
The child spoke, relaying the message faithfully: “ ‘I have found the source of the sudden shortage of medical supplies. Who shall you send to clean up the mess this time?’ ”
A quiet laugh escaped Kagaya’s lips, airy as the breeze drifted over the garden. “She is already there, isn’t she?” His hand rested gently on the child’s head, his voice low and steady.
“Tell her… this time, I wish for her to handle it herself.”
The cabin door creaked open and the young slayer slipped inside, glancing over her shoulder as though the night itself might be following her. She reached for the lantern and lit it—only to freeze.
Kurobane Aiyaka sat in the center of the room, a steaming cup of green tea with honey resting between her hands. Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the wood, painting her pale features in silver and gold. Her long black hair, tipped faintly with violet, glowed like ink touched by twilight. Her calm amber eyes lifted, soft as candlelight, and a smile as warm as spring spread across her lips.
The girl gasped, freezing momentarily.
Aiyaka tilted her head gently, gesturing to the seat across from her. A low table was spread with food: plum-filled onigiri, miso soup, pickled radish, even sakura mochi arranged with care. “You must be hungry,” she said, voice like a lullaby. “Would you like tea? Something sweet, perhaps? Or a meal to warm you?”
The girl faltered, suspicion twisting her face. “How do I know you didn’t poison it?”
Aiyaka only blinked, her smile never faltering. “Oh, that’s not my specialty. Shinobu’s the one who plays with poisons.”
The retort stung. The girl growled and reached for her katana—only to find nothing at her side. Shock jolted through her as she looked up and saw her weapon gently cradled in Aiyaka’s hand, as if it had simply drifted there on its own.
“H-how… I didn’t even see—”
“I thought it is only fair,” Aiyaka replied warmly, laying the blade aside. Her sleeves trailed like wings as she gestured to her own empty side. “I don’t have mine.”
The girl’s breath hitched. She circled cautiously, eyes locked on Aiyaka’s serene figure. “A Hashira… without a weapon? You’re a fraud.” She lunged for a blade on the counter—yet her hand closed on nothing.
Still, Aiyaka’s expression remained soft, angelic. “Just one question, if you don’t mind—”
“I don’t think so!” the girl snapped, flipping the table toward her. Dishes shattered against the floor, food scattering across the wood. The girl stared, wide-eyed. Somehow, not a single drop touched Aiyaka.
Aiyaka glanced down, lips curling in a small pout. “Oh dear… I worked so hard on those.”
“You—!” the girl screamed, pointing at her with a trembling hand. “What’s wrong with you?!”
“Me?” Aiyaka’s voice was light, genuinely puzzled. “I don’t believe there’s—”
The door burst open. Kakushi and demon slayers swarmed inside, their voices cutting through the tense air.
“We have orders to take you in. Don’t resist.”
The girl’s face crumpled, rage and despair mixing as she dropped to her knees. “My plan… everything… ruined!” Her gaze flicked back to Aiyaka, who still sat with the same serene smile, her presence calm and untouchable.
“Ruined… by that crazy, weird woman!”
Later that midnight, soft lamplight filled the Ubuyashiki mansion. From his quarters, Kagaya’s quiet laugh broke the silence, warm and melodic despite the frailty in his voice. He turned, the pale moonlight washing over his scarred face, to see Aiyaka kneeling gracefully on the tatami. She sat with calm composure, her long black hair with faint purple tips glinting faintly, the crimson ribbon tied neatly at the back. Beside her, Itsuki leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, a cold shadow to her gentle light.
“You didn’t even press her for answers?” Kagaya asked softly, his smile knowing.
Aiyaka tilted her head with a warm amber gaze, lips curving in a serene smile. “I tried,” she admitted lightly. “Even set out food and tea for her. But she chose tantrums over conversation.”
Itsuki exhaled sharply, his scarred jaw tightening. “You should’ve taken me. I’d have forced the truth out of her.”
Her laugh was soft, like wind stirring blossoms. “Which is exactly why Kagaya-sama sent me instead of you.”
Kagaya chuckled again, folding his hands in his lap. “Then tell me—how did this shortage begin?”
Itsuki leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “It traces back to our last mission, a week ago.”
Aiyaka nodded, voice calm as though recounting a simple story to children. “After defeating a cluster of demons, we came across an abandoned cabin. Inside…” She paused, amber eyes bright with restrained mirth. “Not demons. Not traps. But shelves full of untouched medical supplies.”
Itsuki smirked, finishing for her. “A whole stockpile, hoarded away.”
Kagaya’s pale eyes widened briefly before he released a soft, knowing laugh. “Ah… how troublesome.”
Aiyaka’s gaze softened as she explained further, “I thought little of it at first. But when I heard the Corps was running low, and later that same night treated wounded youths in the south, the truth became clear. The culprit’s scent clung to the supplies.”
Kagaya’s smile deepened, warm despite the scars that lined his face. He turned toward Itsuki. “If it had been you, I imagine the outcome would have been… less merciful.”
Itsuki’s low chuckle was edged with pride. “No doubt.” He glanced at Aiyaka, red eyes narrowing but not unkind. “Sending her was the right call.”
Aiyaka gave a small, gentle laugh, her sleeve brushing the tatami like wings. “Even if we knew her reasons, I doubt they would ever make sense.”
Kagaya’s answering smile was serene, the weight of his years evident yet softened by trust. “That is why the Corps needs both of you.”
Chapter 3: Petals, Shadows, and Fire
Chapter Text
Aiyaka laughed, her soft voice carried by the evening breeze. “You’re getting better at this!” she praised, watching Muichiro’s paper plane glide gracefully before dipping into the grass.
Muichiro blinked, his misty teal eyes shimmering faintly under the fading sunlight. A small smile tugged at his lips. “You always go easy on me… I can tell.”
Her own paper plane fluttered down beside his, joining the little scatter of folded creations across the lawn. Aiyaka pressed a hand to her mouth, laughing lightly. “Maybe… or maybe you’re just impatient to win.”
Muichiro let out a quiet sigh, tilting his head in thought. “When will you give me a fair chance?”
Aiyaka leaned closer, her amber-gold eyes warm, glinting like candlelight. “Alright, alright. This time, no holding back.” She folded another crisp plane with practiced precision, then handed Muichiro one she had carefully prepared for him. “Here. If you want to beat me, you’ll need a strong start.”
He accepted it with surprising seriousness, his small hands smoothing the edges. “You always make them perfect. Mine never look as good.”
Her laughter was gentle, like petals falling. “That’s the fun, isn’t it? Each one flies differently. Just like us.”
Muichiro blinked again, then smiled faintly, his cheeks warming. “You say strange things sometimes… but I like it.”
She chuckled softly, raising her paper plane. “Strange or not, you’re stuck with me.”
They both took their places side by side, eyes fixed on the open sky.
“One…” Aiyaka counted, her voice calm but playful.
“Two…” Muichiro echoed, his tone unusually bright.
“Three!” they called together, their voices overlapping like music.
The two planes soared upward, catching the wind. For a few heartbeats, the world felt suspended—their laughter mingling with the sight of paper wings dancing freely across the sky.
Muichiro’s eyes widened as his plane kept pace with hers, gliding longer than before. “Look… it’s not falling yet,” he murmured, wonder filling his voice.
Aiyaka smiled warmly, watching the planes disappear into the fading clouds. “See? You’re catching up to me already.”
He turned to her, expression unusually earnest. “…I think it’s because you’re here. I fly better when you’re with me.”
Her chest softened with affection, and she reached out to gently ruffle his dark hair. “Then I’ll always stay by your side, Muichiro. So you’ll never fall.”
For the first time that day, Muichiro laughed quietly, the sound light and fleeting—like a breeze carrying a paper plane into the endless sky.
Aiyaka’s crow fluttered down from the darkening sky, pale wings shimmering faintly like moonlight as it alighted upon her shoulder. Its soft, soothing voice broke the evening calm:
“You have been summoned to Ubuyashiki-sama.”
Aiyaka’s lips curved into a gentle smile. She stroked the bird’s head tenderly, its feathers brushing against her cheek like a blessing. “I’ll be right there.”
When she lifted her gaze, she caught the faintest flicker of sadness in Muichirō’s usually unreadable expression. His misty eyes, so often lost in thought, lingered on her as if the world might scatter without her presence.
Aiyaka’s heart softened. She bent down, her hand brushing lightly through his soft black-green hair. “I’ll be back soon,” she whispered, voice as calm as spring rain. “I’ll try to bring you something—perhaps a little souvenir.”
Muichirō hesitated, then gave the smallest nod. His slender fingers tugged at the edge of her haori, almost childlike in the gesture. “Be safe.”
Her warm amber eyes glowed as she returned the nod, reluctant to pull away. “Always.”
With that promise lingering in the air, she turned and departed, her white sakura-patterned haori trailing behind her like petals carried on the wind.
By the time she reached the Ubuyashiki estate, lantern light painted the stone paths in pale gold. There, Itsuki was already waiting—tall, sharp-edged, his cloak shifting in the night breeze like a shadow given form.
Aiyaka approached with soft steps, her smile unfaltering even before his cold gaze. “I didn’t expect you here,” she said lightly. “But if we’ve both been summoned, it must be serious.”
Itsuki inclined his head, his crimson-ringed eyes narrowing. “You were busy?”
Her amber eyes glimmered with warmth. “Not busy,” she replied, her tone serene, “just… keeping someone company.”
Before he could respond, the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate, yet impossibly light—drew their attention. From the veranda, Kagaya Ubuyashiki appeared, his presence filling the garden like dawn dispelling the night. His pale, scarred skin was framed by flowing black hair, his white robes trailing as though woven from moonlight.
Despite his fragile body, his smile was radiant, almost otherworldly. His voice, soft as a prayer, carried perfectly through the quiet.
“I thank you both for coming so swiftly,” Kagaya said, lowering himself gracefully onto the veranda with the help of two of his children. His gaze rested first on Aiyaka, kind and knowing, then upon Itsuki, whose stance betrayed both discipline and restless violence.
“There has been movement in the western region,” Kagaya continued. “Demon activity has grown bolder—supplies disrupted, messengers silenced, and villages left in dread. It is not a coincidence. It is the work of something deliberate.”
He let the silence linger, the night wind carrying the faint scent of blossoms and rain.
“I ask the two of you to go together.” His smile deepened faintly, though his blind eyes seemed to gaze far beyond them. “Where one’s gentleness heals, the other’s ruthlessness will protect. Only in harmony can this threat be undone.”
The moment Kagaya’s words left his lips, Aiyaka and Itsuki were already gone, their forms slicing through the night as if carried by the wind itself. Their footfalls barely touched the earth, yet the forest around them bent with their passing—two figures so unlike, yet moving in uncanny synchrony.
“Tomorrow,” Aiyaka said lightly as they ran, her calm voice somehow carrying over the rush of the wind, “I’m going to the shopping district. The mansion’s garden could use more flowers. Will you come?”
Itsuki exhaled, sharp and impatient, rolling his broad shoulders as though even conversation was weight. “No. I’ll take the chance to sleep for once.” His yawn was more wolfish than weary.
Aiyaka’s amber-gold eyes softened, a faint laugh trailing her words. “Sleep? You’ve barely lifted a hand this week.”
“Tch.” Itsuki scoffed, scarred jaw tightening. “Try tailing Mitsuri and Obanai on their little ‘date.’ You’ll know what exhaustion is.”
The corners of Aiyaka’s lips curved upward. “It’s sweet, though, isn’t it? Watching them together.”
Their voices faded into silence as they surged onward, shadows swallowing them whole. Then, without breaking stride, Aiyaka spoke again—this time quieter, her tone stripped of playfulness. “Do you want to take the forest?”
Itsuki’s mouth curled into a dangerous smirk. “Because you’ll hesitate?”
“Because you’ll ruin the village,” Aiyaka replied smoothly, her eyes fixed ahead as she surged faster, her white sakura haori billowing like petals in the moonlight.
Itsuki stopped dead in his tracks. The air stilled around him, the forest exhaling its tension. Alone now, he inhaled once—slow, deliberate—and the night itself seemed to recoil.
Demons crawled from the shadows, their snarls cutting through the silence, dozens of eyes gleaming between the trees. They rushed, but with each step closer, their movements faltered.
Itsuki exhaled.
The pressure struck like an unseen avalanche. The ground groaned and split beneath him, leaves crushed flat into the dirt as if the forest itself bowed to his breath. Weak demons collapsed instantly, their bones creaking under the weight, bodies pinned to the soil, unable to twitch. Their shrieks turned to gurgles as though the earth swallowed them alive.
The stronger ones—hulking, snarling, their flesh knitting back together—staggered. Their limbs grew heavy, regeneration sluggish, as if their very blood had turned to lead.
Itsuki’s crimson-ringed eyes gleamed in the darkness, feral and merciless.
“This won’t take long.”
And then he moved, black cloak tearing through the night.
When Aiyaka arrived, her chest tightened. The village lay in ruin—walls splintered, rooftops caved in, the night alive with the shrieks of demons clawing through empty homes. Relief flickered in her amber-gold eyes. At least no humans remain. She whispered the thought aloud, her voice soft as falling petals.
One demon caught sight of her and sneered, jagged teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Look at this—just a girl in a ribbon. A slayer, ripe for the picking.”
The others turned, laughter rippling among them. Another licked his lips, gaze slithering over her like a knife. “She’ll taste divine.”
Yet when they met her gaze, their mocking faltered. Her expression was warm, almost motherly, and her faint smile glowed with unnerving calm.
“Fifteen,” Aiyaka murmured, eyes sweeping across the crowd. “Is that all?”
More shadows stirred, demons slinking from the alleys to surround her. “Cocky little thing,” one hissed. “We’ll peel her apart slowly.”
The words had barely left his mouth before his head tumbled to the dirt, eyes still wide with hunger. Gasps tore through the pack. Aiyaka hadn’t moved—her hands still at her sides, her white sakura-patterned haori fluttering gently in the night breeze. Only the severed head rolled at her feet, staining the earth red.
Her smile brightened, gentle as spring. “One down. Fourteen left.”
Rage replaced their unease. “You—!” a demon snarled, charging.
But before the curse was finished, another head fell. Then another. And another. Every breath, another body crumpled, their necks cleaved with surgical precision. The demons spun frantically, unable to track her blade, unable to see the strike until it was too late.
Through it all, Aiyaka stood as though rooted in place—her posture graceful, her tone unchanging, her smile unbroken.
The afternoon sun slanted through the Corps compound, gilding the courtyard in warm light. Rengoku stood with Tengen, their laughter booming as they swapped stories from their latest mission. But mid-sentence, Rengoku’s sharp eyes caught a familiar figure gliding across the courtyard.
Aiyaka walked with quiet grace, her arms full of clay pots brimming with blossoms and herbs, each step as careful as if she carried treasure. Her white sakura-patterned haori shimmered faintly in the light breeze.
“Lady Aiyaka!” Rengoku’s voice rang out like a bell, startling Tengen into a chuckle. With his usual vigor, he excused himself and strode over, his smile blazing. Without hesitation, he scooped half the pots from her arms. “Allow me to help!”
Aiyaka’s amber-gold eyes softened, her smile calm and luminous. “Thank you, Omochi,” she said gently.
The nickname hit him like a fire arrow. His heart pounded, his grin stretching wider. “O-Omochi…! Ha! What an affectionate name! I shall treasure it!” His voice boomed so loudly, a few Kakushi passing by turned their heads with amused smiles.
They walked together toward her estate, their conversation easy. Rengoku, as always, filled the air with energy, yet Aiyaka’s warm replies grounded his fire into something comfortable.
“How was your mission with your brother?” he asked, still carrying pots as if they weighed nothing.
“As smooth as always,” she answered with a serene nod. “Itsuki handled the forest demons, I protected the nearby village.”
“Splendid teamwork!” Rengoku declared. “You two are truly unmatched!”
Their lively chatter made the walk pass quickly. When they reached the garden gates of her mansion, Rengoku glanced around, surprised. “Is Itsuki not here? I do not sense his presence.”
Aiyaka set down her pots with care, chuckling softly. “He was supposed to nap. But Sanemi and Obanai dragged him away for sparring.”
Rengoku laughed heartily, tilting his head back. “HAH! Then he has no hope of resting today! Splendid comradeship!”
She led him into the backyard, where blossoms of every color swayed in the breeze. Rengoku’s eyes widened with childlike wonder. “Your garden is as beautiful as ever, Lady Aiyaka. Truly magnificent!”
“Thank you.” She knelt gracefully, arranging the new pots with practiced hands. “I take flower arrangements very seriously.”
Rengoku crouched beside her, watching intently as if she were teaching him swordsmanship. “Then please teach me!” he exclaimed. “I wish to learn the way of flowers!”
Her soft laugh carried like wind chimes. “Very well, Omochi. First, this sakura—handle it gently, as if it were a newborn sparrow.” She handed him a delicate pink blossom.
He froze, hands large and stiff, his usual confidence faltering. “Gentle… like a sparrow… yes!” He tried, but his strength nearly snapped the stem.
“Careful.” Her fingers brushed over his, guiding them with patient calm. The contrast between her slender touch and his calloused grip made him swallow, suddenly self-conscious.
“There,” she said warmly. “Not too tight, not too loose. Just enough to let it breathe.”
His chest swelled with pride at her approval. “Hah! I have succeeded in the art of not crushing a flower!” His triumphant shout made a few sparrows scatter from the roof, and Aiyaka’s laughter spilled, bright and genuine.
“Excellent work,” she teased softly. “Now let us see if you can manage more than one.”
They worked side by side, his booming exclamations mixing with her serene guidance. Rengoku treated each petal with warrior-like seriousness, as though the blossoms were sacred artifacts. Aiyaka’s steady encouragement softened the scene, her presence like a calming spring breeze beside his blazing sun.
At one point, he arranged two flowers awkwardly, their stems crossing too tightly. He frowned. “Lady Aiyaka! This one appears to be… strangling the other!”
Her eyes glowed with gentle mirth as she leaned closer, adjusting them with deft fingers. “Flowers, like people, thrive best when they have space to grow.”
Rengoku paused, watching her with rare quietness before his smile returned, softer this time. “Beautifully said.”
Chapter 4: When Blossoms Meet the Blade of the Moon
Notes:
This will now be the first turning point of the story for Aiyaka.
Chapter Text
The afternoon sun spilled warmly over the district streets as Aiyaka strolled alongside Mitsuri and Obanai, their footsteps soft against the cobblestones. Shops lined the road, their aromas of grilled fish and sweet dumplings mingling in the air.
Aiyaka’s amber-gold eyes lit up as she pointed toward a modest little eatery tucked beneath paper lanterns. “What about this place? I came here with Itsuki once—it was wonderful.”
Mitsuri’s green-pink eyes sparkled. “Ooh, perfect! Let’s go, Aya-chan!” she chimed, looping her arm with Aiyaka’s as if they were lifelong sisters.
Obanai gave only a curt nod, but he followed without protest.
Inside, they settled at a table for three. Their orders soon arrived—Mitsuri’s dishes stacking high in front of her, while Aiyaka sipped quietly at her miso soup. Across the table, Obanai carefully fed Kaburamaru a bite from his chopsticks. Without a word, Aiyaka slid a small bowl of tororo kombu toward him.
Obanai’s mismatched eyes flicked up in surprise. “...You knew,” he muttered, more to himself than her. She only smiled softly, lifting her soup as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Mitsuri clapped her hands, delighted. “Aya-chan, this food is amazing! You always know the best places!” Her voice was light, but her eyes glowed with genuine admiration. She leaned closer, lowering her tone into a girlish whisper. “And you’re so thoughtful with Iguro too! You’re like… like the perfect big sister I always wanted.”
Aiyaka’s expression stayed warm. “I’m just glad you’re both enjoying yourselves.”
The moment was interrupted when soft wings fluttered—Aiyaka’s pale crow slipped inside through the open door and alighted gracefully on her shoulder. Its soothing voice carried across the table: “You have been summoned to the Ubuyashiki estate.”
Mitsuri’s smile faltered. “Again? Aya-chan… that’s the third time this week! Is everything okay?”
Aiyaka only rose with her usual calm grace, laying a pouch of yen on the table. Her haori fluttered like petals as she reassured them with a smile as gentle as spring. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Lunch is on me.”
As she departed, Mitsuri’s lips trembled with worry. “She’s… she’s carrying so much, isn’t she?”
Obanai’s gaze lingered on the door she had vanished through. For a long moment, he said nothing—until finally, in a low voice muffled by his bandages, he admitted, “She’ll be fine. She’s stronger than she looks.”
Mitsuri blinked, startled by his rare openness, then softened. “Mm… you’re right. Aya-chan really is amazing.”
When Aiyaka entered the garden, the late afternoon sun filtered softly through swaying branches, scattering dappled light across the stone path. Kagaya sat alone before the small pond, his pale face turned toward the blooms of white chrysanthemums. His frail body trembled faintly with each breath, yet his presence radiated the same calm that steadied every soul under his care.
Aiyaka’s steps quickened. With quiet urgency, she slipped to his side, her hands gentle as they steadied his shoulders. “Kagaya, please—be careful,” she murmured, her amber eyes luminous with worry, though her voice never rose above its tender calm.
He lifted his gaze toward her, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Forgive me, Aiyaka. I know I should not push myself… yet I find it hard to remain still when there is beauty before me.” His voice, soft and measured, carried both fragility and strength.
“Even so,” she said, her angelic expression unwavering, “your well-being comes first.”
For a moment, silence lingered, broken only by the trickle of water over stone. Then Kagaya’s smile gentled further. “I cannot… not when I must tell you what lies ahead. There is a mission I can entrust to no one else.”
Her brow furrowed ever so slightly. “A mission?”
He nodded faintly. “Yes… let us walk, and I shall explain.”
Supporting his weight with quiet care, Aiyaka guided him along the garden path, her steps measured to match his slow pace. Her presence was steady, like spring air brushing over falling petals, her haori trailing behind her in soft ripples. Kagaya leaned lightly against her arm, as though she were the anchor keeping him upright.
“The disturbance is in the northern mountains,” he whispered, his voice low as though confiding in family rather than issuing an order. “Several slayers have gone missing. The signs point to the presence of an Upper Moon.” His hand tightened faintly over hers. “It will be dangerous. More than I would ever wish for you to face.”
Aiyaka’s expression did not waver, her soft smile shining like moonlight through clouds. “I understand,” she said. Her tone carried no fear, only a quiet acceptance, as though her heart had long been ready. “If it is to protect the Corps… and you… I will go.”
Kagaya paused in his steps, turning his gaze up at her. In his pale eyes, there was no distance of master and subordinate—only the bond of kin. “You have always carried more than I should ask of you, Aiyaka. Yet you never falter.”
She shook her head softly, her hair ribbon glinting crimson against the fading light. “It is not a burden. It is what I can do for my family.”
For a moment, Kagaya’s fragile frame trembled, but his smile grew faintly brighter. “Then may the blossoms you carry within you shield you from the shadows ahead.”
The Butterfly Mansion was alive with the quiet rustle of young slayers moving about, the faint scent of herbs and medicine clinging to the air. Aiyaka stepped through the doorway with her usual calm grace, her haori trailing like the sweep of sakura petals. Her amber-gold eyes drifted around the corridors, soft and searching, until a familiar voice called out.
“Ara, ara… it’s Aya-nee.”
Shinobu stood at the end of the hall, her violet eyes alight with warmth, the faintest teasing lilt in her tone. Yet beneath her smile was something genuine, a relief that glowed brighter than her usual composure.
Aiyaka exhaled softly, her expression angelic as ever. “Shinobu… I’m glad to see you.” Her voice carried the same calm that had comforted countless young slayers, but for Shinobu, it was different—closer, deeper, like a sister’s embrace.
The Insect Hashira hummed gently, tilting her head, the butterfly pin in her hair catching the light. “Normally, you come to fuss over my patients. But that’s not why you’re here this time, is it?”
Aiyaka shook her head, her ribbon-tied hair brushing her shoulder. “No… I was wondering if Chiori-sama is in her office at this hour.” Her tone was soft, careful, as though she rarely asked for herself.
For a heartbeat, Shinobu’s violet eyes widened—surprise flickering across her face. “Oh? It’s not every day you come looking for her.” Her voice carried a note of curiosity, but she let it drift away, unwilling to pry too deeply into her sister’s heart. Instead, her smile softened, losing its teasing edge. “Yes… she’s in her office.”
Relieved, Aiyaka returned the smile, the faintest glimmer of light in her golden eyes. “Thank you. You can always call for me if you need help, Shinobu.”
Shinobu’s lips parted, and for once, the words she spoke carried no mask. “Aya-nee…” Her voice lowered, warm and unguarded. “You really are an angel, you know. I don’t think I could’ve come this far without you.”
For just a moment, the mansion seemed quieter, the bustle fading around them as Shinobu’s heart spoke. She had lost her parents so young, but in Aiyaka’s presence, that hollow ache felt a little less unbearable.
Aiyaka reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from Shinobu’s cheek with the tenderness of an older sister. “Then I will stay by your side as long as you need me,” she said gently, her smile glowing like moonlight through blossoms.
Shinobu’s eyes softened, her usual sharp wit giving way to the vulnerable younger sister she rarely allowed anyone to see. She gave a small wave, but her expression lingered with unspoken affection.
As Aiyaka turned toward Chiori’s office, Shinobu watched her go, her heart lighter, steadied by the presence of the one person who reminded her that family still remained.
The faint scent of parchment and wisteria greeted Aiyaka as she stepped into the narrow, lantern-lit room. Scrolls lined the wooden shelves in tidy rows, each bundle tied with precise knots. Hanging talismans swayed lightly in the evening breeze seeping through the paper-screen window, their shadows trembling across the writing desk cluttered with brushes and inkstones.
At the desk sat Chiori, her slender fingers moving with practiced grace as she blended herbs into steaming tea. She looked up, a serene smile softening her porcelain features. “Ah… Aya-chan.” Her grayish-lavender eyes warmed, though curiosity flickered beneath them. “What brings you here at this hour?”
Aiyaka’s ribbon-tied hair slipped over her shoulder as she stepped closer, the soft fragrance of sakura blossoms following her. Her amber gaze glowed faintly in the lamplight, warm but weighed with something heavier. “It’s good to see you well, Chiori. I hope I’m not intruding.”
Chiori let out a quiet laugh, light as silk threads. “Not at all. Having you here brightens this place.” Her tone softened, perceptive as always. “But… I imagine this isn’t a casual visit.”
Aiyaka exhaled, her voice as calm and steady as ever, though its gentleness carried an edge of gravity. “Kagaya-sama has sent me on a mission. He foresees that I may encounter an Upper Moon.”
The words broke the stillness like a blade against stone. Chiori’s expression flickered, her composure shifting into quiet alarm. Setting aside her tea, she rose and moved toward the shelves, her silk-woven bun swaying as she searched. “An Upper Moon…” she murmured, voice low, troubled. “And you came here to seek knowledge.”
Aiyaka nodded, her hands folding neatly within her sleeves. “I know the odds. Still, I wanted to be prepared.”
Chiori’s fingers finally stilled on a scroll bound with crimson string. She drew it out carefully and carried it back. “Here. Records of the Twelve Kizuki.” Her voice, though steady, carried the undercurrent of a sister’s concern.
Unrolling it, Aiyaka scanned the inked pages, her golden eyes flickering steadily over every detail, her calm presence unmoving even as the words spoke of horrors. Minutes passed before she gently rolled the parchment closed and returned it with both hands. “Thank you. This will suffice.”
Chiori blinked, surprise crossing her usually composed face. “So soon? Are you certain?”
Aiyaka’s lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile, the kind that steadied even the most anxious of hearts. “Of course. Don’t stay up too late, Chiori.” Her voice carried that same nurturing tone she gave to the youngest slayers—a promise of strength, even as she turned toward the door and the shadows that awaited her.
Chiori stood there, the faint steam of forgotten tea curling at her side, watching her closest friend walk away. Aiyaka’s presence left the room quieter, but in Chiori’s chest lingered the sharp ache of fear, woven with deep trust.
Midnight draped the northern mountains in silence. The air was thin, laced with pine and cold stone, and Aiyaka’s soft steps barely disturbed the frost-hardened ground as she searched the ridges. Her amber-gold eyes swept the valleys with quiet diligence, ensuring no villagers had wandered into danger.
When she crested a slope, the air shifted. Heavy. Oppressive. A prickle crawled down her spine as though countless eyes bore into her flesh—yet she knew only one being stood in the darkness.
Aiyaka turned slowly, her expression serene, lips curved in a gentle smile that did not falter. Moonlight spilled across her pale skin and her flowing sleeves trailed like wings as she faced the figure at the summit. “Of all demons,” her voice was calm, melodic, “I did not expect to meet you so soon.”
The demon emerged from the shadows, and the moon unveiled his form. Long hair black as ink with streaks of crimson fell over his shoulders. Countless eyes glimmered across his face and body, but one pair fixed her most keenly—marked with the kanji for “One.”
Aiyaka’s golden gaze did not waver. “The strongest of the Kizuki.”
Kokushibō’s voice was low, resonant, steeped in disdain. “You appear… unnervingly composed.” His many eyes studied her, reading her stance, her heartbeat, her scent. “Never before has a slayer greeted me without trembling.”
Her angelic smile lingered, soft as if she were comforting a frightened child. No fear bled through her presence, only that quiet, nurturing calm. For him, it was abhorrent. The sight of such serenity in his shadow sickened him, a reminder of humanity he long abandoned.
Aiyaka tilted her head, her tone even, almost teasing in its gentleness. “What’s wrong? Not going to strike? I usually allow my opponents the first move.”
A sharp scoff tore from Kokushibō, though his composure never cracked. His hand brushed the hilt of his blade with deliberate calm. “Then I shall oblige. That smile, that calm—” his voice deepened, each syllable weighted like steel, “—I will carve it from you and devour the arrogance it conceals.”
The night tightened around them, mountain winds falling silent, as Kokushibo shadow met the quiet blossom’s light.
The mountain air quaked. Frosted stone cracked beneath the weight of two auras pressing against each other—one, cold and suffocating like a black eclipse; the other, serene and radiant, like moonlight filtering through cherry blossoms.
Kokushibō drew his blade with slow inevitability, the countless eyes carved into its surface glinting under the moon. His voice was low, formal, sharp as a blade’s edge.
“Moon Breathing… Sixth Form: Perpetual Night, Lonely Moon—Incessant.”
A whirl of crescent blades erupted, arcs of pale light carving the mountain air. The ground split, stones shrieking as though the earth itself feared him.
Aiyaka exhaled, her twin shortblades flashing pearl-white, crimson veins shimmering like the wings of a crane catching moonlight. Her expression remained warm, lips curved in that soft, maddening smile.
“Elysian Breathing Third Form: Angel’s Descent.”
From her blades cascaded a rain of scarlet feathers—slashes so fine they sang as they fell. They collided mid-air with Kokushibō’s crescent moons, each strike tearing apart the other, sending shockwaves that shattered the mountain’s peak into fragments.
Wind howled. Snow lifted in storms. Neither warrior bled.
Kokushibō’s many eyes narrowed. He shifted, stance wider, his killing intent pressing down like an ocean. “Your composure… it disgusts me.”
Aiyaka’s eyes glowed like warm embers. She pivoted, graceful as a dancer, her sleeves trailing like wings. “Composure is strength. If you mistake it for arrogance, then your hatred blinds you.”
Their blades sang again.
“Moon Breathing… Fifth Form: Moon Spirit Calamitous Eddy.”
A vortex of crescent moon blades headed her way.
“Elysian Breathing First Form: Mercy’s Embrace.”
Her twin blades flowed like water, disarming without killing—redirecting his arcs, turning lethal cuts into harmless sparks against stone.
The clash detonated, cracking cliffs into rubble. Rockslides tumbled down into the valleys. From far below, terrified wildlife scattered as the mountain itself groaned under the weight of gods at war.
Yet still—no blood. Not a single strike found flesh.
Kokushibō’s voice, calm yet edged with venom, broke the silence. “You toy with me. Holding back.”
Amber-gold eyes softened, her expression as if consoling a frightened child. “So are you.”
For the first time, a muscle in Kokushibō’s jaw tightened. His killing intent rose higher, pressing the night into suffocation. Yet her calm remained unbroken, a quiet flame refusing to yield.
When their blades met again, the mountain’s crown split, avalanching into the abyss below. And still, amidst destruction, the two figures stood—locked in a dance of precision and annihilation, each refusing to show their true hand.
The night trembled, knowing this battle was not yet meant to end.
The forest quaked beneath their feet. Snow hissed from branches as Kokushibō and Aiyaka blurred between the trees, their figures vanishing and reappearing like ghosts. Every clash of breath styles lit the night in flashes of pale arcs and crimson feathers, as though the heavens themselves were at war.
“Moon Breathing…Third Form: Loathsome Moon, Chains.”
His blade split the forest in a storm of crescents, slashing bark and branch alike. Trees toppled in unison, collapsing with groaning cracks that echoed like thunder.
Aiyaka’s feet barely touched the snow. She slid past the collapse with dancer’s grace, her twin blades shimmering with their pearl-white glow.
“Elysian Breathing… Second Form: Seraph’s Bloom.”
Her strikes scattered outward, slashing through falling trunks. Each stroke burst into a flurry of pale petals, colliding with his crescents mid-air. When the techniques met, shockwaves tore across the clearing—snow blasting into whirlwinds, roots wrenched from the earth, splinters raining like arrows.
Neither bled. Neither faltered.
Kokushibō’s many eyes tracked her, relentless, cold as a blade in winter. His tone was low, measured, filled with disdain.
“Your movements lack killing intent. Do you mock me, slayer?”
Aiyaka twirled her shortblades, one engraved with 慈悲 (Mercy) , the other with 守護 (Protection), their faint crimson glow painting her breath in the moonlight. Her smile was calm, unbearably gentle.
“I only strike to protect. If you mistake mercy for weakness… you are blind.”
With a rush of wind, she vaulted into the canopy. Snow-laden branches snapped under her weightless passage. He followed, body a blur, his blade carving arcs of cold light.
“Moon Breathing… Second Form: Pearl Flower Moongazing.”
Three crescent-shaped slashes releasing crescent moon blades along with them, shredding branches in spirals, felling pines in showers of ice and bark.
“Elysian Breathing… Third Form: Angel’s Descent.”
Scarlet feathers rained from above, slashing apart the incoming crescents, each clash bursting into violent concussions that rattled the forest floor.
The two blurred past each other, weaving through the collapsing woodland, their forms vanishing in bursts of speed. Every impact destroyed more of the snowy forest—rows of trees flattened as though giants had torn through them, white powder scattering into choking mist.
Still, not a single strike found flesh.
Kokushibō landed in the wreckage, snow curling at his feet from the pressure of his aura. His voice was quiet, edged with hunger.
“You are not ordinary. Tell me your name before I carve it into memory.”
She landed across from him, breath steady, blades drawn in mirrored arcs like wings. Her amber eyes glowed with unwavering warmth despite the ruin around them.
“Aiyaka,” she answered simply. “Remember it, for you will never take it.”
The air grew heavier. Blades lifted. Snow swirled violently between them.
Then, with a breath, they vanished once more into the forest—locked in a dance of destruction, their restrained power enough to tear the mountain woods to shreds.
The clash of blades ceased. Snow drifted silently between them, and Kokushibo’s many eyes narrowed as he lowered his stance.
Aiyaka, though cautious, mirrored him—her twin shortblades still angled in graceful readiness. Her amber-gold gaze shimmered, curious, but steady.
Kokushibo tilted his head, his expression unreadable. His voice came low, measured, edged with something darker than mere curiosity.
“Ah. Now I see.”
Aiyaka blinked, tilting her head slightly like a gentle bird. “See… what?” she asked softly, though her smile thinned, her fingers tightening against her hilts.
Kokushibo’s eyes scanned her—the faint purple tips of her hair, her luminous gaze, her breathing rhythm that rippled like something ancient yet pure.
“Muzan ordered us to prioritize your death above the other Hashira. I wondered why. What makes you worth his caution?”
His gaze sharpened, the crescent scars of his weapon gleaming in pale moonlight.
“But now…” His voice dropped. “I understand.”
Aiyaka’s breath hitched, her smile straining though it refused to break.
Kokushibo’s finger leveled at her like a verdict.
“Aiyaka Kurobane. Daughter of Akihiro and Hoshika. That breathing of yours—derived from their forbidden Phantasm Breathing. Your very existence is a thorn Muzan cannot ignore.”
Her eyes widened, heart slamming in her chest. She forced composure, her voice trembling beneath the calm tone:
“…How do you know that?”
Silence. Only the sound of snow cracking under the weight of broken trees around them.
Kokushibo turned slightly, sensing the horizon paling with the promise of dawn. His voice, quiet but absolute, slid into the cold air.
“Let us meet again soon. Our battle… and this conversation… are not finished.”
But then—something shifted.
The world stilled.
One angel appeared before him, shoulders quivering, weeping silently. Then another. Then another. Until Kokushibo’s six eyes widened at the vision of countless crying angels surrounding him, their sorrow pressing on his mind like iron chains.
His breath faltered. His hand gripped his blade, but for the first time in centuries, hesitation crept into his chest.
“…What… is this?” His whisper cracked faintly.
Behind him, her voice came—a trembling softness, yet terrifying in its calm certainty.
“Elysian Breathing… Fourth Form—Celestial Lament.”
He froze. He hadn’t even heard her move. No sound. No presence. Only her whisper against his back.
“I won’t allow you to sleep soundly… not anymore.”
The angels wailed once more—then vanished.
And so did she.
Kokushibo stood alone in the snow, his grip trembling ever so slightly. For the first time, silence felt heavier than steel.
Chapter 5: Blades and Banter: The Shrine Mission
Notes:
This will now be the first turning point of the story for Itsuki.
Chapter Text
The clack of wooden blades rang through the courtyard, sharp and steady, echoing against the mansion’s walls. Itsuki’s strikes came ruthless and unrelenting, his broad shoulders moving with the weight of someone who had never once held back in training. Obanai met them with precise deflections, his serpentlike focus unbroken even under the sheer force pressing against him.
“So—” Itsuki’s tone was casual, though his red-ringed eyes burned with intensity as his blade pressed in. “How was your lunch with Mitsuri?”
Obanai exhaled through his teeth, parrying with crisp efficiency. “Good. Just like you said.”
“Hmph.” Itsuki pivoted, forcing Obanai back a step. “I told you to stop overthinking.”
“I wasn’t overthinking.” Obanai’s mismatched eyes flicked up briefly, narrowed. “I was… considering details.”
“Same thing,” Itsuki shot back, his expression unreadable, but there was the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. He swung low, forcing Obanai to twist and counter.
Obanai’s breath came sharp. “You talk too much for someone who claims emotions are a waste.”
“I never said emotions were a waste,” Itsuki replied coolly, circling like a wolf. “I said mercy is.”
The clash of wood rang again, faster now. Obanai’s grip tightened, his voice lowering. “Mitsuri doesn’t need mercy. She needs certainty.”
That earned him a brief, satisfied grunt from Itsuki. “Good. You’re learning.”
Obanai hissed at the jab, his jaw tightening. “You act like a teacher, but you only enjoy watching me struggle.”
“Maybe,” Itsuki muttered, his strike so sudden it nearly disarmed Obanai. His smirk—rare and fleeting—ghosted across his scarred face. “Or maybe I like watching you finally get it.”
Obanai steadied himself, his pale skin damp with sweat. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’d be hopeless without me,” Itsuki countered.
For a moment, silence hung between them—save for the sound of wood cracking against wood, and the distant caw of Itsuki’s crow perched on the wall, feathers ruffled, its glowing eyes following every motion.
Obanai’s breath hitched in quiet irritation, but his blade never faltered. “Tch. Rival or not… you’re the only one I trust to say it straight.”
Itsuki’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice was steady, low. “Then don’t waste that trust.”
And with that, he lunged again, their spar resuming with renewed ferocity
The mountain air was cool and sharp, but Itsuki’s breath remained steady as he sprinted down the rocky slope for the tenth time. His boots pounded against the earth in relentless rhythm—thud, thud, thud—before he reached the bottom and pivoted sharply, ready to climb again. His body showed no sign of strain. His legs didn’t burn, his lungs didn’t ache. Training this way was as natural as breathing.
A harsh caw split the air.
Itsuki’s blood-red eyes flicked upward just in time to see a black streak diving toward him. His Kasugai crow descended in a storm of flapping wings, glowing red eyes fixed on him, the scar along its wing visible even in the fading sunlight.
“Oi, idiot!” the crow bellowed, voice booming like a drunken commander. “Get your ass to the Ubuyashiki estate this instant!”
Itsuki stopped at the base of the mountain, expression flat, arms folding across his broad chest. His tone was dry as he muttered, “Well, it’s good to see you again too.”
The crow swooped lower, landing on his shoulder with a graceless thud, feathers scraggly and ruffled. It immediately jabbed its beak into his wild hair. “Don’t get smart with me, bastard. Orders are orders—move it!”
Itsuki tilted his head, unbothered by the pecking. “What, no warm greeting? No ‘how was training’? I’m hurt.”
“Training?!” the crow screeched, wings flapping for emphasis. “You call running up and down a pile of rocks training? A demon could’ve eaten three villages by now, you iron-scented lunatic!”
Itsuki exhaled a long, unimpressed sigh, starting his climb back up the mountain at a leisurely pace. “I’ll go. Let me put my uniform on first. Unless you want me to walk into Ubuyashiki-sama’s home shirtless and scaring the attendants again.”
The crow cawed in outrage, hopping along his shoulder. “Tch! You’d terrify the lot of them, and I’d be the one cleaning up the mess, you heartless brute!”
A faint, fleeting smirk tugged at Itsuki’s scarred jawline, hidden beneath his usual cold expression. “Exactly why I’d do it.”
The crow screeched curses loud enough to echo down the valley, and Itsuki, silent and steady, began the climb—steps heavy as stone, eyes sharp as a predator. The banter between slayer and crow was nothing new; it was routine, almost comforting. This was simply their way—harsh words, sharp edges, and a rhythm as steady as training itself.
The mansion air was still, perfumed faintly with wisteria. When Itsuki entered the quiet chamber, the first thing he noticed was Chiori seated gracefully beside Kagaya. Her lavender kimono pooled around her like rippling parchment, her gray-lavender eyes calm but observant. Kagaya himself sat in his usual quiet dignity, pale hands folded, his smile soft as if sunlight had found its way indoors.
Itsuki halted, arms folding across his scarred chest. His blood-red eyes narrowed faintly. “What is it?”
“Ah, Itsuki,” Kagaya greeted warmly, voice steady as ever. “Thank you for coming. There is a mission I would like you to undertake.”
Itsuki gave a wordless nod. From outside, his crow perched on a cypress branch, glowing red eyes unblinking.
Kagaya gestured with serene grace toward Chiori. “You will act as a bodyguard for Chiori-san on her mission.”
The words landed like a stone in a still pond. Even Chiori blinked in surprise, her usually steady composure faltering. Itsuki’s crimson eyes flicked once, flat with disbelief. “…Say what?”
From outside came a shrill, rasping laugh. “Hah! Bodyguard!? Even a damn child could play babysitter better than this idiot!” the crow bellowed, wings flapping hard enough to shower loose feathers. “Send him to kill demons, not hold hands!”
Itsuki’s jaw tightened. “Shut it.”
The crow only cawed louder. “Make me, bastard!”
Kagaya’s lips curved in amusement, though his voice remained gentle. “Aiyaka has already been burdened with many missions last week. I would entrust this one to you, Itsuki. Chiori-san is… important to the Corps, and I wish for the best at her side.”
Itsuki exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing. “Flattery will get you nowhere, bro.” His tone was sharp, but his posture shifted, a grudging acceptance. “Still… I’ve been sitting idle too long. Fine. I’ll take it.”
“Thank you, Itsuki,” Kagaya said, his smile blooming like quiet dawn. He inclined his head to Chiori. “Please, share the details.”
Chiori’s serene voice filled the chamber. “There is a ruined shrine hidden deep in Kyoto’s mountains. Once holy, it was abandoned centuries ago after a massacre. Rumors say demons defiled it for blood-binding rituals.” Her gaze lowered slightly, hands folding within her sleeves. “I intend to decipher the inscriptions and records left behind. My memory and knowledge of old scripts make this possible… but I cannot do so alone.”
Her voice softened with hesitation. “However—”
Itsuki’s arms crossed, his voice cutting in like a blade. “Let me guess. There’s a chance some demon cult remnant or higher-rank is roosting there.” His tone was bored, but his eyes glinted sharp. “And if they get their hands on one of us, the Corps leaks like a gutted fish.”
Chiori’s eyes widened slightly at his accuracy before she gave a quiet nod. “Yes. That is exactly it.”
Kagaya’s smile never wavered. “Then it is decided. I leave Chiori-san’s safety in your hands, Itsuki. Please, protect her well.”
From outside, the crow cawed like thunder, dripping with mockery. “Ha! This is rich! You, the cold-blooded bastard, playing nursemaid? Oh, this’ll be good!”
Itsuki’s scarred jaw tightened as he started toward the door. “One more word out of you, and I pluck every feather off your miserable hide.”
The crow squawked indignantly, but Itsuki kept walking, iron scent trailing him like a stormcloud. Chiori glanced after him, serene eyes soft with something unspoken—while Kagaya’s smile deepened, as if he had planned this pairing all along.
The forest path was narrow, damp earth soft beneath their sandals. Shafts of light spilled through the canopy, dappling Chiori’s lavender kimono. Their walk was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and the occasional crunch of Itsuki’s heavy steps.
He moved ahead without a word, his cloak brushing the undergrowth, but every so often he slowed his pace for her. Once, he even held aside a low branch, though he did it so casually it looked accidental. When they crossed over tangled roots, he shifted just enough to put himself between her and the shadows of the woods.
Chiori noticed—more than once. A small, warm smile crept onto her lips before she realized she had been staring.
“Oi, lady!” the crow shrieked from atop Itsuki’s wild black hair, eyes glowing like embers. “Don’t tell me you think this ugly bastard is handsome!”
Chiori startled, nearly tripping on a stone. “W-What?!”
The crow jabbed Itsuki’s head with its beak. “First time I saw this guy, I thought he was a demon crawling outta hell. Look at that face—ugh! Makes babies cry.”
Itsuki didn’t even flinch. He sighed, long-suffering. “What are you doing here, exactly?”
“I’m making sure she doesn’t end up dead, obviously,” the crow cawed, puffing out scraggly feathers. “Because let’s be real—your people skills are worse than your face.”
Chiori covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. The faint crinkle of her eyes gave her away.
Itsuki side-eyed her, deadpan. “If you care so much, why don’t you take care of her yourself?”
The crow flapped indignantly. “Don’t get clever with me, bastard! I can’t carry her on my back!”
This time, Chiori let out a soft laugh, the sound light and genuine. “You two sound as if you’ve been quarreling for years.”
“We have,” Itsuki muttered flatly.
The crow puffed. “And I’ll win someday, just you watch.”
Chiori chuckled again, her voice like a bell among the trees.
Night had settled over the forest, the canopy above pricked with faint stars. The cicadas had quieted, leaving only the crunch of sandals over roots and the whisper of grass. Chiori’s shoulders drooped; though she carried herself gracefully, her steps had slowed, her pale hand pressed lightly against her chest.
From atop Itsuki’s head came a sharp peck .
“Oi, idiot!” the crow screeched, feathers flaring. “Slow down! Can’t you see the lady’s about to collapse?”
Itsuki hummed, glancing over. He caught the way Chiori’s breath came uneven, her soft sigh misting in the cool night air.
“Can’t go on any further?” His tone was flat, but his eyes lingered.
Chiori shook her head gently, guilt flashing across her face. “No… I am sorry.”
The crow cawed triumphantly. “See? Told you! She’s not a monster like you, bastard!”
Itsuki crossed his arms with a long exhale. “Fine. We’ll rest.”
Chiori’s lips curved in a relieved smile. “Thank you, Abyss Hashira.”
The crow puffed out its chest, pointing its beak toward a shadowed cliffside. “Ha! There—cave! I spotted it first. Beat you, bastard!”
Itsuki rolled his eyes. “Stupid bird. That cave could be crawling with demons.”
“Exactly!” the crow shot back, feathers bristling. “That’s where you come in.”
For a moment, Itsuki pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned to Chiori. “Does resting there sound acceptable to you, Shirakawa?”
She nodded, her smile soft. “Yes. Thank you… for asking me first.”
Inside, the cave was cool and surprisingly quiet, only the faint drip of water echoing against stone. Itsuki swept the shadows with a sharp gaze, but no demon scent lingered.
“Rest as much as you can,” he told her firmly, his scarred arms folding across his chest. “We leave at first light.”
Chiori inclined her head. “Understood, Abyss Hashira.”
The crow gave another jab at his skull. “Tch—what’s your rush, huh? Planning to brood faster tomorrow?”
Itsuki groaned, flicking the bird gently off his shoulder. “Go sleep, idiot. I’d rather you not snore on my head again.”
The crow squawked indignantly, while Chiori’s quiet laughter rang like a chime through the cavern, softening even the cold night air.
The morning sun filtered through the trees, brushing the forest in golden light. Dew clung to Chiori’s sleeves as she followed beside Itsuki, her steps quiet, her breath calm though a trace of sleepiness lingered on her face. The crow, however, was anything but calm.
“Move it, you slowpokes!” the bird screeched from Itsuki’s shoulder, wings flapping as if it were about to launch. “I see the shrine already! Are your legs made of noodles?”
Itsuki groaned, rolling his shoulders and muttering, “Yeah, yeah,” as though the crow’s voice were no different than buzzing gnats.
Beside him, Chiori covered a small yawn with her sleeve, then rubbed her eyes. Her voice was soft, curious. “I’ve been meaning to ask since yesterday…” She tilted her head slightly, grayish-lavender eyes glimmering. “Why is your Kasugai crow so… loud all the time?”
Itsuki exhaled through his nose, his scarred jaw tightening with a faint smirk. “If I knew, I’d silence him. He’s been like this since I got him as a kid.”
Chiori blinked in surprise, her lips parting. “Kid?” She tilted her head further. “You mean… you’ve had him since then?”
Itsuki caught himself, pausing for the briefest moment before shrugging it off. “Ah. Spoke too much.” His tone turned flat again. “Don’t worry about it, Shirakawa.”
The crow cawed indignantly, pecking at his head. “Don’t tell her not to worry! You made me sound like some lifelong curse!”
Chiori pressed her sleeve to her mouth, hiding a tiny laugh. “You two… quarrel like siblings.”
Itsuki gave her a sidelong glance. “Don’t insult me.”
“Oi, bastard!” the crow snapped. “If I’m your sibling, I’m clearly the handsome one.”
Itsuki deadpanned, “Handsome? You look like you’ve been plucked by a cat.”
Chiori let slip a soft giggle, the sound light as falling bells. “Still… I think it’s endearing.”
Both Itsuki and the crow turned to stare at her.
“Endearing?” Itsuki repeated flatly.
“Are you blind, woman?” the crow squawked. “Do these ragged feathers look endearing to you?”
Chiori only smiled serenely, tilting her head. “Perhaps not the feathers… but the way you two speak to each other.” She clasped her hands together, thoughtful. “It’s very… human. Almost like family.”
Itsuki’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing, his pace slowing ever so slightly as if considering her words.
The crow, however, puffed up proudly. “Ha! Did you hear that? Family! You should treat me better, bastard. Maybe feed me something nice for once—”
Itsuki flicked his finger at the crow’s beak, silencing it with a sharp clack . “Shut it before I roast you.”
“Abuse! Abuse!” the crow wailed, though its glowing eyes glittered in amusement.
Chiori’s laughter bubbled again, a gentle sound that carried on the morning breeze. And though Itsuki kept his expression stony, he found himself listening to the warmth of it, a small part of him unwilling to admit how much lighter the forest suddenly felt.
The shrine loomed quiet and broken, its wooden beams leaning under years of neglect. Moss crept over stone lanterns, and the air smelled faintly of damp paper. Itsuki stepped inside first, his boots crunching against scattered leaves and dust. His blood-red gaze flicked across the floor.
“There are demon traces here,” he murmured, voice low as if unwilling to disturb the silence. He sniffed the air again, then added, “But it’s daytime. We won’t have any trouble.”
Chiori followed with graceful steps, her pale lavender sleeves brushing the air like falling petals. She paused, her grayish-lavender eyes softening as she saw rows of crumbling scrolls and carved tablets resting half-buried in debris.
Itsuki bent down, lifting one battered scroll carefully. “Surprising some of these survived at all,” he muttered.
Before he could roll it back, Chiori leaned closer. Her delicate fingers brushed the brittle surface, her expression tender, almost reverent. “Oh… this script,” she whispered, her voice carrying the same softness as the wind through paper charms.
The crow tilted its head, feathers scraggly and eyes glowing. “Bah, looks like chicken scratches! Not even demons would bother with that.”
Chiori hid a tiny smile, folding her sleeves neatly as she sat down on the shrine’s wooden step. She smoothed the scroll across her lap, pale hands precise but gentle. “No… these are ancient prayers. Here—listen.”
She began to read aloud, her voice calm and lilting, like a song meant to soothe restless children. Each syllable flowed with care, her intonations steady, maternal. The shrine’s shadows seemed to soften around her.
Itsuki remained silent, arms crossed loosely, his scarred frame outlined by the dim light. He didn’t interrupt. He simply… listened. The blood-red in his eyes dulled with thought, his sharp features caught somewhere between skepticism and quiet absorption.
The crow, however, flapped noisily onto a broken pillar. “Hmph! Sounds fancy. Bet it says, ‘Beware foul birds, do not feed them rice crackers.’”
Chiori let out the faintest laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “No… it’s a blessing for travelers, for safe journeys. Even now, after all this time… it still offers protection.”
Her words hung in the air like wisteria fragrance—gentle, comforting, and impossibly warm.
Itsuki said nothing. But his gaze lingered on her.
By the time the sun had sunk low, streaking the horizon in muted amber, Chiori had already read through most of the ancient etchings. Her voice had been steady and patient, each line treated with reverence. The crow, perched nearby, ruffled its scraggly feathers and muttered, “No wonder she’s the Corps’ intelligence broker.”
Itsuki’s scarred jaw flexed faintly, his blood-red eyes fixed on her with a rare look of focus. He only gave a short nod, then leaned toward his crow. His whisper was low, edged with command.
“Stay here with her.”
He straightened, cloak shifting like a wolf’s shadow. “I’ll look around outside.”
Moving into the night, he left the shrine behind. The air was heavy, the trees unnaturally still. The faint scent of old blood and demons lingered, but it was muddled, layered from years past. It made the hairs at his nape bristle.
The silence pressed in. Too quiet. Too calm.
His hand fell to the massive cleaver at his back, fingers curling along its scarred grip. He exhaled, eyes narrowing, then called into the trees, voice sharp enough to split the night.
“You don’t have to hide.”
The forest stirred. A low rustle, then shadows shifted between trunks. One by one, the demons stepped into view, their grins crooked and hungry. Itsuki’s gaze swept over them like a blade.
“Five…” His lips twisted into something between a smirk and a snarl. “…maybe more.”
They lunged.
Itsuki moved first. His blade tore through the air in a brutal, sweeping arc. Metal screamed; flesh split. The first demon was cleaved in two before it even touched the ground.
Another darted from the left. Itsuki pivoted, his cloak snapping wide, and the cleaver’s jagged edge slammed down, tearing half the creature’s torso away in a spray of blood. He didn’t bother with form, no breath, no flourish—just raw, overwhelming power.
A third demon shrieked, claws raised. Itsuki caught its arm mid-swipe, his scarred hand clamping down with crushing force. The cleaver rose and fell, severing the demon’s head in a single, savage stroke.
Blood spattered his sleeveless uniform, dripping down his scarred arms, staining the leather bindings dark. His pale skin gleamed wet in the moonlight. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t hesitate.
Two more demons circled warily, fear starting to gnaw at their frenzy. Itsuki’s blood-red eyes burned through the darkness, a predator’s gaze that made them falter. He stepped forward deliberately, dragging the cleaver against the earth with a low scrape of metal and stone.
“Let’s make this quick,” he muttered, voice cold, final. His grip tightened, jaw set. “I have a woman to go back and protect.”
They broke. They didn’t last.
By the time silence reclaimed the forest, Itsuki stood alone amid mangled corpses, blood dripping from his blade like molten veins. The scent of iron thickened the night air. His chest rose steady, unshaken, as though slaughter was little more than a task completed.
When Itsuki returned, the sight froze him mid-step. His crow lay crumpled in the corner, wings twitching weakly, while Chiori was pressed against the wall—her breath shallow, eyes wide. A demon loomed over her, claws poised at her throat, another raised high to strike.
A flare of rage knifed through him. How did I not sense it?
Before the demon’s blow could fall, Itsuki moved. Steel hissed, and the creature split apart in a single arc of blackened metal. Even so, he interposed himself between Chiori and death, taking the shallow rake of claws across his own shoulder.
Chiori’s gasp broke the silence. Her gaze fixed on the blood sliding down his arm. “Y-your shoulder—”
He scoffed, voice rough. “Not mine.” The demon crumbled to ash behind him.
Gathering his crow in one arm, he guided her back toward the cave. She knelt immediately, hands trembling as she steadied the bird. “He’s strong,” she whispered shakily. “Strong enough to survive this.”
Itsuki cleaned his blade in silence, crimson streaks dripping from his skin. When she rose, her eyes softened on the gash across his shoulder.
“How bad is it?” she asked quietly.
“Don’t even feel it,” he muttered.
A small smile curved her lips. “Of course. You’re one of our strongest Hashira.”
He stiffened at the title, but she didn’t notice. Her voice lowered, hesitant. “At least… let me tend it?”
For a long breath he said nothing, then finally exhaled. “…Fine.”
Her touch was careful, steady despite the faint tremor in her hands. The cave filled with the faint scent of parchment and wisteria. He found himself watching her profile, the way her focus gentled the space between them.
“I didn’t think the Corps’ Intelligence broker patched wounds,” he murmured.
“I had to learn,” she answered softly. “If I can’t fight like you, then at least I can heal.”
He studied her, curiosity cutting through his usual coldness. “You’re more than enough as you are.”
Her hands stilled, lingering at his lap as she whispered, eyes lowered. “I was there when you and Aiyaka were only teenagers. I couldn’t turn away… not after seeing how much was stolen from you.”
His breath caught, eyes narrowing in surprise. No one spoke of that time—no one dared . He tried for levity, voice low. “Our lives were already ruined long before then.”
Yet in the quiet, her presence pressed against the cracks in his armor—reminding him of a weight he rarely let himself feel.
Chapter 6: Lanterns in the Ashes
Chapter Text
The stone garden was quiet, the cicadas’ song softened by the gentle rustle of wind through the leaves. Itsuki walked slowly beside Kagaya, his broad frame steadying the frail man with each careful step. Kagaya’s pale face held its usual calm smile, the light in his ruined eyes still warm despite the weakness in his body.
“I knew you would be able to handle it,” Kagaya whispered, voice soft like drifting petals.
Itsuki didn’t answer. His gaze fixed on the path, his jaw tight as he guided Kagaya forward. The silence stretched, until Kagaya suddenly paused. His thin hand rested lightly on Itsuki’s arm.
“Is there something you wish to tell me?” he asked gently.
Itsuki blinked, lowering his head. His blood-red eyes strayed toward the flowerbeds, their colors almost mocking against the storm inside him. He exhaled, voice rough. “I don’t know... I waited for Aiyaka to return, but...” He hesitated, meeting Kagaya’s clouded gaze. “Now I can’t wait any longer.”
Kagaya only smiled faintly and let Itsuki lead him back toward his quarters. Once inside, Itsuki poured tea with steady hands that belied the turmoil in his chest. They sat across from each other, silence pressing down like heavy mist.
At last, Itsuki spoke. His tone was low, almost ashamed. “Shirakawa and my crow could have been killed.” He stared into the steaming cup, his reflection warped and trembling in the surface.
His voice lowered further, uncharacteristically fragile. “I left her inside the shrine. I left them both. If I hadn’t come back in time...” His jaw clenched, knuckles whitening around the cup. “They would’ve—”
But Kagaya interrupted with that same serene smile. “Yet they didn’t die, did they?” He set down his cup and reached across, laying his frail hand over Itsuki’s scarred one. “Suu-kun...” The childhood name slipped from his lips, tender and unshaken. “You left to search for demons, and you found one. You fulfilled your duty.”
Itsuki scoffed, though his voice cracked. “I didn’t even sense it until I returned.”
Kagaya tilted his head slightly, the calm never leaving his features. “What you felt was not failure, Itsuki. It was fear. Fear of loss. That is a weight all humans carry, no matter how strong they become. Even you.”
Itsuki’s eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a hard line. “Fear makes you weak.”
“No,” Kagaya said softly, his smile tinged with sorrow. “It makes you human.”
The words settled in the room like falling ash. Itsuki looked away, unable to accept it, unwilling to believe in such fragility. His silence spoke more than denial ever could.
The district bustled with evening chatter, lanterns glowing softly as merchants called out their wares. Senjuro eagerly darted from stall to stall, his small hands tugging at Aiyaka’s sleeve whenever something caught his eye.
“Look, Aiyaka! Fresh daikon!” he exclaimed, pointing at a basket piled high.
Aiyaka smiled, kneeling beside him so their eyes met. “Should we get some? It would go well with the grilled mackerel.”
Senjuro nodded eagerly. Kyojuro stepped forward, booming in his usual cheerful voice, “Excellent choice, Senjuro! Vegetables are the flame that fuels the body!” His enthusiasm made a few passersby turn their heads and chuckle, but Aiyaka only laughed softly, her warm amber-gold eyes shining.
As they moved along, Aiyaka reached for some radishes, carefully examining their freshness. Kyojuro watched her for a moment—her graceful hands, the way her hair ribbon trailed gently as she leaned forward. He quickly turned away when she looked up, but his ears betrayed him, faintly red against his bright hair.
Senjuro, oblivious to his brother’s fluster, tugged Aiyaka’s hand again. “Can we get those sweets too? For dessert?” He pointed at a stall selling mochi dusted in kinako powder.
Aiyaka chuckled softly. “Only if we share them after dinner.”
“Deal!” Senjuro cheered, running to the stall. Aiyaka followed, but Kyojuro lingered for a heartbeat, his gaze softening. He remembered how she had been there during their mother’s illness—calm, steady, and kind when their world was crumbling. Now, seeing her with Senjuro, her laughter weaving warmth into the evening air, he felt the thought bloom quietly in his heart: She is already part of our family.
When Aiyaka returned with the mochi, Kyojuro cleared his throat, speaking in his usual fiery tone to hide the tenderness beneath. “Aiyaka! Truly, your generosity knows no bounds. You spoil us!”
She only smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s no trouble at all. Cooking for the two of you makes me happy.”
Senjuro beamed, hugging her arm. “You’re the best, Aiyaka!”
The three of them continued down the lantern-lit street, arms full of vegetables, fish, and sweets.
The kitchen at the Rengoku estate buzzed with a warmth that wasn’t just from the stove. Senjuro eagerly set the vegetables onto the counter, his small hands arranging them with care as if each radish and carrot were treasures.
“I’ll wash the rice!” he declared proudly, puffing his chest.
Aiyaka smiled, kneeling beside him to guide his hands over the basin. “Not too much water, Senjuro. Let the grains feel like pebbles under your fingertips.” Her voice was soft and instructive, turning the simple task into a lesson.
Meanwhile, Kyojuro had rolled up his sleeves with dramatic flair. “Leave the fish to me! I shall prepare it with fiery precision!” he boomed.
But within moments, the kitchen echoed with the scrape of the knife against the cutting board—and then Kyojuro’s hearty laugh as he nearly filleted the table along with the mackerel.
“A-ah! Brother!” Senjuro yelped, eyes wide.
Aiyaka couldn’t help but giggle, covering her mouth with one graceful hand. “Kyojuro, slow down. The fish isn’t an enemy on the battlefield.”
Kyojuro blinked, then laughed even louder, unabashed. “You are absolutely right, Aiyaka! I shall treat it with the respect it deserves!”
When she stepped beside him to correct his grip, their hands brushed briefly over the handle of the knife. Kyojuro stilled for a heartbeat, his fiery gaze softening as he watched her show him the angle. But before the moment could linger, Senjuro tugged Aiyaka’s sleeve.
“Look! The rice is ready!” Senjuro announced proudly, holding up the bowl. Except—water sloshed everywhere, dripping onto his clothes.
“Oh, Senjuro,” Aiyaka chuckled warmly, kneeling to wipe his hands and sleeves with her own cloth. “You worked very hard. That’s what matters.”
Kyojuro ruffled his brother’s hair with a booming laugh. “Excellent effort, Senjuro! A little spilled water cannot quench the flames of perseverance!”
By the time the rice simmered and the fish lay neatly prepared, the three of them were laughing more than working. Senjuro hummed as he set the table, sneaking glances at the sweets they had bought earlier. Kyojuro stirred miso soup with overly dramatic concentration, while Aiyaka moved gracefully between them, her ribbon trailing like a soft tether keeping the brothers grounded.
It was not just dinner being prepared that evening—it was the quiet, steady weaving of something deeper. For Kyojuro, watching her move through their home, nurturing both him and Senjuro with warmth, the thought came as clear as flame: She already belongs here.
The table was nearly set, bowls arranged neatly, the steam of miso soup drifting through the kitchen. Senjuro’s face glowed with anticipation as he placed the chopsticks carefully, like a soldier following orders on a mission. Kyojuro stood beside him, broad grin on his face as though dinner were the greatest of victories.
Just as they were about to sit, a soft flutter brushed against the evening air. Aiyaka turned, her warm amber-gold eyes softening at the familiar sight. Her crow—its feathers white with faint pink streaks that glimmered like sakura petals—perched just outside the shoji. The gentle bird tilted its sleek head, wings folding neatly as it extended one leg. A small letter was tied there with string.
“Oh, hello there,” Aiyaka murmured, her voice carrying that calm, nurturing lilt that always seemed to soothe. She slid open the door and knelt gracefully, the hem of her sakura-patterned haori brushing against the wooden floor. With delicate fingers, she untied the message, stroking the crow’s feathers once. The bird leaned into her touch, cooing softly before settling against her shoulder.
Kyojuro and Senjuro both leaned curiously toward her, their dinner momentarily forgotten.
“It’s from Itsuki,” Aiyaka said, eyes moving gently over the neat handwriting. A faint pause lingered before she added, “He won’t be joining us tonight. He’s having dinner with Shirakawa Chiori.”
Senjuro’s shoulders dipped, his excitement faltering. “Oh… I was hoping he’d come,” he admitted quietly.
Kyojuro placed a large, reassuring hand on his brother’s back, his voice booming yet warm. “Do not let disappointment cloud your spirit, Senjuro! We shall still enjoy this meal together!” His eyes flicked briefly toward Aiyaka, softer this time, as though silently acknowledging how much her presence filled the space Itsuki left behind.
Aiyaka smiled gently, folding the letter before setting it aside. She reached to smooth Senjuro’s hair, her touch carrying the same gentle steadiness that had always comforted them both. “We’ll save some food for him. That way, when he returns, he’ll know he was thought of.”
The boy’s face brightened at her words, and the warmth of the home returned—anchored by her calm presence, Kyojuro’s boundless energy, and the quiet flutter of the white crow nesting into her hair.
After dinner, the warmth of laughter still lingered in the air. Senjuro sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling softly as Aiyaka’s pale white crow nestled against his hands, letting him stroke its streaked pink feathers. The gentle bird cooed, its soft voice like a lullaby, making Senjuro beam with childlike joy.
The sliding door opened with a low creak, and Kyojuro stepped back into the room, his hair damp from the shower, his haori hanging loosely over his shoulders. He looked every bit the flame he was—refreshed, vibrant—until his gaze fell on Aiyaka. She was at the counter, carefully arranging food onto a plate, her movements steady and precise.
Curiosity sparked in his amber eyes as he walked closer. “Whose plate is that for?” His voice carried its usual brightness, but softer this time.
Aiyaka smiled without looking up, her tone gentle and casual. “It’s for your father.”
The room stilled. Senjuro’s hands froze mid-pet, and even the crow tilted its head as though sensing the change. Kyojuro’s smile faltered, the fire in his expression dimming. His voice dropped, quiet but weighted. “Aiyaka…” He hesitated, struggling between gratitude and concern. “I know you care deeply for us, but—”
She lifted her eyes to his, her amber-gold gaze glowing with calm determination. “I know,” she said softly, her smile tender but resolute. “Still… let me try. At least once more.”
Kyojuro’s jaw tightened, but he could not deny her. He stepped closer, his broad hand settling gently on her shoulder, grounding her. “Very well. But if I hear even the slightest thing amiss, I’ll come for you immediately.” His voice was firm, protective.
Her smile deepened, touched by his worry. “Thank you, Kyojuro.”
Gathering the plate in her slender hands, the faint scent of sakura lingering around her, Aiyaka rose gracefully. The crow fluttered to her shoulder, wings folding neatly as if to accompany her on this quiet mission. She slid open the shoji and stepped into the dim hallway, her figure poised and serene as she walked toward Shinjuro Rengoku’s room.
The door to Shinjuro’s room was slightly ajar. Aiyaka lingered for a moment, her amber-gold eyes soft with hesitation before she slid it open just enough to peek inside.
There he sat, broad shoulders slouched, a bottle of sake clutched in one hand. His back faced her, gaze fixed blankly on the garden outside. The night air drifted in, cold and heavy.
She stepped quietly into the room. But even dulled by drink, Shinjuro was still a former Hashira; his senses flared. His voice was a low growl. “What do you want?”
Her smile was faint but unwavering, her tone hushed as if not to disturb the fragile silence. “I thought you might be hungry.”
The familiar voice made him stiffen. He turned, red-rimmed eyes narrowing. His lips curled in bitterness. “Who told you you could walk into my home?” His words slurred with venom. “Haven’t you done enough? Always meddling in my family’s affairs.”
Aiyaka stepped forward slowly, the plate balanced in her graceful hands. “Mr. Shinjuro, I only wished—”
He shot to his feet, fury igniting. His finger stabbed the air toward her, his voice booming. “Don’t play innocent with me! My sons adored you. My wife adored you. We welcomed you!” His body trembled as his voice broke into a roar. “And you couldn’t save her!”
The bottle flew from his hand, shattering against the wall. The sharp scent of sake filled the room, bitter as his grief.
Aiyaka’s expression softened, her voice steady despite the weight pressing on her chest. “I tried. I swear to you—”
“Don’t!” he spat, eyes blazing. “Don’t give me excuses! She’s dead! You and your cursed brother brought nothing but ruin to this family!”
His arm lashed out, striking the plate from her hands. Porcelain shattered against the floor, food spilling across the tatami like blood on snow.
The crash summoned Kyojuro. He burst through the door, golden hair disheveled from haste, flame-bright eyes hardening as they fell on the scene. He strode forward, planting himself between his father and Aiyaka, his fists tight at his sides.
“Apologize to her,” Kyojuro commanded, his voice steady but searing with anger.
Shinjuro barked out a bitter laugh. “You—!”
Behind them, a small gasp. Aiyaka turned and saw Senjuro standing in the doorway, trembling. Without hesitation, she went to him, kneeling low. She pulled him into her arms, tucking his head against her chest, shielding his ears from the shouting. Her sakura-scent wrapped around him like spring against the storm.
Kyojuro’s voice thundered, his composure fraying as he defended her. “She did nothing but give to this family! She raised me and Senjuro alongside Mother! She stayed—always—no matter how tired she was, no matter how much she suffered!” His fiery gaze locked onto his father, unflinching. “You don’t have the right to call her or her brother anything. They never abandoned us. Not once.”
Shinjuro’s silence was heavy, the kind that cut deeper than any blade. Aiyaka held Senjuro closer, her calm presence softening the boy’s sobs, while Kyojuro stood tall, fire and grief burning in his chest, daring his father to speak again.
The roof tiles were cool beneath Aiyaka’s legs, the night air carrying the faint scent of pine and distant smoke. Her white crow rested on her lap, feathers gleaming faintly in the moonlight as she stroked its head with absentminded gentleness. Her amber-gold eyes, usually so warm, were far away—lost in the scatter of stars above.
A soft creak of the tiles broke her solitude. Kyojuro’s tall figure emerged, his flame-colored hair haloed in silver light. He settled beside her with unusual quietness, his voice lowered to a whisper.
“I thought you had left…”
Aiyaka turned her head, smiling faintly, her voice calm as ever.
“I couldn’t. Even if I wanted to…”
Silence stretched between them, the kind that hummed with unspoken weight. The crow shifted, but neither of them moved. Then, Kyojuro’s voice came again, softer this time, frayed at the edges.
“It was never your fault. Nor Itsuki’s…”
Her smile wavered. Her lashes lowered, and her whisper trembled.
“I told myself that every day… but after hearing your father’s words, I—”
Kyojuro’s hand covered hers before the words could leave her lips. His grip was steady, though his eyes flickered with something raw and pained.
“Don’t.” His voice cracked softly. “Don’t blame yourself for what you could never control.”
He looked away, down at the shadowed garden below. Memories stirred unbidden—ghostly silhouettes of childhood. Little Senjuro toddling across the grass, his mother’s frail form resting by the porch, himself laughing with an energy he could hardly remember, and always… always Aiyaka and Itsuki. Two children themselves, yet carrying baskets of food, smiling through exhaustion, standing beside his family even when they were drowning in sorrow.
His throat tightened. “You were always there,” he whispered, his voice thick. “For my mother when she was sick… for Senjuro and me when we were children… for my father, even when he did not deserve it. No matter how tired you were, no matter how much it hurt you—you never left us. Not once.”
Aiyaka’s fingers trembled beneath his, but she said nothing. Her smile was luminous, fragile, like moonlight reflecting on water.
Kyojuro lifted his hand to her chin, tilting her face toward him. Her amber eyes widened slightly, the stars caught within them. He felt his heart hammer against his ribs, so loud it nearly drowned out his own breath. She was… achingly beautiful. Her hair, her scent, the quiet strength she carried in her every gesture—it was enough to burn him from the inside out.
His voice lowered, rough and vulnerable in a way it had never been before.
“You… you were the one who set my heart ablaze.”
Her breathing hitched. She didn’t move—couldn’t. He was so close she could feel the warmth radiating from him, hear the steady thunder of his heart. His eyes, glowing like embers in the moonlight, never wavered from hers.
Kyojuro’s lips parted, but his words caught, tangled in his throat. His breath ghosted against her skin, trembling with hesitation.
“You…”
The space between them seemed to vanish on its own, every heartbeat drawing them closer. Her pulse quickened—surely he could hear it. The night held its breath.
And then—softness.
Aiyaka gasped when his lips brushed her forehead instead. They lingered there, reverent, burning with everything he would not allow himself to say. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Kyojuro pulled back, his forehead resting against hers as if he couldn’t bear to let her go entirely. His breath was warm, uneven, betraying the battle raging in his chest.
Her amber eyes softened, shimmering as her crow fluttered away quietly, leaving them alone beneath the stars. Almost without thinking, her hand pressed against his chest, right where his heart beat loudest—wild, unrestrained, and so utterly human.
Kyojuro’s voice cracked low, barely audible, as though speaking too loud might shatter the fragile moment.
“Let me… take care of you this time.”
Chapter Text
Before the sun rose, Aiyaka drifted through her moonlit garden, fingers brushing over dew-kissed blossoms as though grounding herself. Yet her thoughts weren’t on the flowers. They circled back again and again to the night before—the rooftop, Kyojuro’s closeness, the strange warmth still pounding in her chest. She pressed a hand there, lips parting with a quiet sigh.
“Why… do I feel so warm?” she murmured.
Gravel crunched behind her.
“What’s wrong?” Itsuki’s voice carried the usual edge—calm, sharp, like steel drawn halfway from its sheath.
Aiyaka startled, then softened when she turned to him. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”
He scoffed, arms folding across his scarred chest. “You came back quiet last night from the Rengoku estate. Was Shinjuro there?”
Her smile was serene, almost angelic in the pale light. “Yes. But nothing happened.”
Itsuki watched her glide to the koi pond, scattering feed for the cranes. His eyes narrowed. “Your heart hasn’t stopped beating fast since you returned.”
Her hand stilled. For a moment, her amber eyes widened, then she let out a soft chuckle. “And here I thought I was stealthy.”
Silence stretched. He studied her carefully, seeing more than she realized. His sister—so gentle, so steady—was shaken by something she could not name. Something she had never learned to understand.
“You really don’t know what it means, do you?” he muttered, voice dropping low.
Aiyaka hummed absently, crouching to stroke the wolves padding into her garden. “If it doesn’t harm my body, why should I be concerned?”
He exhaled sharply, gaze flicking away. “It will. It’ll distract you. Overwhelm you.”
Rising, she dusted her hands and faced him, her ribbon catching the morning breeze. Her smile was faint, teasing, but her eyes searched his. “It seems you know exactly what I’m feeling. You could just tell me.”
Itsuki rolled his eyes, turning his head “I’d rather not. Besides…” His voice softened, almost too quiet. “No one likes spoilers.”
A pale glow lingered in the skies as Aiyaka’s white crow drifted down, its pink-tipped wings catching the morning light. It landed softly on her shoulder, feathers brushing her cheek as it cooed, almost like a lullaby.
“Both of you are summoned to see Ubuyashiki-sama,” it murmured.
Itsuki exhaled sharply, running a hand through his wild black hair streaked with silver. “I wish mine had half the manners.”
Aiyaka’s lips curved faintly as she stroked her crow’s head, the bird nestling into her hair like a child. “Thank you. We’ll leave right away.”
She glanced at her brother, amber eyes warm as always. “What do you think it’s about this time?”
Itsuki shrugged, red eyes narrowing lazily. “When it comes to him, we never know.”
By the time they reached the Ubuyashiki estate, the serenity of the place was broken by a furious screech. Itsuki’s crow swooped down, pecking at his head.
“What kept you so long, bastard? How dare you keep the master waiting!” it thundered.
Itsuki scoffed, brushing it away. “One peaceful morning. Just one—that’s all I ever ask.”
The crow flapped and jeered, “You must still be exhausted from that dinner with the Shirakawa lady!”
Aiyaka chuckled softly, her voice like running water. “Ooh, tell me all about it later.”
“Oh, definitely!” the crow cawed, clearly pleased with itself.
Itsuki groaned. “Good grief.”
The garden doors slid open, and Kagaya Ubuyashiki appeared, his frail body framed by the light of morning. Despite the weakness in his limbs, his presence filled the air with quiet strength. His pale, scarred face wore its usual gentle smile.
“Seeing you two together,” he said, his voice as soft as wind through leaves, “always brightens my day.”
Aiyaka returned his smile with angelic warmth. “How are you this morning, Kagaya?”
“Well, thank you, Aya-chan,” Kagaya replied warmly.
Itsuki crossed his arms, his crow still muttering curses at his ear. “So. What do you need from us this time?”
“I’m afraid I must send you on another mission,” Kagaya said, the gentleness never leaving his tone. But his smile dimmed. “This one will not be brief. It may take days… perhaps weeks.”
Both siblings exchanged a glance—Aiyaka’s calm but watchful, Itsuki’s sharpened with a rare spark of excitement.
“It’s been a while since we’ve had one like that,” Itsuki muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Finally, some real action.”
Aiyaka only shook her head, her smile soft as she reassured their master. “There’s no need to worry about us. Please, tell us the details.”
Before Kagaya could speak, another voice—steady, serene—entered the garden.
“You summoned me, Kagaya-sama?”
Aiyaka turned, her crow shifting lightly on her shoulder. Itsuki froze for a heartbeat, eyes narrowing. “...Shirakawa?”
Chiori stopped short as well, her lavender-gray eyes widening. “Abyss Hashira… Elysian Hashira.”
The realization came quickly to Aiyaka. She looked back at Kagaya, brows lifting. “She’s part of this mission too?”
Kagaya nodded slowly. “Exactly.”
Chiori inhaled sharply, her calm mask cracking for a breath. Itsuki’s expression hardened, though a faint, knowing smile tugged at his scarred jaw.
“You’re not serious,” he said lowly. “She’s not a fighter like us.”
But Kagaya only smiled, serene as ever despite the gravity in his words. “I’m afraid I am. This mission requires all three of you.”
The quiet of the Ubuyashiki mansion seemed to deepen as Kagaya spoke, his soft voice carrying weight that pressed on the air.
“Strange rumors have reached us,” he began, seated gracefully against the backdrop of his flower garden, his pale skin almost translucent in the morning light. “From a remote mountain region, whispers of an ancient demon cult resurface—one thought long eradicated during the Sengoku period. They are said to revive forgotten rituals tied to the very origins of Breath Styles, worshipping a high-ranking demon as a living god.” His ruined face, framed by flowing black hair, did not waver, though the words carried a quiet gravity.
“This will not be a simple extermination,” Kagaya continued gently. “The terrain is treacherous, littered with traps and concealed dangers. Only your discipline, endurance, and seamless unity can endure such a trial.” His lips curved into a soft, trusting smile. “That is why I place this mission in your hands.”
Chiori, standing at his side, placed a slender hand against her chest. Her grayish-lavender eyes trembled with unease. “Ubuyashiki-sama…” she said, voice hushed, “Aiyaka-dono and Itsuki-dono are the Corps’ most formidable Hashira. What if… I only slow them down?”
Kagaya turned his sightless gaze toward her, the corners of his lips lifting in warmth. “Chiori-san, you are not a burden. You are the key. Where their blades carve the path, your insight will steady it. This mission was meant for all three of you.”
Aiyaka stepped closer, her voice like a soft wind through sakura petals. “Please don’t worry. We will not let harm come to you.” Her crow rustled its wings gently upon her shoulder as if echoing her promise.
Itsuki folded his arms, crimson eyes narrowing, but he gave a curt nod. “Aiyaka will protect you.”
Chiori’s shoulders eased slightly, though the shadow of worry lingered. She bowed deeply. “Then I will prepare.” Her pale lavender kimono whispered against the floor as she turned and slipped from the room.
As the doors closed, Itsuki’s gaze sharpened. He looked back to Kagaya, his tone low and edged. “Are you certain about this? She hides it well, but I can tell—she’s still shaken from the last mission.”
Kagaya’s expression softened, never losing its calm. “I would not send her if I were not certain. There is strength in her heart yet untapped.”
Aiyaka touched her brother’s shoulder, her amber-gold eyes glowing with quiet resolve. “There is no need to worry, Itsuki. We will carry this together.”
Kagaya inclined his head slowly, a faint, knowing smile curving his lips. “That is why I trust you both. Go, and may you return safely.”
After carefully packing her satchel—maps folded with meticulous care, scrolls copied in her precise hand, talismans arranged in neat bundles—Chiori left the Butterfly Mansion with a faint scent of parchment and wisteria trailing behind her. Her sandals clicked softly against the stone path, her mind quietly reciting the routes and notes she had studied.
As she rounded the corner near the Mist Hashira’s estate, hushed voices reached her ears. She hesitated, instinct whispering not to intrude, yet curiosity anchored her feet. Carefully, she peered past the wooden post.
Aiyaka stood at the entrance, her white sakura-patterned haori brushing the breeze, dark hair tied with its crimson ribbon swaying like a ribbon of flame. She leaned slightly forward, her amber eyes gentle as the first dawn. “I’ll be gone for a few days,” she said, voice soft as falling blossoms. “But it won’t take long. After this, we can—”
Muichiro tilted his head, pale aqua eyes blank as drifting mist. His face, framed by loose black hair tinged with blue, was empty of recognition. “Who are you again?” he asked flatly, as if the words carried no weight at all.
Chiori’s breath caught, grayish-lavender eyes widening. What? How could he… not know her?
For the briefest heartbeat, Aiyaka’s expression faltered. Her brows knit in a fragile V, her lips parting in a silence too delicate for sound. Chiori, observant as ever, saw it—the smallest fracture in her sisterly warmth. She’s… sad, Chiori thought, a pang blooming in her chest.
But like petals closing against rain, Aiyaka smoothed it away. Her smile returned, luminous, angelic, though softer now, as though it cost her something to hold it. “Take care,” she whispered, bowing her head slightly.
The faint iron scent of her presence lingered in the air, mingling with sakura sweetness, but Chiori felt it differently this time—like a blossom bruised beneath unseen weight.
The forest was damp after the morning rain, branches dripping as if the sky still wept in fragments. Their sandals sank slightly into the soil, soft squelches accompanying their steady steps. Mist clung low to the ground, curling like restless spirits.
Chiori adjusted the strap of her satchel for the third time, her pale lavender sleeves brushing against her sides. She kept her breathing even, though her grayish-lavender eyes betrayed the effort it took to match the unyielding pace.
Aiyaka noticed instantly. Her amber-gold gaze softened, the faint scent of sakura blossoms drifting as she slowed her stride just enough. “Chiori,” she said warmly, her voice as gentle as falling rain, “you’re pushing yourself too hard. We’ve only just begun this route.”
Chiori gave a small smile, maternal as always, though her chest rose with quiet strain. “I don’t want to slow either of you down.”
“You won’t,” Aiyaka assured, slipping her hand into her satchel and producing a rice ball wrapped in cloth. She held it out like a peace offering. “Eat. Half, at least. I’ll feel better knowing you have strength.”
Chiori blinked, surprised at being fussed over, then chuckled softly, the sound like a wind chime. “You’re worse than the head nurses.”
Aiyaka’s lips curved into a playful grin. “And they learned from me.”
Behind them, Itsuki snorted faintly. His crimson eyes, sharp even under the shadow of the trees, glanced over at Chiori. His voice was low, edged like steel. “Eat. Or she’ll keep mothering you until sundown.”
Chiori let out a small laugh despite herself. “You two make it difficult to refuse.” She took the rice ball, fingers brushing Aiyaka’s briefly. “Thank you.”
Aiyaka hummed happily. “That’s better.” She tucked a strand of black hair back behind her ribbon. “We’ll take a short break after the ridge. The terrain there is steep, but manageable if we pace ourselves.”
Itsuki’s gaze swept the path ahead, his expression unreadable. “You’re too soft, Aiyaka.”
Her eyes sparkled, though her tone remained calm. “Softness can keep people alive, Itsuki. Don’t underestimate it.”
For a moment, his scarred jaw tightened, as if to argue—but then he fell silent, lengthening his strides so he walked just a step closer to Chiori. His broad shoulders cast a shield of shadow across her smaller frame. He didn’t speak, but his presence was unshakably constant, a silent promise of protection.
Chiori glanced at him, her smile faint but genuine. “You may be ruthless, Itsuki, but you’re a reliable shadow.”
He made a low noise in his throat, half warning, half reluctant amusement. “Don’t get poetic on me.”
Aiyaka covered her mouth, stifling a laugh, her eyes glowing like lanterns in the mist. “Oh, Chiori, please do. He secretly likes it.”
“I don’t.” Itsuki’s reply was flat, but his ears—reddened at the tips—betrayed him.
Notes:
This will be the last time (for now) Aiyaka and Itsuki will have an appearance since they'll be heading off on a longtime mission
Chapter 8: The Empty Seats
Chapter Text
The training grounds echoed with the sharp whoosh of a wooden blade slicing through the air. Kyojuro’s movements were relentless, each swing driven with fiery precision. The sun beat down on him, sweat glistening across his brow and shoulders, soaking into his uniform. His breath came in steady bursts, yet his golden-red eyes burned with unyielding resolve.
“Oi, Rengoku!”
The booming, flamboyant voice carried easily over the courtyard. Kyojuro paused mid-swing, chest rising and falling with exertion, and turned with a bright, wide grin. His wild mane of flame-colored hair caught the sunlight, almost glowing as he spotted Tengen striding toward him.
“Ah, Uzui!” he greeted, wiping sweat from his temple with the back of his hand. His voice, though breathless, still thundered with cheer. “How was your date with your wives?”
Tengen threw back his head with a laugh, jewelry glinting as his hand rested dramatically on his hip. “Flamboyant as always! Naturally, they can’t get enough of me.” His smirk turned sly as his sharp eyes narrowed. “But you , I’ve never seen so fired up at training. Something weighing on that passionate heart of yours?”
Kyojuro laughed loudly, the sound ringing clear in the summer air. “What’s so bad about training harder? Strength is always worth pursuing!”
But Tengen wasn’t fooled. He stepped closer, his movements loose and confident, and lowered his voice into a teasing drawl. “Hah. Don’t tell me this intensity is for the Little Dove .”
For the first time, Kyojuro’s laughter faltered, his cheeks blazing hotter than the afternoon sun. His ears tinged red, and he rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “W-Well! I don’t see any reason other than striving to protect the ones we care about!” His words were bold, but the hitch in his tone betrayed him.
“Uh-huh,” Tengen drawled, grinning wide. He clapped a jeweled hand onto Kyojuro’s shoulder with theatrical flourish. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that, bud.”
Kyojuro only laughed again, louder this time, though his heart beat faster at the thought of Aiyaka.
“Come on,” Tengen continued, slinging his arm around Rengoku with brotherly ease. “It’s time for the Hashira lunch gathering. Don’t want the others to think we forgot them.”
“Right!” Kyojuro agreed, his booming voice full of warmth. “We mustn’t keep them waiting!”
As they walked together, the heat of the sun on his back was nothing compared to the warmth blooming in Kyojuro’s chest. Beneath his steady smile, he couldn’t help but feel excited to see Aiyaka there
The dining hall was already alive with warmth and chatter when Rengoku slid the door open. The aroma of grilled fish and steaming rice hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of tatami mats.
Mitsuri was the first to notice him, springing to her feet with her usual effervescent energy. Her pink-and-green hair swayed as she waved both hands. “Rengoku! Uzui! You made it!”
Shinobu, seated gracefully beside Giyuu, let out a soft laugh behind her hand. “It’s good to see you both doing well. You certainly took your time.”
Giyuu didn’t lift his eyes from the table, a faint hum his only response. He sat with arms folded, quiet as the still water he resembled.
The sliding doors rattled again as Sanemi stalked in, Obanai just behind him. Sanemi’s sharp eyes swept the room. “Are we the last ones?” he asked gruffly, already sounding annoyed.
Tengen leaned back on one elbow, grin wide, rings and jewels catching the lamplight. “Nah, no need to get your feathers ruffled. A couple more are missing.”
Obanai slipped wordlessly into place beside Mitsuri, the coils of his serpent curling lazily on his lap. His mismatched eyes softened fractionally as he turned toward her. “How are you today, Kanroji?”
Mitsuri nearly squeaked, her face lighting up pink. “I’m doing well, thank you, Mr. Iguro! And you?”
“Fine,” Obanai murmured, curt as ever—but his gaze lingered on her a heartbeat longer.
The shoji slid open once more, and Gyomei entered with Muichiro at his side. The stone pillar’s massive frame seemed to fill the doorway, his prayer beads clicking softly in his hands. Muichiro trailed in silence, eyes drifting as though caught halfway between this room and some distant thought.
“Oi!” Tengen called flamboyantly, flashing them a grin. “You two finally made it!”
Gyomei bowed his head deeply, his tone calm and steady. “We apologize for being late.”
The group settled. Bowls clinked, tea was poured. Muichiro lowered himself onto the cushion, his pale gaze idly sweeping across the low table. His eyes paused on the two empty seats beside him.
Rengoku followed his glance, brows knitting. “Where are Itsuki and Aiyaka? They’re not usually the ones late.” His voice carried both curiosity and concern.
Gyomei’s hands tightened faintly around his beads. “Unfortunately,” he said gravely, “the two of them won’t be joining us today—or for a few days.”
The words rippled across the table. Mitsuri’s chopsticks stilled mid-air, Shinobu’s smile faltered, and even Obanai’s serpent lifted its head.
Mitsuri leaned forward, her voice soft with worry. “Oh no… did something happen to them?”
Gyomei shook his head gently, the beads clicking. “There is nothing to worry about. They have taken on a mission that will last several days. Chiori has gone with them as well.”
Shinobu’s expression softened, though a trace of worry lingered behind her violet eyes. “I’ve heard the siblings are assigned quite often these days,” she murmured.
Sanemi snorted, tearing into his food with little ceremony. “Hmph. They can handle it. Don’t waste your breath worrying.”
“Exactly!” Tengen boomed, already piling food onto his plate with extravagant flair. “No point brooding. Let’s dig in!”
Laughter and small talk resumed, but Rengoku found himself staring at the untouched bowl before him. His chest still carried the echo of Gyomei’s words. He forced a smile, loud and bright as ever, yet beneath it burned a quiet, steadfast hope: that Aiyaka and Itsuki would return safe.
The dining hall was warm with the smell of miso soup and roasted fish, steam curling above the table. Lanternlight softened the edges of the room, making the tatami glow faintly. The Hashira sat close together, bowls set neatly before them, but the chatter had waned into a quieter rhythm than usual.
Mitsuri leaned over, chopsticks clicking nervously against her bowl. “It feels strange without Aiyaka and Itsuki here, doesn’t it? Meals are always so much livelier when they’re around…” Her voice trailed, softening with worry.
Shinobu stirred her tea gently, eyes flicking toward Muichiro. “Speaking of which,” she said quietly, “Tokito hasn’t eaten a single bite.”
The table stilled. Muichiro sat with his gaze lowered, eyes distant as if staring through the bowl in front of him. His hands rested idly on his knees, chopsticks untouched.
Rengoku leaned forward, his voice warm but firm. “Tokito! You need your strength, especially while the others are away! Come, eat with us.”
Muichiro blinked, slow and almost dazed. “I’m not hungry,” he murmured, though his voice was thin, lacking conviction.
Mitsuri’s heart clenched. She reached toward him, her hair spilling over her shoulder like strands of pink and green ribbon. “Muichiro… it’s not good for you to skip meals. You’ll make Aiyaka and Itsuki worry when they come back.”
Obanai, seated beside her, shifted slightly. His mismatched eyes narrowed at the untouched bowl. “If they saw you like this, they wouldn’t be pleased,” he said bluntly, though his voice lacked its usual bite. “They’d scold you for being careless.”
Sanemi scoffed from across the table, though he paused with his chopsticks hovering midair. “Tch. He’s acting like some lost kid. If he keeps this up, he’ll just end up being a burden on a mission.” But his scowl didn’t hide the way his eyes lingered on the boy longer than usual.
Tengen exhaled sharply, setting down his cup with a little clink of his rings. “Oi, this isn’t flashy at all, Tokito. Sitting there with your food untouched makes the whole meal feel like a funeral feast.” His voice lowered, losing its edge of extravagance. “Eat, kid. Don’t punish yourself just ‘cause they’re not here.”
Gyomei’s beads clicked softly in his hands, his blind eyes turned toward the sound of Muichiro’s stillness. His voice came slow and deep, carrying the weight of compassion. “Even in their absence, we must take care of ourselves. It is what they would wish for you.”
Giyuu, silent until now, finally spoke, his tone quiet but steady. “I… know what it feels like. To lose appetite when the people you rely on aren’t beside you. But forcing yourself not to eat won’t bring them back any faster.” His hand rested briefly against the table, fingers tightening. “They’d want you strong.”
The words hung heavy. Muichiro’s shoulders shifted, his gaze finally breaking from the empty bowl. His lips pressed into a faint line, as though he were swallowing something invisible.
“I… just don’t feel like it,” he whispered. “It’s different without them here. I don’t forget when they’re gone.”
Mitsuri’s eyes watered instantly, her chopsticks clattering softly against the table. “Oh, Muichiro…”
Rengoku straightened, his voice booming but kind, full of his usual fire tempered with care. “Then let us eat for them! Let us carry their place at this table until they return! That way, you won’t be alone in it.”
Slowly, Mitsuri nudged her bowl closer to Muichiro, smiling through her tears. “We can share. Just one bite, okay? For Aiyaka. For Itsuki.”
The boy’s hand hesitated, trembling slightly before lifting the chopsticks. He picked up a small piece of rice, held it for a moment, then finally ate.
The silence broke into softer murmurs—relieved smiles, gentle laughter. The food’s warmth filled the air again, though the weight of the empty seats lingered, binding them all with the quiet ache of absence.
Rengoku, watching Muichiro finally take that first bite, pressed his hand against his knee, a steady fire in his chest. Hang in there, Tokito. They’ll be back soon. And when they are, this table will be whole again.
The days stretched thin in the Corps without Aiyaka and Itsuki. Though the Hashira carried on with missions and training, the absence lingered most in the quiet corners—at mealtimes, in the practice yard, and in the small ways Muichiro drifted.
Rengoku noticed first. During breakfast, the boy sat staring at the bowl of porridge before him, chopsticks loose in his fingers. Mitsuri leaned forward immediately, her curls brushing her cheeks as she chirped gently, “Muichiro, here, say ‘ahhh’—” She scooped a bite herself and held it to his lips, trying to coax a smile.
He blinked at her, as though startled back into the present, before opening his mouth obediently. “Mm,” he hummed softly, swallowing. “Thanks.”
But his voice lacked the brightness it carried when Aiyaka would feed him without hesitation, her laughter filling the room.
Later, Shinobu sat cross-legged behind him in the garden, her deft hands weaving through his long, dark hair. “Hold still, Tokito-kun,” she said, her tone playfully light though her eyes softened. She tied the last strand into a neat braid. “There, all done. You look very handsome.”
Muichiro tilted his head, fingers brushing the braid absently. “It feels… different,” he murmured. “Aiyaka ties it tighter.”
Shinobu’s smile faltered for a moment before she leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “Then I’ll practice more. Until I can do it just like she does.”
Sanemi, passing by with his usual scowl, clicked his tongue. “You’re coddling him too much.” Yet, later that day, he was spotted giving Muichiro a sharp, no-nonsense lesson with his sword. His strikes were controlled but fierce, his voice gruff. “Raise your guard higher. Don’t get sloppy just ‘cause your babysitters aren’t here.”
Muichiro’s expression remained blank as he parried, but in his eyes was the faintest spark of attention—Sanemi’s harshness echoing the way Itsuki used to correct him. When the lesson ended, Sanemi muttered, almost under his breath, “Not bad, kid.”
Gyomei, with his towering frame and gentle nature, offered Muichiro something else entirely. One evening, when the boy’s steps dragged, Gyomei crouched down and said softly, “Climb on.” Muichiro blinked, then quietly climbed onto his back. The gentle sway of Gyomei’s gait and the warmth of his broad shoulders made Muichiro’s eyes flutter half-shut. “Itsuki… used to do this,” he whispered, voice thin with drowsiness.
Gyomei’s prayer beads clicked softly in his hands as he replied, “Then let me carry you until he returns.”
Tengen, ever flamboyant, tried to fill the silence with exaggerated praise. “Oi, little Tokito! That was a flashy move in training today! Keep that up and you’ll outshine us all.” He clapped the boy on the back, grinning. But even his jeweled bravado couldn’t mask the way his gaze lingered on the empty training yard, where Itsuki usually sparred with him.
Obanai rarely spoke, but he was often nearby, setting small trays of sweets within Muichiro’s reach. The boy would nibble absentmindedly, sometimes forgetting to finish, sometimes forgetting they were even there at all. When he muttered, “Aiyaka always reminds me to eat them before they melt,” Obanai’s jaw tightened, though he said nothing.
Through it all, Rengoku remained outwardly radiant, his booming laugh filling the halls, his fire refusing to dim. Yet, in quieter moments, when Muichiro drifted into silence or forgot to respond, Kyojuro’s chest ached. He found himself staring at the empty cushions where Aiyaka usually sat, her bright energy balancing his own.
One evening, as lanterns glowed and cicadas sang, Rengoku sat with his bowl untouched. His hand curled tightly around his chopsticks. Aiyaka… you would know how to reach him. You always did.
Muichiro, sitting across from him, blinked slowly. “Kyojuro… why are you staring at the empty seat?”
Rengoku startled, then forced a smile, his eyes warm yet heavy. “Because I’m waiting for it to be filled again.”
The boy tilted his head, as if trying to puzzle out the weight in Rengoku’s voice. But then his gaze drifted back to his food, and he fell silent.
For all their efforts—the hair braids, the snacks, the lessons, the laughter—nothing quite filled the space Itsuki and Aiyaka had left behind. The Hashira tried, each in their own way, but the emptiness lingered like a shadow in every room.
Chapter 9: Lanterns for the Absent
Chapter Text
The night was still, broken only by the chorus of crickets beyond the estate walls. The Hashira lay scattered across the large tatami room, their breaths rising and falling in uneven rhythms. Mitsuri curled against her blanket like a cat; Sanemi had one arm draped over his eyes; Tengen sprawled, flashy even in sleep.
Rengoku stirred. His golden eyes fluttered open to the dim glow of lantern light. He sat up slowly, his fiery hair shadowed in the hush of night.
Across from him, Muichiro lay curled on his futon, the thin blanket slipped to his waist. His face, soft in slumber, was half-buried against the pillow. Rengoku’s gaze softened. He reached over and gently pulled the blanket back up, tucking it beneath the boy’s chin with the same care one might give a younger sibling.
“Sleep well, Muichiro,” he whispered, a small smile warming his lips though his chest ached.
He rose carefully, avoiding the creak of tatami mats, and slipped outside.
The night air was cool, the moon a pale lantern above. His steps carried him toward the edge of the garden, where a single cherry blossom tree stretched its branches skyward. Its pale petals glowed faintly in the moonlight, some drifting down like snow.
Rengoku stopped beneath it, his breath catching as memories pressed against him. He could almost see them there again—Aiyaka with her bright smile, Muichiro asleep against her shoulder, Itsuki on the other side with his protective hand resting lightly on the boy’s head. The image was so vivid it hurt, flickering like ghosts in the moonlight.
He lowered himself to the ground with a quiet sigh, leaning against the rough bark of the tree. From his haori, he pulled a folded sheet of paper and a pencil. His hands, so steady when wielding a sword, trembled faintly as he began to write.
Dear Aiyaka, dear Itsuki,
I hope this letter reaches you two, wherever your mission has carried you. May your swords remain sharp and your hearts unburdened. The estate is quieter without your laughter, without your energy. Everyone notices it—even if they don’t always say it.
We are doing our best to care for Muichiro in your absence. Mitsuri tries to feed him, Shinobu braids his hair, Gyomei carries him when he’s too tired. Tengen showers him with praise, Obanai sets sweets beside him, even Sanemi gives him lessons, though he pretends it’s nothing. But still… it isn’t the same.
There are days when Muichiro misses you and Itsuki so deeply it is written plain across his face. He stares at the empty space beside him, waiting. And then, the next morning, he forgets. As if the longing has slipped from his mind. That may be his nature, but it wounds us all the same. Because we remember. We remember for him.
You two have a way of brightening every room you enter, of making even the dullest moments burn with life. Without you, the silence is heavy. The air itself feels dimmer. I find myself missing it, missing you, more than I imagined I could.
His pencil stilled, and he lowered his head. A petal drifted down, landing on the page. Rengoku stared at it for a long moment, his throat tightening. He swallowed, then pressed on.
Please return soon. Not just for Muichiro’s sake, but for all of ours. Until then, I will keep the flame burning here, so there will be warmth waiting when you and Itsuki come home.
With unwavering spirit,
Kyojuro Rengoku
He set the pencil down, exhaling shakily, his breath visible in the chill. Folding the letter with care, he pressed it briefly to his forehead before slipping it into his haori.
Above him, the blossoms swayed, shedding their petals like silent prayers.
It had been more than a week since Muichiro stopped mentioning Aiyaka and Itsuki. At first, the boy had tugged at everyone’s sleeves, asking when they would return, staring at the gates as if expecting them at any moment. But now, he had fallen into his own quiet rhythm again, drifting like a cloud, distracted and untethered.
The Hashira carried on with their duties, though the absence of the siblings weighed heavier than they admitted. Mitsuri often sighed mid-meal, Shinobu lingered by the gates longer than necessary, Gyomei prayed with more fervor. Even Sanemi had grown more restless in sparring, his strikes sharper than usual. They all missed them, yet they believed in their strength.
Kyojuro, however, found belief alone wasn’t enough.
He trained harder than ever, sparring with Sanemi, Obanai, even coaxing Giyuu into sessions despite the Water Hashira’s reluctance. His flame-like energy burned brighter on the surface, but it was only to mask the ache gnawing at him. And every night, beneath the hush of the estate, he wrote letters. Some filled with encouragement, others with longing, many ending with his unspoken prayer: Return safely. Return soon.
He also never failed to care for Muichiro—reminding him to eat, handing him sweets, adjusting his haori. In those moments, he felt closer to Aiyaka and Itsuki, as though by tending to the boy, he was keeping their bond alive.
One afternoon, while accompanying Tengen to the market, Kyojuro’s steps faltered. His fiery gaze caught on a display in a jeweler’s stall: a silver ring, delicate but strong, the band engraved with the faint motif of cherry blossoms.
His breath hitched. For a moment, the noise of the market dulled, replaced by the quiet image of Aiyaka—her gentle smile, the way her presence had soothed his mother during her illness, the warmth she offered his younger brother when he was at his loneliest. His chest tightened, admiration blooming into something so fierce it almost hurt.
Tengen, noticing his silence, paused beside him. “What’s this? Something catch your eye?” His sharp gaze followed Kyojuro’s, then his lips curved knowingly.
Kyojuro’s jaw tightened as his eyes lingered on the ring, but he said nothing.
Tengen chuckled, folding his arms. “She’s not going anywhere, y’know. No need to rush. Women like her…” He tapped Kyojuro’s shoulder with the back of his hand, voice softening. “They don’t just slip away.”
Kyojuro blinked, caught off guard by his friend’s blunt kindness. Then he smiled—bright, unwavering, but not without a shadow of longing. “Right!” His voice rang with his usual spirit, though his heart still thudded heavily in his chest.
They turned to leave, but his gaze clung stubbornly to the ring, as though it tethered him. In his mind, a quiet dream stirred: a home lit not only by his flame but by her presence. A life in which her laughter filled the halls, her hand rested firmly in his, and he could call her his wife without hesitation.
Later that night, he found himself writing again, the words spilling unbidden onto paper.
Dear Aiyaka, dear Itsuki,
It is quiet here without you both. Muichiro drifts further into silence, though we try, oh, how we try, to fill the spaces you left. Mitsuri feeds him, Shinobu braids his hair, Gyomei lifts him on his shoulders. But it is never the same. Only you and Itsuki know how to reach him, how to ground him with patience and warmth.
I think of you often, Aiyaka. Of the kindness you showed my mother when her health was failing, the way you made my brother laugh when I could not. You were strength when I faltered, warmth when I struggled to keep the flame alive. I respect you deeply for that—and… perhaps more than I should admit on paper.
Wherever you are, please know: you are admired, you are missed, and you are cherished more than words can say.
His pencil stilled. He looked down at the unfinished line, his heart heavy yet full. Folding the letter, he whispered into the quiet night, “Please… come back safely.”
The paper trembled faintly in his hand, but his flame did not waver.
The afternoon sun bathed the market district in a warm glow, lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. The air was rich with scents—freshly baked manju, grilled fish, and the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers spilling from wooden stalls.
“Thank you again for doing this, you two!” Kyojuro’s voice rang with his usual brightness as he strode ahead, the flame-patterned edges of his haori flaring behind him. His golden eyes were alight with a rare eagerness.
Shinobu, graceful and composed at his side, gave a small nod, her lips curving in a gentle smile. “Of course. It is our pleasure. We know the shop Aiyaka often visits. That should make things easier for us.”
Mitsuri clasped her hands together, her green-and-pink locks bouncing as she practically skipped along. “I can’t wait to see Aya-chan’s face when she comes back and sees her garden! She’ll be so touched ! You’re so thoughtful, Kyojuro!”
Kyojuro’s wide grin broadened, though his chest gave a subtle ache. “I cannot wait to see her face either!” His voice carried warmth, yet beneath it lingered longing—a flame that refused to be quenched.
They wove through the bustling stalls until they reached a small florist, the doorway draped with vines of wisteria. Buckets brimmed with peonies, chrysanthemums, irises, and roses. Kyojuro halted, his eyes softening at the sight.
“These… these are perfect,” he murmured, crouching slightly to brush his fingertips against a cluster of pale lavender blossoms. His smile faltered for only a heartbeat as he whispered, almost to himself, “She loves these.”
Shinobu caught it, her violet eyes flickering curiously. “You seem to know her tastes very well,” she remarked lightly, though her tone carried something deeper. “Not many would remember such details.”
Mitsuri leaned forward, green eyes sparkling. “Ohhh, he notices everything about Aya-chan! Isn’t that romantic? Kyojuro, you really do so much for her.”
Kyojuro straightened, a faint, rare flush rising to his cheeks, though he tried to mask it with his booming laugh. “HAH! It is only natural! Aiyaka has always done so much for others. She cared for my mother when her illness grew worse… she was a light to my brother when he struggled. She has given so much of herself—it is only right that I do what I can in return!”
His voice softened, uncharacteristically so, as he selected a pot of pink camellias and set it aside. “Her kindness… her strength… it should never go unnoticed.”
Shinobu tilted her head, studying him with a knowing glimmer in her eyes. “My, my. You speak of her as though she’s more than a comrade.” Her tone was gentle, but her words deliberate, testing.
Kyojuro blinked, his smile faltering for a beat before blazing bright again. “She is… someone I greatly admire!” His hand clenched unconsciously around the small pot he carried, knuckles white against the clay.
Mitsuri, oblivious to his fluster, squealed in delight. “That’s sooo sweet! You know, Aya-chan always talks about how much she respects you too! The way you inspire others, your energy, your strength—it really moves her!”
Kyojuro’s breath hitched, just slightly, but his grin remained steady. He looked away, busying himself with another plant, his voice softer than before. “Is that so…?”
The Flame Hashira’s heart beat hard against his ribs, a fire stoked not by battle, but by something far more fragile, far more consuming.
Shinobu, watching the usually unshakable man grow flustered, allowed herself a small, teasing smile. “If you’re not careful, Rengoku-san, one might think you’re preparing for more than a garden.”
His laugh burst forth again, bright and unrestrained, but the warmth in his cheeks betrayed him. “HAH! Perhaps! But for now… let us make sure Aiyaka’s garden flourishes when she returns!”
Together, they gathered blossoms, their laughter mingling with the chatter of the district. Yet in Kyojuro’s heart, a silent vow burned brighter than any flame: to cherish Aiyaka not just as a comrade, but as the woman who had become the very center of his light.
The hill was quiet, the tall grass swaying in the cool evening breeze. The scent of incense lingered in the air, curling from a small burner Kyojuro had lit moments before. The grave stood before him—simple, but dignified. His bright flame-patterned haori caught the light of the setting sun, making him look like a figure of fire against the gentle twilight.
Kyojuro bowed deeply, his wild golden hair falling forward, before kneeling with practiced respect. His voice, so often booming with life, lowered into something softer.
“Mother. It is I, Kyojuro. I have come to see you again.” His smile was there, steady, though his eyes glistened faintly. “I hope you are at peace, watching over us. Senjuro is growing well—he trains every day with great diligence. He still misses you dearly… as do I.”
He drew a long breath, lifting his gaze to the stone, as if her spirit truly lingered before him. “There is something I wish to speak about tonight. It concerns Aiyaka… and Itsuki.”
His eyes softened, memories unfolding like old photographs. He chuckled gently, shaking his head. “Do you remember, Mother? When you were ill… and Father would not rise from his cups? It was Aiyaka and Itsuki who came to our home almost daily. They helped you sit upright when the pain grew worse. They brought Senjuro sweets to cheer him, and even made meals when I could not manage both training and caring for everyone.”
His voice cracked slightly, though his smile never wavered. “They were only children themselves… yet they bore such responsibility with grace. Aiyaka especially… she always carried warmth in her smile, even when she was weary. She made our home feel bright again when your illness cast shadows.”
The wind tugged at his haori, but he sat firm, his hands resting on his knees. His gaze lingered on the grave, his heart heavy yet full.
“I find myself thinking of her often. When she laughs, it lifts even the darkest days. When she fights, her spirit shines with strength that rivals any Hashira. But beyond her strength, it is her kindness that… that strikes me most deeply.”
His golden eyes lowered, his lips pressing into a faint, bittersweet smile. “I respect her more than I have words for. She is the epitome of compassion, courage, and warmth. I… wish to cherish her, Mother. I wish to stand by her side, as she once stood by ours. To protect her as she has protected so many.”
His hand curled slightly against his knee. “I do not know if she sees me in that way. Perhaps she does not. Yet my admiration grows each day… and with it, something more. Something greater.”
The Flame Hashira closed his eyes briefly, lifting his face toward the fading sky. His voice rang strong again, though tinged with earnest longing. “Mother, if you can hear me… I want to marry her one day. To give her the life she deserves, surrounded by love and laughter. To honor her the way she has honored us. That is my wish!”
He exhaled, breath trembling as the words left him, the honesty of his confession heavy and freeing at once. His smile returned, bright as ever, though his eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“Please… watch over her, Mother. Watch over Itsuki. They mean so very much to me.”
He bowed deeply again, his wild hair falling forward, before rising to his feet. For a long moment, he stood there in silence, flame-colored eyes fixed on the grave, his heart burning with a mix of grief, love, and determination.
When he finally turned to leave, the setting sun had dipped lower, painting the horizon in gold and crimson—the very colors of his resolve.
Chapter 10: The Hashira's Judgement
Chapter Text
The stone garden of the Ubuyashiki estate was hushed, the air heavy with cicadas and the faint perfume of moss and pine. The stillness shattered when a Kakushi barked at a boy lying bound on the ground.
“Wake up! I said wake up! Hey—can you hear me!? Get up already!” His tone grew sharp, frustration snapping with every word.
Tanjiro stirred, his lashes fluttering before his eyes flew open. He jolted upright—only to freeze at the sight before him.
A line of figures stood like looming statues, each radiating an overwhelming presence. Their uniforms and Nichirin swords marked them unmistakably as the Hashira.
Tengen Uzui smirked, crossing his muscled arms, gems glittering on his headband. “So this is the boy with the demon in tow? Hah. I was expecting someone with more flair. But he’s just… ordinary.”
Kyojuro Rengoku’s fiery mane caught the sunlight, his golden-red eyes sharp. “There’s no need to hesitate. A trial is pointless. Harboring a demon is clear betrayal of our code. The boy and his demon must be executed.” His voice boomed with certainty, though something flickered in his eyes.
Beside him, Mitsuri Kanroji clasped her hands to her chest, her pink-green hair swaying as tears gathered. “No! He’s just a child… protecting his sister despite everything. Isn’t that the most precious thing?” Her voice trembled with both sorrow and admiration.
Tanjiro’s throat went dry. Sister? Nezuko—! He whipped his head frantically, searching. “Nezuko! Where is she? Zenitsu? Inosuke? Murata—!”
The Kakushi shoved his face into the gravel. “Keep your mouth shut! Do you understand whose presence you’re in? These are the Hashira—the highest swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps!”
Shinobu Kocho crouched down gracefully, her butterfly-patterned haori brushing the stones. A soft, deceptive smile curved her lips. “Kamado Tanjiro… you’re here because we must decide your fate.” Her tone was musical, but her violet eyes glinted with something unreadable.
“Explain yourself,” she continued, voice sweet but firm. “Why are you traveling with a demon? Why are you protecting her, despite knowing our rules?”
“Who cares about his reasons?” Tengen drawled, tossing a kunai between his fingers with a lazy spin. “Let’s make this flashy. A clean decapitation and a spray of blood—the perfect spectacle.”
“Ridiculous.” Mitsuri’s eyes brimmed again, her fists trembling at her sides. “How can you speak of killing so lightly? He’s so adorable—how could you kill him!?”
Behind them, Gyomei Himejima’s massive frame towered, prayer beads in hand. His tears rolled freely down his cheeks, his voice resonant. “This boy’s existence is sorrowful. I grieve for him… perhaps it would have been better if he had never been born.”
Muichiro Tokito tilted his head back, eyes clouded, his tone distant. “Mm… that cloud looks like a rabbit. Or was it a… sheep?” His thoughts floated far from the tension.
Obanai Iguro hissed from his perch in the trees, Kaburamaru coiling around his shoulders. “Never mind the boy. What of Tomioka?” His mismatched eyes narrowed at Giyuu, standing apart. “He harbored the demon too. He’s equally guilty. What punishment does he deserve?”
Giyuu remained silent, his expression unreadable, hands loose at his sides.
Shinobu’s smile lingered as she glanced at him, voice honey-sweet. “Oh, I think it’s fine. He came without resistance, didn’t he? We can decide his penalty later.”
Her gaze fell back to Tanjiro, intent and probing. “I’d much rather hear the boy’s story. What he has done is a violation, yes, but perhaps…” her smile curved, hiding her true thoughts, “perhaps there’s more to learn.”
The garden held its breath, cicadas buzzing louder, while Tanjiro’s chest rose and fell in panic. Surrounded by the pillars of the Corps, every heartbeat thundered like a war drum.
Tanjiro’s lips cracked as he tried to form words, his throat dry and raw. He could barely move his jaw without pain.
Shinobu, eyes curving in a soft smile, stepped forward and knelt gracefully beside him. Her voice was gentle but edged with precision.
“It looks like you need some water,” she said, holding a cup to his lips. “I can tell your jaw is injured. Please, drink slowly.” She tilted it carefully, the faint fragrance of medicine drifting up. “I’ve added a mild anesthetic—it should ease the pain a little. But don’t push yourself. Are you ready to tell us your story, Tanjiro?”
Gratefully, he swallowed the cool liquid, relief washing over him. His voice cracked but gained strength as emotion pushed through.
“That demon… she’s my little sister!” His hands clenched against the ropes. “While I was away, a demon attacked my family. I lost everyone—everyone—except for Nezuko!” His eyes brimmed with tears. “She’s never hurt anyone! Not once! She never will!” His voice trembled but carried desperate conviction.
Obanai’s eyes narrowed, his hiss sharp with scorn.
“Enough. Spare us these absurd ramblings.” He crossed his arms tightly, as if repelling the very words. “She’s your sister—of course you’d defend her. Your blood ties blind you. I don’t believe a single word.”
The chains on Tanjiro rattled as he shook his head violently.
“No! Please listen to me!” His voice cracked, raw from pleading.
Gyomei pressed his massive palms together, tears streaming down his face like rain. His voice shook with mournful gravity.
“So tragic… The boy has already been swallowed by darkness.” He bowed his head, shoulders trembling. “Let us end his suffering. To free him from this cursed existence would be mercy.”
Tanjiro cried out, desperation scraping his throat.
“I became a swordsman to save her! To find a cure!” His eyes burned as he met theirs, one by one. “It’s been two years since she became a demon. Two years! And she has never harmed a single soul!”
Tengen leaned on his swords with a bored sort of flair, his grin razor-sharp.
“Your storytelling lacks color,” he drawled. “If you’re going to plead for a demon, at least make it dazzling. ‘She hasn’t eaten anyone and she never will?’ Hah! That’s hardly convincing.”
Mitsuri’s brows knit, her hands pressing to her heart as she looked between them. Her voice wavered with sorrow.
“Wait… something feels wrong.” Her eyes softened with hope toward Tanjiro. “Wouldn’t the Master already know? Acting without his say doesn’t feel right. Maybe… maybe we should wait until he arrives.”
Tanjiro lifted his head, his whole body trembling from exhaustion yet alight with fire.
“Then please—let her fight by my side!” he begged, eyes shining with unshakable faith. “Nezuko can fight to protect humans, I know she can! Let her prove it!”
Sanemi shoved open the garden doors with the box slung under one arm, his jagged grin sharp as a blade.
“Well, well—what do we have brewing here?” His voice cut through the air like gravel on steel. He tilted the box mockingly. “This the moron who thought dragging a demon along was a good idea?”
Tanjiro gasped, jaw tight, fury and fear clashing in his chest.
Sanemi leaned forward, sneer widening. “What’re you trying to pull, brat? You think the Corps is a place to test your fairy tales?”
A Kakushi rushed forward, bowing low, voice trembling.
“P-please, Mr. Shinazugawa! Put down that box! It isn’t your—”
Sanemi ignored her, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. The blade glinted in the sunlight, sharp with intent. His killing intent rolled through the garden like a storm.
Shinobu rose to her feet, her usual smile gone, replaced with a tightness around her eyes.
“Shinazugawa,” she warned, her voice soft but edged, “don’t act out of line.”
Sanemi barked a laugh, eyes burning as he locked on Tanjiro.
“Run that by me again, kid? That demon of yours—fighting to protect humans?” He tilted his sword mockingly, letting it catch the light. “You know what we call that?” His voice dropped to a growl. “Completely impossible… you idiot!”
The blade arced down—
CLANG.
A single, brutal kick sent sparks exploding in the air. Sanemi staggered back, sword ripped from its path, his eyes widening.
Before anyone could register what happened, a shadow moved like a wolf unchained—broad shoulders, silver streaks flashing in wild black hair, blood-red eyes locked with Sanemi’s. Itsuki stood over him, foot still pressed against Sanemi’s blade, his presence suffocating. The scars across his jaw twisted with a cold sneer.
“You’ve grown sloppy, Sanemi,” Itsuki’s voice was low, edged with iron. “Drawing your sword on a child? Pathetic.”
Gasps rippled across the garden. Mitsuri’s hands flew to her mouth. Tengen straightened with a rare seriousness, eyes narrowing. Even Gyomei’s hands stilled in their prayer. None of the Hashira had sensed him approach.
And then—like a drifting petal against the storm—Aiyaka appeared. Her long, silken hair trailed behind her, tied with its crimson ribbon. The faint fragrance of sakura blossoms mixed with iron as she moved with deceptive grace. In a blur too quick for the eye, she plucked the box from Sanemi’s grasp, cradling it gently as though it were a child.
Her amber-gold eyes glowed in the filtered light, calm yet unyielding.
“Reckless,” Aiyaka murmured, her tone soft as falling snow, yet it carried through the garden like a bell. “You endanger what you don’t understand.” She brushed her sleeve over the box protectively, her haori flowing like wings as she turned toward Tanjiro.
The boy’s breath caught. The garden seemed to exhale with him—relief, awe, disbelief.
“Impossible…” Obanai hissed under his breath, heterochromatic eyes narrowing. “They’ve been gone for weeks—”
“On mission,” Rengoku finished, golden eyes ablaze in shock. His voice wavered just once before resuming its thunderous cadence. “Aiyaka. Itsuki. You’ve returned.”
Every Hashira stood frozen, the air thick with disbelief. None of them had expected those two —the nurturing angel and the ruthless wolf—to walk back into their midst now, in the middle of this trial.
Aiyaka rested one hand on Tanjiro’s shoulder, her presence calming the trembling boy instantly.
“Do not fear,” she whispered, her tone the same steady warmth the younger slayers remembered. “As long as I stand here, no harm will come to her.”
Beside her, Itsuki tilted his head at Sanemi, his grin sharp and merciless.
“Draw your sword again,” he said, eyes burning like fresh blood. “And I’ll make sure you regret it.”
The garden had never felt more divided—between light and shadow, mercy and wrath—and the Hashira could only stare at the siblings who had just shattered their silence.
Tanjiro, trembling, stared at the two figures—Aiyaka’s serene strength beside Itsuki’s terrifying presence. His chest tightened as if he had been given hope and fear in equal measure.
The air was tense, sharp enough to cut skin. Sanemi’s blade gleamed coldly in the sunlight as it leveled at Tanjiro. His sneer twisted deeper, eyes wild with fury.
“I don’t understand! Why!” he barked, stabbing his finger toward Itsuki, his voice cracking with restrained rage. “You always hated demons—always! So why are you standing there defending one!?”
Itsuki’s crimson-ringed eyes flickered dangerously, but his voice was low, steady, and iron-hard. “That is true.” His head tilted ever so slightly, the scars along his jaw catching the light. He glanced back over his shoulder.
Behind him, Aiyaka knelt gracefully beside Tanjiro. Her long, silken black hair spilled forward, faint purple tips shimmering in the breeze as she set the box down with reverent care. She held it like something sacred, as if protecting the very soul within. When her amber-gold eyes lifted, they glowed like softened sunlight, washing over the tense Hashira gathered.
Itsuki’s gaze lingered on her before snapping back to Sanemi, voice ringing with raw conviction.
“But I love my sister,” he declared, each word biting through the silence like a hammer blow. “And if she defends that demon—then so will I.”
The garden seemed to still. Even the cicadas stopped for a heartbeat.
Sanemi’s jaw tightened, veins standing out on his neck. His knuckles whitened around his hilt.
Aiyaka exhaled a gentle sigh, the sound like falling petals. She smiled faintly, the corners of her lips soft, angelic, though her presence carried unyielding strength. “We’ve been gone a long time,” she murmured, her voice like a calm stream amid the storm. “And this is what greets us on our return?”
She lowered herself beside Tanjiro, her sleeves flowing like wings as she kneeled. The boy stared wide-eyed, trembling from exhaustion and emotion.
“Apologies for my comrades, little one,” she said warmly, fingers brushing over the ropes that bound his wrists. Her touch was feather-light, careful, yet her precision was unmatched; the knots gave way instantly. “These must have hurt. Allow me.”
The ropes fell. Tanjiro gasped, clutching Nezuko’s box to his chest as if it were part of him. His throat burned with gratitude, words unable to form. All he could do was stare at her glowing presence, her scent of sakura and faint iron wrapping around him like comfort.
‘These two…’ he thought, heart pounding. ‘They went against their comrades. Yet… no one dares to stop them.’
Sanemi snarled, lowering his stance, blade ready to rise again. But before steel could sing, a heavy clang cut the air.
Itsuki’s cleaver-like blade slammed against Sanemi’s sword, knocking it aside with brutal force. The massive weapon tilted dangerously close, its broad edge pressing against Sanemi’s throat.
Itsuki leaned in, his voice a lethal whisper that sent chills even through the Hashira.
“Don’t.” His blood-red eyes burned like coals. “I know what you’re about to do.”
Sanemi’s teeth ground together. His muscles trembled with fury, but he found himself frozen beneath that oppressive, wolf-like aura. He growled low in his throat, sheathing his blade with a harsh click instead of risking escalation.
Aiyaka glanced between them, still composed, her golden eyes soft yet unyielding. She stood slowly, the sunlight catching her white sakura-patterned haori, making her look almost ethereal.
The soft patter of sandals echoed as one of Kagaya’s children stepped forward.
“The Master of the Mansion has arrived.”
Silence swept the garden. All the Hashira turned toward the engawa as Kagaya Ubuyashiki appeared, guided gently by his children. His skin was pale and marred by disease, yet his smile glowed with warmth that drew the eyes of every slayer present.
“My beloved children,” his voice was a breath of calm wind, “thank you for gathering today.” His lips curved softly as he tilted his head toward the sky. “What a beautiful morning—clear, with the kind of blue that reminds us of fleeting hope. Seeing you all here fills me with joy.”
Tanjiro’s chest tightened. It was his first time seeing the Master, and reverence stole the breath from his lungs. He started to rise in respect—but Itsuki’s hand pressed firmly against his shoulder, shoving him to the ground in a motion so fast it made Tanjiro grit his teeth. Too quick… I couldn’t even react.
The Hashira bent low in unified bows. All but two. Itsuki remained seated, legs crossed, his scarred arms loose at his sides, eyes glinting red like embers. Beside him, Aiyaka knelt gracefully, sleeves pooling like wings around her.
“It has been far too long,” she said, her smile serene, voice like the hush of falling blossoms. “I am overjoyed to see you and your family in health, Kagaya-sama.”
Kagaya inclined his head. “Thank you, Aiyaka. And thank you both—” his blind gaze flicked toward Itsuki “—for returning safely from your mission.”
Itsuki shrugged, voice low, edged in iron. “Duty, nothing more. Though…” His blood-red eyes slid to Sanemi. “If I hadn’t returned, Scarface might have slit his own throat charging blindly.”
Sanemi bristled instantly, jaw clenching. “Tch—stop calling me that.”
But Aiyaka’s presence smoothed the tension like water over flame. She looked to Kagaya, amber eyes aglow. “If I may, Master… would you enlighten us about this boy traveling with a demon?” Her gaze flickered to Tanjiro, soft yet steady.
“Of course.” Kagaya’s tone never wavered. “Tanjiro Kamado and his sister Nezuko have been sanctioned under my name. I ask you all to accept this.”
The garden shifted with unease. Gyomei’s prayer beads clicked as tears welled. “Master… even so, my heart cannot accept this.”
“I agree,” Tengen said sharply, arms crossed in glittering defiance. “Flashy or not, a demon among us is unacceptable.”
Mitsuri leaned forward, eyes wide and shimmering. “But Master, if this is what you wish, I’ll follow you completely!”
Muichiro, lost in the drifting clouds, murmured, “I’ll probably forget anyway… so it doesn’t matter.”
Obanai’s voice was a low hiss. “I will never trust them. I loathe demons.”
Kyojuro’s fiery hair caught the sun as he declared, “With all my heart, I respect you, Master—but I cannot abide by this! I am firmly against it!”
Sanemi snarled, fists tightening. “The Corps’ mission is to destroy demons. Punish Kamado—and Tomioka—for protecting one!”
Itsuki exhaled, leaning slightly toward Giyuu, his voice a cold whisper. “You knew about this long before today… and said nothing. You should’ve told me. I could’ve helped.”
Giyuu’s eyes lowered, unreadable. “…Sorry. You had your own burdens.”
Kagaya’s soft voice drifted like a breeze through the air. “The letter…”
One of his children bowed and stepped forward, holding out a parchment. Her hands trembled slightly with reverence as she began to read.
“A former Hashira, Mr. Urokodaki, has sent us this letter. He writes: I ask you to allow Tanjiro and his sister to remain together. Nezuko has not lost her humanity—her will is strong. Even when starved, she has never harmed a human. This has remained true for over two years. Should she ever fail, Tanjiro Kamado, Giyu Tomioka, and I will atone with our lives by committing seppuku. ”
A hush fell over the courtyard. Tanjiro’s eyes widened, shimmering with tears as he looked at Giyu. The usually unreadable Water Hashira averted his gaze, jaw tight, but the silent vow spoke louder than any words.
“Who cares how they choose to die?” Sanemi snapped, slamming his hand against his knee. His scarred face twisted with fury. “Fire, hanging, seppuku—it doesn’t guarantee our safety!”
“Shinazugawa is right!” Kyojuro’s booming voice carried like a crackling flame, though his usual warmth burned with a rare sternness. “If she kills even one human, that life is lost forever. It cannot be undone!”
Kagaya only smiled gently, as though unshaken by their anger. “You do have a point.”
Itsuki leaned back on his hands, red eyes narrowing. “So what do you propose, Master?” His tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
Kagaya’s smile lingered, but his pale features softened further. “We cannot prove Nezuko won’t attack humans. But we also cannot prove that she will. What we do know is that she has lived peacefully for two years, and three of our strongest are willing to stake their lives on her restraint. If you would reject this, then one of you must offer an argument even more convincing.”
Silence stretched. Only the rustle of leaves broke it. Kagaya’s gaze swept across them, resting on each Hashira with quiet gravity.
“Furthermore,” he continued, voice calm but weighted, “Tanjiro has encountered Kibutsuji face to face.”
The Hashira stiffened in unison, disbelief flickering across their features. Even Aiyaka’s serene composure faltered, her amber eyes widening before she lowered her lashes again. Itsuki’s knuckles tightened on his knee, jaw set.
“That’s impossible!” Tengen barked, his flamboyant voice unusually sharp. “Not even we have ever crossed paths with him!” His jewel-bright eyes drilled into Tanjiro. “Did you really? What did he look like? What are his powers? Where did you see him?”
Muichiro tilted his head, voice light and detached. “Did you fight?”
Tanjiro stammered, but Kagaya raised a hand, silencing the storm. “Speaking of that man, he has already sent pursuers after Tanjiro. Though his intent may only be to silence him, now that Kibutsuji has revealed himself, we cannot squander this chance.”
Aiyaka’s voice rose, calm yet resonant, like wind stirring cherry blossoms. “I agree.” Her gaze rested on Tanjiro, soft yet piercing. “Nezuko carries something Muzan never anticipated. Perhaps even a weakness he cannot touch.”
Mitsuri clasped her hands tightly against her chest, torn between faith and fear, while Obanai glared, snake eyes glinting with distrust. Gyomei’s hands were folded in prayer, trembling faintly with grief and doubt.
But Sanemi scoffed, lips curling into a bitter snarl. “I’m afraid I don’t, Master. If she were human, there’d be no question. But after all we’ve lost… after watching countless of our comrades slaughtered—how can you expect us to spare a demon?” His fists trembled against his thighs, scars pale in the sunlight. “It’s unacceptable!”
The air between them grew heavy—friction, mistrust, and quiet sorrow twining together like threads pulled too taut.
Aiyaka rose gracefully, her silken sleeves trailing like wings as she spoke, her calm voice steady and warm.
“Then allow me to prove it.”
Her words drew the Hashira’s attention—eyes widening in surprise. Even Sanemi’s scowl faltered.
Kagaya’s lips curved in that gentle, knowing smile. “Of course.”
With a bow, Aiyaka accepted Tanjiro’s box, her fingers brushing it with reverence, as though it carried not a demon, but something fragile and sacred. She stepped into the shaded hall, kneeling with poise. Setting the box before her, she loosened the latch, then retreated a pace, lowering to her knees. Her amber-gold eyes glowed like lanterns in the dim light. She spread her arms wide, her smile soft as the scent of sakura blossoms drifted faintly from her.
“Come, little one,” she whispered. “You’re safe.”
The Hashira leaned forward in tense silence. Rengoku’s flame-bright gaze flickered with rare wonder. Mitsuri clutched her hands to her chest, pink eyes shimmering with tears. Shinobu tilted her head, a quiet breath escaping, as if even she couldn’t deny the serenity Aiyaka radiated. Gyomei pressed his palms together, tears trembling on his lashes. Obanai narrowed his mismatched eyes, yet even his voice stilled. Sanemi scoffed under his breath, though his grip on his haori eased.
The box trembled. Slowly, Nezuko crawled out—her pink kimono catching the light, bamboo muzzle glinting softly. She blinked, wary, her small hands pressing the floor. Then her gaze found Aiyaka.
In that moment, Nezuko’s body loosened. The warmth rolling from Aiyaka was like spring sunlight after a long winter. Her angelic smile, her open arms—gentle, unthreatening, yet protective—pulled the girl forward.
Nezuko crept closer on her hands and knees, then pressed into Aiyaka’s embrace.
Tanjiro’s breath hitched, tears welling as he whispered, “Nezuko…”
Aiyaka wrapped the girl carefully, stroking her hair as though she were her own younger sister. “You’re not alone,” she murmured, voice like a lullaby.
Nezuko let out a faint hum, nuzzling against her, utterly at peace.
The room, once sharp with doubt and hostility, seemed to soften. Even Sanemi stared, jaw tight, but words failing him. Tengen gave a low whistle, half-grin tugging at his lips. “Flashy or not, that’s something.” Muichiro’s eyes lingered, clouded with thoughts he couldn’t name.
And Kagaya, serene and unwavering, folded his hands. “Do you see, my children? Even a heart once forced into darkness can still be guided by light.”
Chapter 11: Flame and Blossom
Chapter Text
After much proof that Nezuko would never harm a human, the siblings were released from judgment. At Shinobu’s gentle suggestion, they departed for her mansion. When the gates closed behind them, the courtyard stilled, as if the air itself were catching its breath.
Aiyaka walked out last, her haori trailing across the polished wood before she lowered gracefully onto her knees in the stone garden, settling among her fellow Hashira. The faint fragrance of sakura blossoms mingled with the cool scent of moss and gravel.
Kagaya’s calm voice broke the silence. “Recently, reports have confirmed that the northern mountains are… no more.”
Every Hashira froze. Shock rippled across the group like lightning. Mitsuri gasped, her hands covering her mouth, while Rengoku’s golden eyes widened in fiery disbelief. Gyomei’s prayer beads slipped against his palms as his breath caught. Even Obanai’s mismatched eyes narrowed sharply behind his bandages.
Itsuki blinked once, his tone flat and unnervingly casual. “You mean the entire mountain?”
Kagaya nodded, his faint smile unwavering. “Along with the forests that cloaked it.” His gaze shifted slowly across the Hashira, resting at last on Aiyaka. “Mind explaining yourself, my child?”
Every head turned. Surprise sharpened into disbelief, then awe. Sanemi’s lip curled, a half-snarl of irritation. Mitsuri’s pink eyes shimmered with concern. Muichiro finally dropped his distant gaze from the clouds, his unreadable stare fixed on her.
Itsuki chuckled low in his throat. “And here I thought I was the reckless one.”
Aiyaka only smiled, serene despite the weight of their eyes. Her amber-gold gaze glowed softly as she spoke. “There was a mission. I encountered a demon in those mountains… The First Upper Moon.”
The garden went still. Even the wind seemed to falter.
The words landed like a blade. The First Upper Moon. Strongest of the Twelve Kizuki.
Shinobu tilted her head, her lips curling in that deceptively sweet smile. A light laugh escaped her. “Ara… that is surprising.” Yet even her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.
Tengen leaned back with a smirk, arms crossed. “If only I’d been there. A clash like that? Now that’s flashy.”
Rengoku’s voice rang firm, his fists tightening against his knees. “If anyone could survive such an encounter, it would be you—and Itsuki!”
Sanemi scoffed, green eyes hard. “Hah. Then he couldn’t have been that strong, if you’re still breathing.”
But Aiyaka shook her head gently, her voice calm, almost too soft. “No. We were both holding back the entire time. He withdrew only because dawn was rising.”
A heavy silence fell again, broken only by Gyomei’s low, trembling murmur. “To level a mountain… and still speak with such humility. Truly… terrifying.” Tears welled behind his closed eyes as he pressed his palms together.
After the meeting dispersed, the stone corridors of the Ubuyashiki estate grew quiet. Aiyaka walked with her usual grace, the soft sway of her white sakura-patterned haori trailing behind her like drifting petals in the breeze. The faint scent of blossoms followed her, serene against the faint chill of the evening air.
“Lady Aiyaka!”
The familiar, fiery voice rang out. She turned, eyes warm and lips curving into a gentle smile the moment she saw him. “Ah, Omochi!” she greeted, her tone carrying a teasing fondness that made his chest tighten.
Kyojuro nearly faltered in his step, heart pounding faster at the nickname he had secretly cherished since their younger days. His grin spread wide, bright and unrestrained. “If it weren’t for the Trial,” he said, voice brimming with his usual vigor though a softer note lingered beneath, “everyone and I would have thrown a grand reunion feast for you and Itsuki’s return!”
Aiyaka tilted her head, her long hair slipping over her shoulder like silk. Her smile brightened, radiant in the fading sunlight. “That would be really nice, wouldn’t it?”
For a moment, Kyojuro simply looked at her. The glow of her amber-gold eyes, the way her presence seemed to ease the very air around her—it stirred something deep in him, something far greater than admiration. His grin wavered, gentling into a look of concern.
“Is everything… truly alright?” His voice dropped low, uncharacteristically soft, as though he were afraid the answer might wound him. “You and Itsuki have been through much.”
Aiyaka chuckled lightly, the sound calm and melodic. “That is what it means to be Hashira, you know.”
Kyojuro nodded firmly, but his hand curled slightly at his side, aching to reach for hers yet holding back. “While you and Itsuki were gone, we took care of Muichiro,” he added, the memory tugging a bittersweet smile onto his face.
Her eyes softened immediately, glowing with tenderness. “That was really sweet of you all,” she said, her voice tinged with quiet gratitude. “And… his memory?”
Kyojuro’s expression faltered. He shook his head, fiery hair shifting with the motion. “I’m afraid he still forgets you and Itsuki at times.” His tone grew subdued. “It saddens me… that his eyes lack the spark they should have, considering his age.”
Aiyaka’s gaze lowered briefly, the evening light catching on the crimson ribbon in her hair. “Baby steps,” she murmured, her smile returning—gentle, hopeful.
“Mm. You’re right,” Kyojuro agreed, his voice regaining some of its strength, though his heart thumped like a drum in his chest. For a long moment, he hesitated, gathering courage in a way he rarely needed to. Then, with a sharp inhale, he blurted—
“I was thinking—would you perhaps… like to have lunch with me? Just the two of us, I mean!”
His tone, usually so composed in battle, betrayed a boyish nervousness. His golden eyes flickered with both hope and fear, waiting for her answer.
Aiyaka blinked, her own heart skipping a beat. Warmth bloomed across her chest, spreading into her smile as her cheeks colored faintly. “I would love that,” she said softly, sincerity wrapping around every word.
Kyojuro’s grin returned in full force, blazing with joy and relief, though his pulse still raced wildly. For once, the Flame Hashira felt as though his fire was no match for the quiet warmth she stirred within him.
The council chamber was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint crackle of lanterns. Kagaya Ubuyashiki sat serenely at the head, his frail form bathed in soft light, voice calm yet carrying the weight of iron.
“Just as you’ve all reported, the demons’ carnage grows ever greater,” he murmured, his pale hands folded neatly. “Human lives are more endangered than ever. We must strengthen the Corps. What are your thoughts?”
Sanemi crossed his arms, lip curling. “The incident on Natagumo says it all. The new Demon Slayers are pathetic. Most of them should’ve never picked up a blade—what the hell are the trainers even doing?” His voice was sharp enough to cut through the room.
Shinobu’s smile never wavered, but her lilac eyes glinted. “The larger humanity grows, the harder it becomes to unify them. It’s… an age of excess, I suppose.”
Gyomei’s prayer beads clicked softly as he wept, tears streaming silently down his face. “So many join only after losing everything. But those without lineage or legacy…” His deep voice trembled. “It is much harder for them to endure.”
Kyojuro leaned forward, golden eyes alight with fiery conviction. “But consider the boy! To face a Twelve Kizuki so soon after becoming a Demon Slayer—such resolve burns brightly! Even we rarely cross blades with one. Truly, I envy his spirit!”
Kagaya’s lips curved faintly. “A fair point. Yet Lower Five’s recklessness suggests Kibutsuji was far from Natagumo. As in Asakusa, when he hides, he scatters diversions to cloud our pursuit. Frustrating… but expected.”
The Master’s tone softened, though his words carried immense weight. “Still, so long as demons roam free, devouring lives and growing in strength, there is only one path forward. For the sake of the dead… for the sake of the living.”
His gaze swept across the Hashira—Tengen’s flamboyant grin half-hidden by shadow, Mitsuri’s hands clenched nervously over her heart, Obanai’s mismatched eyes narrowing behind his bandages, Muichiro’s gaze drifting with quiet detachment. And among them stood Aiyaka, calm as moonlight, her sakura-patterned haori trailing like wings, and Itsuki—his scarred frame radiating cold menace, crimson eyes glinting like a wolf at the edge of the fire.
“My beloved children,” Kagaya whispered, his smile tender. “You are the finest unit the Corps has known since the age of the first Breathing swordsmen. I look forward to your success.”
The next day, Aiyaka searched quietly through the Corps grounds, carrying a wrapped bundle of lunch she had prepared. She had found a quiet garden under blooming camellias, a perfect place to share a meal with him. But her steps slowed when her eyes caught sight of him in the courtyard—Kyojuro bowing deeply before the empty residence of Ubuyashiki, his golden head lowered, flame-patterned haori flickering gently in the breeze. When he turned away, his expression was steady, but his shoulders carried a weight she could sense even from afar.
Her chest tightened. Without thinking, she called, “Omochi!”
Kyojuro’s steps halted. His heart leapt at the nickname only she used, and when he turned, his face lit up instantly, his broad smile chasing away the heaviness of moments before. “Ah, Aiyaka! A most splendid day to you!”
Relief softened her features as she approached, “You have a mission, don’t you?”
“Indeed,” he answered, his tone as bright as ever, though his eyes betrayed the gravity beneath. “Fresh intel has arrived—a demon has appeared, one that bested the slayer who found it. We cannot afford more losses. I must act swiftly!”
Her brows knit, amber-gold eyes shimmering with concern. “Could it be… a Twelve Kizuki?”
Kyojuro’s smile curved wider, fierce and eager. “Most likely. Perhaps even an Upper Rank!”
“Then—please,” she urged gently, “see Chiori-sama first. If it is truly an Upper Rank, you shouldn’t face it unprepared.”
His laugh was warm, but soft this time, as though not to worry her more. “That would be wise, yet… I would rather face it without advantage. To meet my foe as they are—that is my way.”
Aiyaka’s smile remained, calm and angelic, but he caught the faint quiver beneath her expression, the flicker of worry she tried to mask. His fiery eyes softened. Lowering his voice, he leaned closer, almost tender. “I will be all right. I promise.”
She nodded quietly, and then, after a pause, slipped her hand into her haori. “Then take this.”
She stepped close—so close he felt the faint brush of her sleeve against his arm—and fastened a small phoenix-shaped pin beneath the crest of his uniform, hidden by the collar. Her touch was feather-light, yet his heart thundered in his chest.
Kyojuro blinked, stunned. “What is this for?” he whispered.
Her lips curved gently as she explained, “A mechanism of mine. If you are in danger—if even the smallest drop of your blood touches it—it will glow, and I will come to your side.”
For a rare moment, his usually unshakable composure faltered. His eyes widened, his chest ached with warmth. He whispered, hoarse, “Can you ever cease being so kind?”
Her cheeks bloomed with color, but before she could reply, his large hands cupped her face, strong yet reverent. He bent close, the golden strands of his hair brushing her forehead as his lips pressed there in a lingering kiss.
Her breath caught. The world stilled.
His voice, low and fervent, burned against her ear. “I will return to you, Little Flame.”
And then he was gone, vanishing like fire carried on the wind.
Aiyaka stood frozen, her hands trembling. Her heart pounded in ways she did not understand—foreign, frightening, but warm. She touched the place on her ear where his breath had been, then her face, aflame with heat.
“...Little Flame?” she murmured, dazed.
The courtyard of the Butterfly Mansion glowed with soft afternoon light, cicadas humming lazily in the distance. Tanjiro was in the middle of his training, the sleeves of the men’s gown brushing against his arms as sweat beaded along his brow. He stilled the moment he sensed someone’s presence, turning—
—and nearly lost his breath.
“A-Ah… g-good day to you!” His voice stumbled before his smile steadied, realizing who it was. Lady Aiyaka stood framed by the engawa, her long black hair tipped with violet, her white sakura-patterned haori fluttering gently in the summer breeze.
“Good day to you,” she said softly, her smile radiant yet calm as a quiet stream. She lowered herself onto the wooden engawa, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes glowing amber-gold in the sunlight.
The air shifted, and Tanjiro caught her scent—gentle, nurturing, like warm tea and blooming camellias, but laced with a steel-like sharpness beneath. A scent that soothed, yet spoke of burdens carried in silence. It made his chest ache, both comforted and saddened at once.
He swallowed and asked shyly, “May I… ask your name?”
Her smile deepened, voice warm as she replied, “Aiyaka Kurobane. It’s nice to finally speak with you like this.”
Tanjiro’s smile widened, his expression softening. He remembered the trial, the way she had stood beside Giyu, shielding him and Nezuko from condemnation. His heart felt lighter just being near her.
“Thank you,” he said, voice hushed but filled with sincerity. “For what you and the other Hashira did for me and Nezuko. I never thought… that anyone besides Giyu would defend us.”
Aiyaka tilted her head gently, her expression glowing as the sunlight spilled across her face. “It was my pleasure,” she replied. “I may have mercy on some demons, yes—but I was surprised that Itsuki agreed with me.” Her amber gaze softened further, her smile angelic. “But that’s the love between family, isn’t it?”
Tanjiro’s breath caught for a moment. Her words struck something deep in him. His smile widened, his eyes bright. “Yes!” he said with all the conviction in his heart.
Aiyaka’s smile lingered as she tilted her head, watching him with quiet attentiveness. “I noticed your stance earlier,” she said gently, her voice carrying that steady calm that never wavered, even in battle. “Were you practicing Total Concentration Breathing?”
Tanjiro straightened instinctively, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Yes! Though… it’s still difficult. Keeping it constant feels like my lungs are burning sometimes.”
The faintest chuckle left Aiyaka, warm as the evening breeze. She lowered her gaze thoughtfully, her ribbon-tied hair slipping forward like a silken curtain. “That’s natural at first. You’re trying to force your body to obey without listening to it.” Her amber eyes rose again, soft yet piercing. “Breathing should not feel like chains tightening, Tanjiro. It should feel like the flow of a river—unbroken, endless, yet never rushing.”
Her words carried weight, and Tanjiro found himself hanging on each one. Her scent drifted faintly toward him—warm tea and camellias, layered with the hidden sharpness of steel. It filled him with ease, yet reminded him she bore burdens she didn’t speak aloud.
He clenched his fists, then loosened them, trying to imagine what she meant. “Like a river…” he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. He breathed in deeply, letting it roll through him instead of forcing it.
Aiyaka’s lips curved into a knowing smile. She leaned back slightly, the sunlight catching on her sakura-patterned haori. “Yes. The strength you need will come not by strangling your breath, but by flowing with it. Your body is already strong, Tanjiro. Trust it.”
Tanjiro opened his eyes, brighter now, determination sparking in his chest. He nodded eagerly, a smile tugging at his lips. “I think… I understand. Thank you, Lady Aiyaka.”
Her gaze softened, almost sisterly. “You don’t need to thank me. Your resolve is already your greatest teacher.”
Tanjiro’s heart lifted at her words. She believed in him. And that alone gave him the strength to keep trying.
Chapter 12: Letter of Blossoms, Voice of Flame
Chapter Text
After days of grueling effort, Tanjiro finally managed to keep his Total Concentration Breathing flowing without faltering. His chest still rose and fell with steady rhythm, but instead of burning, it felt strong—like a flame that refused to go out.
That evening, dressed in the soft gown of the Butterfly Mansion, he walked through the wooden halls, the faint scent of herbs and fresh laundry lingering in the air. Outside, three familiar voices chimed with laughter.
Tanjiro stepped out, his face lighting up. “Sumi! Kiyo! Naho!”
The three little attendants turned in unison, their eyes sparkling. “Tanjiro! Good evening!”
He waved, his smile warm and boyish. “Good evening to you three as well. I was hoping… have any of you seen Lady Aiyaka today? I want to thank her properly for the advice she gave me. Without it, I don’t think I’d have succeeded.”
Sumi put a finger to her cheek in thought. “I saw her speaking with the Abyss Hashira earlier…”
“And then,” Kiyo chimed in, “she went toward the Mist Hashira’s estate!”
Tanjiro let out a quiet laugh, scratching his cheek. “She sure does go around a lot. Still, she’s always helping someone.” His expression softened, admiration flickering in his eyes. “If you happen to see her before I do, could you please tell her thank you from me?”
The three girls clasped their hands together and nodded eagerly. “Of course!”
Tanjiro bowed slightly in gratitude, his heart lighter.
The next morning, the peace shattered.
“Caw! Caw!” Tanjiro’s Kasugai crow shrieked, bursting into the boys’ room. “Casualties! The Mugen Train! Over forty passengers missing! Head west at once! Head west!”
Zenitsu shot upright, hair disheveled, a long groan spilling from his throat. “Wh-what’s going on!? Why at this hour!? My poor heart can’t handle it!” He clutched his chest dramatically, trembling like a leaf.
Inosuke, tangled in his futon like a wild animal in a trap, thrashed his arms free. “A train!? What’s that!? Some kind of giant beast!? Hah! I’ll slice it open!” His eyes glinted with feral excitement, jaw already clenched in anticipation.
Meanwhile, Tanjiro’s face went pale with realization. His breath hitched, and his wide eyes glowed with both awe and urgency. “The Flame Hashira…!” he whispered, fists tightening at his sides. “We’re being sent to join Kyojuro Rengoku!”
The soba shop glowed with warm lantern light, the savory fragrance of broth and buckwheat noodles filling the air. At one corner table sat Rengoku Kyojuro, posture perfectly straight, his flame-patterned haori unmistakable even in the dim glow. He raised his chopsticks with crisp precision, slurping noodles in a single motion before exclaiming with booming cheer:
“TASTY!”
Heads turned at his volume, but the Flame Hashira remained blissfully undeterred, beaming as he took another bite.
The door slid open. A young Demon Slayer entered, guided by his Kasugai crow. Spotting the unmistakable figure, he quickly bowed. “Flame Hashira, forgive me for intruding.”
Rengoku looked up, eyes blazing like firelight, and shook his head with a hearty laugh. “Nonsense! Please, take a seat!” He gestured toward the chef with an eager hand. “Master, another bowl of soba! Give this young man the same as mine!”
The slayer hesitated but sat across from him. His expression was tight, more serious than his words. “Actually, Flame Hashira, I have another reason for being here.”
He reached inside his haori and drew out a neatly folded letter. The parchment’s faint perfume of sakura blossoms drifted in the air as he offered it forward.
Rengoku tilted his head. “A letter?”
“Yes,” the slayer said reverently. “It’s from the Elysian Hashira herself.”
The moment her name was spoken, Kyojuro’s bright eyes softened. The corners of his mouth curved upward into a gentler smile than his usual booming grin, his flame-like lashes lowering as he accepted the letter with both hands. “I see,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
He broke the seal and unfolded it carefully. The first thing he noticed was her calligraphy—precise yet flowing, as graceful as the movements of her blade. Each character seemed to breathe with her essence, poised and elegant.
“Omochi…” he murmured under his breath, chest warming at the affectionate nickname only she ever used for him. His thumb traced the paper unconsciously as he read on:
She wrote that Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Tanjiro’s demon sister Nezuko would be joining him on his upcoming mission. She expressed her faith in him, declaring without hesitation that she trusted he would protect them all. At the end, her words turned softer, almost playful—reminding him of the lunch they had planned and how much she looked forward to his return so they could share it.
For a moment, the soba, the shop, even the noise of the city outside seemed to blur away. Rengoku exhaled slowly, the paper trembling just faintly between his fingers. His broad smile returned, brilliant as fire, though there was a tenderness in it now that few ever saw.
“Magnificent,” he whispered, voice resonant but filled with quiet awe. “Her words… they carry her spirit.”
He folded the letter back with care, holding it as though it were something far more precious than ink on paper. His heart beat steady and warm, a flame stoked brighter by her faith.
With renewed resolve, he raised his chin, eyes burning with both duty and something softer. “Little Flame… I shall not fail. I will protect them all—and I will return.”
He laughed then, the familiar booming sound that seemed to banish all shadows from the soba shop. But when he tucked the letter inside his haori, the way he pressed it over his heart spoke of something deeper.
The train clattered through the night, its carriages swaying with a rhythm that rattled the lamps overhead. As Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke stepped into the next car, a booming voice cut through the quiet.
“TASTY!”
Again and again, the word echoed, full of fiery enthusiasm.
Tanjiro’s eyes widened, and when he walked forward, he saw him—the unmistakable flame-patterned haori, the golden-red hair that seemed to burn like fire. Rengoku Kyojuro sat upright, bento boxes stacked neatly before him.
“TASTY! TASTY!”
The Flame Hashira set down his chopsticks at last, wiping his mouth with deliberate precision. His sharp eyes caught Tanjiro’s, and he folded his arms across his chest, voice ringing. “It’s you. You were at the mansion.”
Tanjiro bowed politely, smiling. “Yes, sir. I’m Tanjiro Kamado.” He gestured to the others. “This is Zenitsu Agatsuma, and this here is Inosuke Hashibira.”
Rengoku nodded briskly, flames of energy in his gaze. “I see. And also…” His eyes lowered to the wooden box on Tanjiro’s back. “Isn’t there one in that box?”
Tanjiro’s smile softened. “Yes. My sister, Nezuko.”
Rengoku’s tone remained firm, but there was no malice. “I remember that demon. Since the Master—and Little Flame—accepted her, I will keep my peace.”
Tanjiro blinked in surprise. Little Flame? The name stirred his curiosity, but Rengoku’s broad hand patted the seat beside him before he could ask.
“Sit down, won’t you?”
Tanjiro nodded gratefully and settled beside him. Across the aisle, Zenitsu and Inosuke chose another seat.
Inosuke pressed his boar-snouted face right against the glass, eyes wild with wonder. “HAHA! Incredible! I’m inside a TITAN!” He smacked the window with both palms, making the glass rattle.
“Hey, you idiot!” Zenitsu yelped, yanking at the boar head. “You’ll break it! Then we’ll have to pay for it, and I don’t even HAVE money!”
Rengoku chuckled at the chaos, then turned his steady gaze back to Tanjiro. “And what brings the three of you here? A mission?”
Tanjiro straightened, his expression serious. “Yes. We were ordered to join you. A Kasugai crow told us that casualties on this train are rising.”
Rengoku’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smile never faded. He nodded once, firm and decisive. “Understood. That is why you are here.”
The train rumbled steadily beneath their feet, the faint scent of steel and coal lingering in the air. Tanjiro shifted in his seat, his hands clutched together, eyes earnest as he finally spoke up.
“Also… there’s something I wanted to ask you.” His voice carried a rare note of hesitation.
Rengoku leaned forward slightly, golden-red hair flickering like fire under the carriage lamps, his bright eyes fixed on the boy. “Oh? What is it?”
Tanjiro drew a breath, his expression softening with memory. “It’s about my father.”
Rengoku’s brows lifted. “Your father, you say? What about him?”
“He was a frail man,” Tanjiro said, his voice tinged with quiet pride.
“Was he, now?” Rengoku nodded, listening intently.
“And yet, he could perform a Kagura dance in freezing weather,” Tanjiro continued, his hands tightening in his lap. “He never faltered, even when snow piled high and the cold bit at his skin.”
Rengoku’s smile widened. “Well, good for him!” His voice rang out so suddenly that Tanjiro nearly jolted.
Flustered but undeterred, Tanjiro pressed on. “And then—”
“And then?” Rengoku echoed, leaning closer, his voice booming with anticipation.
“I found myself doing it too. Hinokami Kagura—the dance. Just like my father used to. I was hoping… if you knew anything about that dance, you’d be willing to tell me.”
“Certainly!” Rengoku roared with confidence—then instantly admitted, “But I don’t! I’ve never even heard of that dance, not once!”
Tanjiro blinked. “Huh—wait—what!?”
Rengoku folded his arms, his tone as decisive as his flames. “Your father adapting this Kagura for battle is commendable. Truly remarkable! There’s nothing more to say about it!”
Tanjiro leaned forward desperately, his brows knitting. “Hang on! Are you sure you can’t think of—”
“You should become my Tsuguko!” Rengoku interrupted thunderously, his eyes blazing with enthusiasm. “I’ll look after you!”
“W-wait, hold on a second—!” Tanjiro raised his hands, his face going red with panic at the sudden offer.
But Rengoku was already rolling forward, his energy unstoppable. “Flame Breathing has a long and noble history! There has always been a Hashira of Flame and of Water! Flame, Water, Wind, Stone, Thunder—the five fundamentals! All other techniques branch from these, just as Mist is a branch of Wind!”
His chest swelled as though he were giving a grand lecture in the middle of the battlefield. Then his eyes snapped toward Tanjiro again. “Mizoguchi! What color is your sword?”
“Eh? My name’s Kamado,” Tanjiro corrected timidly, “and my sword is black.”
“Is it now?” Rengoku’s grin stretched wide, a laugh rumbling from his chest. “How unfortunate!”
Tanjiro’s jaw dropped. “Unfortunate—!? Why do you say that?”
“I’ve yet to see someone with a black sword become a Hashira!” Rengoku declared without hesitation, his tone blunt but his smile undimmed. “They say no one knows what style it belongs to!” Then he leaned forward again, eyes ablaze, voice ringing with reassurance. “But there is no need for you to worry! I can train you!”
Tanjiro sat there, overwhelmed by the sheer force of Rengoku’s presence—half in awe, half exasperated, and yet unable to stop a small smile from creeping onto his face.
The train swayed gently, the warmth of Rengoku’s fire-like spirit filling the carriage until it seemed to push back the shadows themselves.
The train clattered along the tracks, its steady rhythm filling the carriage. Inosuke stuck his boar-masked head out the window, his wild laughter carried off into the night. “Hahaha! This is great! It’s going so fast!” His hair whipped in the wind, eyes blazing with exhilaration.
“Idiot!” Zenitsu yelped, grabbing him by the fur pelt and yanking him back inside. “Get back in here before you fall out and die!”
Inosuke thrashed, arms flailing like a wild beast. “Let me at ’em! I’ll race this hunk of metal on foot! I’ll prove I’m faster!”
“You can’t be that stupid, can you!?” Zenitsu shrieked, his voice cracking as he clutched Inosuke desperately.
Rengoku, sitting tall and composed with his meal box in hand, spoke without raising his voice, though it carried like a flame roaring through silence. “I wouldn’t. Who knows when a demon might appear?”
Zenitsu froze, his face draining of color as his wide eyes snapped to Rengoku. “Wh-what?” His voice trembled. “Wait—you mean demons show up on this train!?”
Rengoku nodded once, firm and certain, his golden eyes unwavering. “They do.”
Zenitsu let out a strangled scream, clutching his head. “Seriously!? NO! This is the worst! I thought we were just meeting up with them—not trapped with them!”
Unbothered by the panic, Rengoku continued with the same commanding steadiness, “Over forty people have gone missing from this train in a short time. Several swordsmen were sent in…” His expression hardened. “…and every one of them vanished.”
The weight of his words sank heavy into the air.
Zenitsu’s knees buckled, his shriek echoing through the carriage. “AHHHHH! I’m gonna die here!”
Tanjiro, watching them all, felt the chill of Rengoku’s words tighten in his chest, but also the blazing steadiness in the Hashira’s voice—a reminder that as frightening as the shadows were, they were not without light.
Chapter 13: Eternal Flame, Mortal Heart
Chapter Text
The world around Kyojuro shimmered like heat haze, then steadied into the familiar courtyard of the Rengoku estate. His father’s harsh words still echoed in his chest— worthless… never amount to anything. The sting of rejection pressed heavy in his lungs. He stepped outside, the wooden engawa cool beneath his feet, the night cicadas humming faintly.
There, he froze. Three figures sat with their backs turned, silhouettes touched by moonlight. The scent of sakura blossoms drifted faintly on the breeze, tinged with iron. His breath caught.
“…Mother?”
Ruka’s soft voice carried over, fragile yet steady. “I don’t have much time left.” She glanced at the two beside her—Aiyaka, serene with her ribbon-tied hair glowing pale under the moon, and Itsuki, sharp-eyed and shadowed. “I know this is much to ask… but will you look after my family while I’m gone?”
Itsuki scoffed, his arms folded, red eyes flickering with something like bitterness. “Your husband will spit on us for it. Blame us for letting you die.” His words were sharp, but there was a rasp of pain beneath them.
Aiyaka’s lips pursed in a soft pout as she tapped his arm with her sleeve. “Oi… don’t ruin this moment, brother.” Her voice was calm, like a lullaby, even when chiding.
Ruka laughed lightly, though her eyes shimmered with sadness. “It would wound him deeply, yes. To lose the one he loves most, knowing he could not stop it…”
Kyojuro’s chest tightened. He could not move. Could not speak.
Aiyaka leaned closer to Ruka, her warm amber gaze gentle. “Your sons will understand. It will be hardest on Kyojuro, though. To bear so much at once… protecting Senjuro, enduring a father who drinks to forget.” Her sigh was like petals falling.
Ruka turned, her smile radiant though wet at the edges. She reached out, taking Aiyaka and Itsuki’s hands into her own trembling ones. “It will be hard. But with the two of you… my family won’t be alone.”
Kyojuro’s vision blurred, his throat burning. His hands clenched at his sides as a single word tore silently from within him— Mother…
The world jolted back into focus as Kyojuro’s eyes snapped open. A suffocating, writhing malice pressed against the walls of the train—Enmu’s presence, staining everything with its grotesque pulse. He rose swiftly, his haori flaring, and stepped into the aisle.
“Hm…” His golden eyes burned as they swept the corrupted steel around him. “It seems much has unfolded while I was napping.” His lips curved into a smirk, but there was no mirth behind it—only shame. “What an ugly mess.”
The smirk faltered, his jaw tightening. If the other Hashira saw this… if they saw what I allowed to happen… He gripped the hilt at his side, fire sparking in his voice. “I’d be ashamed!”
In a single motion, he drew his blade. The carriage shook as arcs of flame tore through the walls, searing the demon’s flesh embedded into the train. The shriek that followed rattled the windows, startling even Enmu. For the first time, the demon faltered.
“Ah! Young Kamado!” Kyojuro turned, his presence blazing like a torch in the suffocating dark.
Tanjiro’s chest swelled, relief flooding him. Just seeing him there—steady, unflinching—drove strength back into his legs. “Mr. Rengoku!”
Kyojuro’s laugh boomed, firm and reassuring even amid chaos. “I was quite thorough with my strikes on the way here. It should take the demon some time to recuperate… but there is no time to waste!” His blade gleamed, already dripping with heat.
Tanjiro straightened, nodding sharply. “Right!”
Kyojuro’s gaze cut forward, calculating, unwavering. “This train has eight cars. I will defend the rear five.” He pointed his sword down the corridor. “Your sister and the boy in yellow will protect the other three.”
Tanjiro’s heart pounded at the clarity of his command, every word like fuel to his resolve.
“And you,” Kyojuro continued, “you will go with the boar-headed lad and hunt for the demon’s head.”
Tanjiro blinked, his breath hitching. “Its… head? But sir, how can we—”
Kyojuro’s voice rang like a flame cracking in the wind, cutting through doubt. “Kill something without a head? Nonsense! It’s still a demon. It has one!” His eyes blazed, fierce yet encouraging. “I will search for it as well. I hope you’re fired up!”
Tanjiro’s hesitation melted under the sheer force of his conviction. He clenched his fists, fire igniting in his chest to match the Flame Hashira’s. “Yes, sir!”
The train groaned around them, but between them, the air burned with a newfound determination.
The night roared with chaos. Metal screamed as the train tore free of the tracks, carriages splintering apart like brittle wood. Passengers shrieked, earth and sparks scattering as the massive machine skidded into the dirt. Tanjiro was flung from his footing, the world spinning as his body rolled helplessly across the ground. Every breath was fire in his lungs, the taste of blood sharp on his tongue.
When the world finally stilled, he blinked up at the night sky, dazed. A shadow fell across him.
“Kamado.”
Tanjiro forced his eyes open wider. Kyojuro stood above him, bright against the ruin—his golden eyes steady, his flame-patterned haori billowing in the night wind. Even amidst wreckage, he looked unshaken, immovable.
“You’ve mastered Total Concentration, Constant,” Kyojuro said firmly, a rare note of approval in his tone. A small, proud smirk curved his lips. “That is quite impressive.”
Tanjiro’s lips trembled as he whispered, “Master Rengoku…”
“You’re one step closer to being a Hashira.” Kyojuro’s voice softened with encouragement, though the smirk sharpened with challenge. “That’s one step out of ten thousand, mind you.”
Despite the pain tearing through his body, Tanjiro’s eyes burned with resolve. “I’ll… do my best.”
Kyojuro crouched, gaze flicking to the crimson blooming across Tanjiro’s abdomen. His tone shifted, serious. “You’re bleeding from the gut. Regulate your breathing. Take hold of it.” His finger pressed lightly to Tanjiro’s forehead, grounding him. “Picture your nerves, flowing through every part of your body. Do you see the torn vessel?”
Tanjiro’s breaths came ragged, sharp, sweat beading along his brow. His fists clenched.
“Concentrate harder,” Kyojuro urged. His eyes never wavered, heat and steadiness burning through the panic.
With a grunt, Tanjiro’s breath steadied. He strained, focusing with everything he had until the bleeding slowed.
“That’s it,” Kyojuro murmured, a rare gentleness softening his flame. A smile broke across his face as he knelt fully beside Tanjiro. “Good. You succeeded. Mastering your breathing will open many doors. It won’t solve everything, but it will carry you forward. You will continue to grow stronger.”
Relief washed over Tanjiro as he exhaled shakily. “Thank you.”
Kyojuro nodded firmly. “As for the others—many are injured, but safe for now.” His tone grew warm, almost brotherly. “So don’t strain yourself further. Rest while you can.”
Tanjiro managed a tired smile. “I will.”
“Good.”
The ground suddenly shuddered. A thunderous blast split the night, dust and rock erupting behind them. Both Tanjiro and Kyojuro snapped their heads toward the sound, their bodies tensing.
Through the settling haze, a figure emerged—tall, muscular, moving with predator’s grace. His eyes glowed like lanterns, and carved within the irises were the damning kanji: Upper Rank Three.
Tanjiro’s breath caught in his throat. His blood ran cold. “Those eyes…” he whispered, trembling. “He’s… Upper Three. What’s he doing here?”
The warmth of the moment vanished, smothered by a suffocating dread.
The air split with a sharp whistle as the demon vanished from sight. Tanjiro’s eyes widened, his body too slow to respond.
“Khh—!”
In a blur of orange and steel, Kyojuro intercepted. His blade blazed through the night, arcs of flame trailing like burning sunbeams. Flame Breathing, Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!
The strike severed Akaza’s arm cleanly. Flesh sizzled, the severed limb dissolving into ash. Yet the demon only laughed as his body knitted itself back together in seconds, skin closing seamlessly where the cut had been.
Akaza smirked, rolling his shoulders as though testing fresh muscles. “That’s a fine sword.”
Kyojuro’s stance remained firm, his fiery eyes narrowed. “Why strike at a wounded boy before facing me?” His voice carried the weight of disapproval, sharp as the edge of his blade.
Akaza tilted his head, grinning as though it were obvious. “I thought he’d get in the way of our little chat.”
Tanjiro’s breath hitched, sweat trailing down his temple. Even from the ground, injured, he could feel the suffocating malice pouring off Akaza, a predator circling prey.
Kyojuro’s expression hardened, his voice steady as steel. “What is it you wish to discuss? Though this is our first meeting, I already dislike you.”
Akaza’s grin widened, his tone light yet venomous. “Is that right? Well, I dislike weaklings. The sight of frail human beings makes my skin crawl.”
“Then,” Kyojuro said firmly, eyes blazing with conviction, “we will never see eye to eye.”
Akaza chuckled low, then straightened with unnatural grace. “Be that as it may… let me make you an offer.” He extended a hand toward Kyojuro, his expression almost inviting. “Become a demon.”
Kyojuro’s reply came without hesitation, a sharp snap of flame in his voice. “No thanks.”
But Akaza wasn’t deterred. His sharp gaze roamed Kyojuro up and down, admiring him like a craftsman studying fine steel. “I can tell you’re strong. A Hashira, I’d wager?” His smile curved in satisfaction. “Your fighting spirit has been tempered perfectly. Like a blade honed over fire. Tell me your name.”
The night flickered with the warmth of Kyojuro’s presence as he raised his chin. “I am the Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku.”
Akaza’s eyes lit with predatory delight. “Kyojuro… splendid. Remember me. I am Akaza.” His voice deepened, smug and certain. “But know this—your strength, no matter how tempered, is meaningless. You are merely human. Flesh bound to decay. One day, you will wither and die.”
He stretched out his hand again, his voice smooth, coaxing. “Become a demon, Kyojuro. Live a hundred years. Two hundred. Grow stronger and surpass even yourself.”
Tanjiro’s fists clenched weakly in the dirt, his heart hammering. To him, the night felt like fire and ice—Rengoku’s flames burning against Akaza’s suffocating darkness.
The night air trembled with the roar of colliding forces. Sparks flew each time Kyojuro’s flaming blade clashed with Akaza’s fists, each impact ringing out like thunder. Tanjiro’s eyes struggled to follow—every exchange blurred into streaks of fire and shockwaves of compressed air that rattled his bones.
Rengoku’s voice cut through the chaos, firm as ever, even while blood stained his haori.
“Both growing old and passing away—these are the things that make being human beautiful! Weakness, fragility… they make our lives all the more precious!” His golden eyes burned with conviction. He gestured toward Tanjiro, who knelt trembling and wide-eyed. “This boy is not weak. Do not insult him!”
Tanjiro’s breath hitched, his heart pounding at those words. In the middle of battle, the Flame Hashira still thought of him.
Akaza’s smirk deepened, his sharp blue tattoos glowing faintly as his aura pulsed outward. “I see…” His tone darkened, tinged with frustration. His body shifted low, muscles tightening like a coiled spring. “Then I’ll show you the cost of that stubbornness.”
With a violent rush, the Upper Rank vanished into a blur. A shockwave split the earth as he activated his Blood Demon Art—Destructive Death: Compass Needle. The glowing aura twisted, guiding his fists with deadly precision.
Tanjiro’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t even see the strikes. He only heard the explosion of fists meeting steel, and the fire-scented wind searing his skin as Kyojuro’s sword carved flaming arcs.
“You’ll die for nothing!” Akaza’s voice boomed as his fists hammered down.
“Not while I still stand!” Kyojuro roared back, his sword blazing with Flame Breathing, Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation. His fiery slashes danced, curving against the torrent of shockwaves. For a brief moment, it looked like a blooming inferno rising against the night.
Inosuke, perched a few feet away, gawked in disbelief. “Wha—what the hell!? They’re monsters! If I jump in, I’ll be dead in a second!”
The forest quaked as Kyojuro closed the distance, his blade cutting through Akaza’s forearm. Flesh hissed as it burned—yet the wound sealed instantly, the demon unfazed. He retaliated with a brutal kick, launching Kyojuro across the dirt. The Flame Hashira crashed hard, coughing blood but forcing himself back upright, blade steady even as his ribs screamed in protest.
“Become a demon, Kyojuro!” Akaza urged, his voice carrying both mockery and admiration. “With your skill, you could surpass all limits. You’d never fall to injury, never grow old, never die!”
Rengoku’s lips pulled into a bloody but unshaken smile. “My flame will burn bright for as long as my life allows. That is enough.”
Akaza snarled and dove again. His fists blurred, slicing across Kyojuro’s forehead. Blood trickled into his golden eye, but Kyojuro only tightened his stance. He pivoted, twisting his body with Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire. His blade tore through both of Akaza’s arms in a blinding slash of fire.
The demon’s laughter echoed even as his limbs regenerated. His fist then slammed into Kyojuro’s side, ribs snapping with a sickening crack. Kyojuro staggered, one eye clouded with blood, but his sword never lowered. With a guttural roar, he unleashed Third Form: Blazing Universe, followed seamlessly by Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation—his strikes fiery crescents desperate to land a decisive blow.
The battlefield blazed, fire meeting shockwave in an endless storm. Tanjiro shielded his eyes, despair coiling in his chest. He’s bleeding so much… yet he doesn’t fall. Flame Hashira Rengoku… is truly unbreakable.
Kyojuro surged forward once more, unleashing Fifth Form: Flame Tiger. A fiery beast roared forth, its jaws snapping toward Akaza. But the Upper Rank answered with Destructive Death: Disorder, shredding the inferno into sparks before blitzing forward, his fist colliding against Kyojuro’s blade with earth-shaking force.
When the flames cleared, Kyojuro stood panting, his uniform torn and blood soaking through. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, but his spirit burned as fiercely as the sword in his hands. Across from him, Akaza stood whole, grinning, his body already healed.
“Don’t tell me this is the end,” Akaza said, his voice almost eager. His eyes gleamed with hunger. “I won’t let you die on me, Flame Hashira.”
Tanjiro’s heart clenched. He could barely comprehend what he was witnessing. To him, Rengoku looked less like a man and more like a blazing pillar defying the darkness itself.
Chapter 14: The Flame That Endures
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Rengoku’s chest heaved, each breath searing like fire in his lungs. If I keep this up… I will die, he admitted to himself, the thought heavy but not frightening. And yet… I am not afraid.
His hand brushed against the place beneath his uniform crest, where the small pin rested—the one Aiyaka had given him. Her voice echoed in his mind, soft but firm: “If you are in danger, if even the smallest drop of your blood touches it—it will glow, and I will come to your side.”
His jaw tightened, teeth gritting against the pain. He could feel it there, that lifeline, that promise. But instead of comfort, it cut through him with guilt. If I use it… she will come. She has already done so much for me. I cannot burden her more. No… I cannot.
Another memory rose, clearer, stronger—his own words to her beneath the glow of flame lanterns: “I will return to you, Little Flame.”
Rengoku’s fingers clenched harder around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles bone-white. The fire in his eyes reignited, burning away the fog of despair. Akaza tilted his head, humming low, sensing the change in his aura, brighter and hotter than before.
“I will not die here!” Rengoku roared, the ground trembling beneath his stance. His voice shook the air, blazing with conviction. “I made a promise! I made a promise to my Little Flame!”
Tanjiro’s eyes widened, his battered body going still as the words struck him. Little Flame…? His heart pounded. Could it be… his wife?
Across from him, Akaza’s lips curved into a hungry grin, eyes alight with excitement. “That’s the spirit!” he barked, his tone more eager than mocking. “Now show me your strength, Kyojuro!”
Kyojuro staggered, blood spilling down his side in hot rivulets, his breaths ragged but steady. Each inhale burned, each exhale carried flecks of crimson. Across from him, Akaza’s chest wound stitched itself closed with unnatural ease, the torn flesh knitting together in seconds. The sight pressed heavily on Tanjiro’s heart—how unfair, how cruel.
Kyojuro’s Flame Tiger had been torn apart by Akaza’s ruthless blows, the shimmering heat scattered like dying embers in the night. Akaza stepped back, his feral grin flashing. “You’ll die at this rate, Kyojuro! Become a demon. Heal. Fight for centuries. Why cling to this fleeting weakness?”
The Flame Hashira’s grip on his katana trembled—not from fear, but from blood loss. He remembered her—Aiyaka—her hands warm when she pressed that pin into his palm, her voice steady: ‘If you’re ever in danger, I will come to you.’ His heart squeezed. No… I can’t call her here. I can’t drag her into this. I promised her I’d return alive.
His vision blurred, but his resolve only burned brighter. He straightened his back, fire crackling faintly around his body. “I will not yield. I will not let anyone here die—not while I draw breath!” His voice thundered, though his body trembled. Flames licked up his arms and blade, wild and defiant, a reflection of the inferno in his chest.
Tanjiro’s eyes filled with tears, his fists weakly clenching at the dirt. Mr. Rengoku… even now… his spirit doesn’t waver.
Akaza’s eyes widened, his grin growing wider, exhilarated. “Yes! That’s it! That’s the spirit I want to see! All the more reason to become a demon, Kyojuro!”
But Kyojuro only tightened his stance, the fire around him roaring to life. “Set your heart ablaze,” he whispered to himself, steadying his shaking legs. For her. For them all. I cannot fall here. His golden eyes gleamed with fierce determination. Raising his katana, he roared, “I am the Flame Hashira—Kyojuro Rengoku!”
The ground cracked beneath his feet as he launched forward, sword blazing into the form of a colossal fire dragon. “Flame Breathing—Ninth Form: RENGOKU!”
Akaza’s hands blurred, shockwaves spiraling from his strikes. “Destructive Death—Annihilation Type!”
Flame and destruction collided, the night sky alight with fire and thunder, as Kyojuro threw everything—his body, his soul, his love—into the strike meant to carry them all beyond despair.
The flames died down, and the clearing filled with the acrid tang of blood and smoke. Tanjiro squinted through the haze—Akaza stood alone, his severed arm writhing grotesquely on the ground, already beginning to regenerate.
Then Tanjiro blinked. His breath caught.
Rengoku—broken, bloodied—was no longer standing. He was cradled in the arms of someone else.
“L-L-Lady Aiyaka!?” Tanjiro cried out, his voice cracking with disbelief.
Her long black hair, tipped faintly in purple, gleamed in the moonlight as it spilled over her shoulders. The white sakura-patterned haori fluttered like wings, her presence impossibly gentle amidst the carnage. She knelt, laying Kyojuro down with infinite care, her amber-gold eyes warm but unyielding.
“Inosuke. Tanjiro.” Her voice was calm, clear, and commanding without harshness—like a bell cutting through chaos. “Take Kyojuro to the Kakushi.”
Inosuke, who would normally bark questions and fight orders, froze for only a heartbeat. Something about her tone rooted him. “Y-Yes, ma’am!” he blurted, moving before he even realized. He slipped Rengoku’s arm around his shoulder, muttering gruffly, “Come on, Ponjiro, let’s go!”
Tanjiro’s heart hammered. Her scent enveloped him—sakura blossoms laced with faint iron, stronger now, sharper. He swallowed, heat flooding his chest as he whispered to himself, “Her scent… it’s the same, but… heavier… more powerful…” He forced his legs to move, helping Inosuke bear Rengoku’s weight.
Behind them, Aiyaka exhaled softly, her gaze never leaving Akaza. “And here I thought I would meet Kokushibō tonight,” she murmured, as though disappointed.
Akaza tilted his head, intrigued, his grin widening. “So, you’ve encountered the Upper One. He must’ve been bored… spared you for later.” He chuckled low, his arm finishing its regeneration with a sickening snap. His eyes narrowed as he drank her in. “Your presence… it rivals Kyojuro’s. Perhaps even stronger.”
He extended a hand, his voice coaxing. “How about it? Become a demon. With your strength, your grace—you’d be eternal.”
But before the last word left his lips, the air cracked. Aiyaka vanished from his sight.
In the next instant, pain ripped through him—both arms fell uselessly to the dirt, blood hissing against the scorched ground. Akaza’s eyes went wide, disbelief breaking his composure.
Behind him, her slender figure leaned with deceptive ease, her back brushing his. Her lips curved into a serene smile as she whispered, voice gentle and cold all at once, “You were saying?” A pause, like a knife’s edge. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”
Akaza’s figure dissolved into the night. The silence he left behind was thick.
Aiyaka blinked, amber-gold eyes wide in surprise, her head tilting faintly as the tension in her shoulders released. Her voice slipped out softer than a breeze, almost to herself: “What… just happened?”
But she quickly steadied, tying her focus back to the wounded. She crossed the clearing in a blur, her white sakura-patterned haori trailing like petals in the wind. The Kakushi were already surrounding Rengoku, their voices hushed yet urgent.
“He’s in serious need of care,” one said, bowing hastily, “but he will live.”
Relief softened her face. Aiyaka exhaled, nodding. “Thank you. Please, take him to the Butterfly Mansion as quickly as you can.”
“Yes, Elysian Hashira.” The Kakushi bowed low before rushing Rengoku away on their stretcher, his flames still flickering faintly in the night.
Not long after, three familiar figures stumbled toward her. Tanjiro, bruised and bloodied, bowed deeply, his voice thick with gratitude. “Thank you, Lady Aiyaka! If you hadn’t come, Mr. Rengoku would have—”
Aiyaka knelt slightly to meet his gaze, her smile luminous, gentle as moonlight. “But he didn’t, did he?” She laid her palm lightly atop his head, her touch as comforting as her scent of blossoms and steel. “Let’s not ask about ‘what ifs.’ Kyojuro is alive—that is what matters.”
The warmth in her words made Zenitsu’s face flush scarlet. He nearly toppled over, whisper-shouting to Tanjiro, “H-hey! Tanjiro! Introduce us—who is this goddess of a woman!?”
Inosuke folded his arms, trying to look unimpressed, though his ears twitched with interest.
Tanjiro chuckled softly despite his exhaustion. “Inosuke, Zenitsu—this is Lady Aiyaka. She’s a Hashira… and one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”
Aiyaka inclined her head with a serene smile, her ribbon swaying with the gesture. “That’s very kind of you, Tanjiro.” She glanced over each boy, her gaze assessing with quiet care. “But it seems Kyojuro isn’t the only one who needs treatment. Come—let’s head to the Butterfly Mansion. Shinobu will see to your wounds.”
Her voice, calm yet certain, carried them forward. The boys, despite their weariness, straightened unconsciously under her presence. The battlefield’s weight lessened, if only for a moment, under the soft wings of her serenity.
The Butterfly Mansion glowed faintly under paper lanterns, its halls filled with the muted sounds of hurried footsteps and the faint, bitter-sweet scent of crushed herbs. Kakushi and attendants moved quickly, guiding Rengoku, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke toward their futons.
Aiyaka lingered near the doorway, watching until she was certain each boy was in careful hands. Only then did she let her shoulders relax, exhaling softly.
Something tugged at her haori.
She glanced down, surprised to find Kanao standing there with the three servant girls clustered at her side. Their small faces were tight with worry, but Kanao’s violet eyes were steady, glinting in the lantern-light.
Aiyaka’s lips curved into a gentle smile. She lowered herself a little so she wouldn’t tower over them. “Don’t worry. They’ll be alright. They’re tougher than they look.”
Kanao’s fingers twisted in the hem of her sleeve. Her lips parted, hesitant, before words finally slipped out, soft as falling petals. “Actually…”
Aiyaka blinked, her amber-gold gaze widening faintly.
Kanao’s cheeks colored, but she continued, voice trembling yet determined. “We were… wondering if you’re alright, Aya-nee.” The servant girls nodded vigorously, their small hands clutching one another’s sleeves.
For a moment, Aiyaka was still. Then her smile bloomed, warm and tender, her hand lifting to smooth over Kanao’s silky hair as though she were the most precious thing in the world. The nickname “Aya-nee”, remembering Shinobu and Kanae calling her that.
“Of course I am,” she whispered, her tone wrapping around them like a blanket.
A playful wink softened the moment. “Now, how about you girls lend Aoi a hand? The faster you work together, the sooner those boys will be bouncing around again.”
Kanao’s lips curved—subtle, but unmistakable—and she nodded. The girls brightened, bowing quickly before scampering off.
As they disappeared down the corridor, Aiyaka watched the sway of Kanao’s hair, a quiet pride glimmering in her eyes. Her voice dropped, only for herself. “So… something’s changed. Whoever helped her find her voice beyond that coin… I owe you my thanks.”
The hum of the mansion filled in around her again, but in her heart, a soft warmth lingered.
Lantern light painted the room in a soft glow, shadows flickering across the futon where Kyojuro lay motionless. His chest rose shallowly, the rhythm weak but steady. Aiyaka sat close, her slender fingers wrapped gently around his larger hand, as if anchoring him to this world with her quiet warmth.
The shoji door slid open.
“Hey.”
The voice was low, gruff. Aiyaka turned, amber eyes softening as Itsuki stepped in, his tall frame half-shadowed, scars catching the light. Beside him, a smaller figure hurried forward—Senjuro.
“Big brother!” Senjuro’s voice cracked as he dropped to his knees at Kyojuro’s side. His hands hovered, trembling, afraid to touch, afraid to break something fragile.
Aiyaka rose silently and laid her hands on his small shoulders, her touch feather-light, steadying him. “Sit,” she whispered, voice like a lullaby. “He’ll be fine. He’s strong—he’s going to pull through.”
Senjuro’s lip trembled. He pressed his forehead close to Kyojuro’s arm, shoulders quivering as he held back sobs. “R-right…” His voice was muffled, thin. Then, softer, almost breaking, “I’m just glad you were there…”
Aiyaka’s chest ached. She smoothed a hand through the boy’s hair, then withdrew, giving him the space he needed most.
Out in the corridor, the air felt colder. Itsuki leaned against the wall, arms crossed, red eyes gleaming under the lantern light. For a moment, silence stretched, heavy. Then, his voice dropped low. “Do you want to talk about it? Kagaya’s waiting. We could… sit, over tea.”
Aiyaka shook her head faintly, her dark hair brushing her cheeks. “No,” she breathed. Her scent of sakura and faint iron lingered in the stillness.
A harsh caw shattered the quiet.
“Sorry we weren’t there!” Itsuki’s crow squawked, its scraggly feathers bristling. It jabbed Itsuki’s temple with its beak. “This bastard here went to have lunch with that Intelligence broker!”
Itsuki groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you ever learn to shut up?”
Aiyaka’s lips curved faintly, a fragile smile breaking through the heaviness. “I’m glad,” she murmured, “to see you finally opening up to someone besides me.”
Itsuki snorted, glancing away, scarred jaw tightening. “Tch. Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not like that.”
But his voice wasn’t as cold as before.
It had been two weeks since the Mugen Train. The Butterfly Mansion had grown used to a strange rhythm: slayers coming and going, Hashira stopping in silence, and Senjuro never leaving his brother’s side.
That night, rain drummed steadily against the paper screens. Aoi marched down the hall with blankets stacked high in her arms, Chiori walking silently beside her with pillows.
“How long has the Flame Hashira been here?” Aoi whispered irritably.
“Today makes two weeks,” Chiori answered softly, her tone patient.
Aoi huffed. “Two weeks—and they never leave his bedside!”
Chiori’s lips curved faintly. “You can’t blame them. The Flame Hashira’s spirit… it lingers, even in sleep.”
When they slid the door open, the calm shattered.
“BIG BROTHER!!” Senjuro was clinging to Rengoku, sobbing.
“You’re alive!!” Zenitsu wailed, clutching his leg.
“LET ME SEE THE WOUNDS!” Inosuke shouted, already half-climbing the futon.
Even Giyu was there, standing stiff in the corner, looking as if someone had dragged him against his will.
Nezuko lay curled in Rengoku’s lap, purring softly as he stroked her hair. Tanjiro’s eyes glistened with joy. The room swelled with voices, laughter, and tears.
“BE QUIET!” Aoi snapped, stamping her foot. “There are other patients!”
No one listened.
Shinobu appeared behind her, eyes curved in mischief. “My, my. Is this a celebration?”
The noise only grew louder—until a low, rough voice cut through it.
“Quiet.”
Itsuki had stepped into the doorway, red-ringed eyes glowing in the lanternlight. Instantly, every slayer froze like startled deer. Even Inosuke’s mouth snapped shut mid-yell.
The silence was so sharp, it rang.
Shinobu giggled, patting Itsuki’s arm. “Oh, you must teach me that someday.”
Chiori covered her mouth, laughing softly. “That’s the Abyss Hashira for you.”
Shinobu asked, approaching Rengoku. “How are your wounds, Rengoku?”
Rengoku’s booming voice broke the hush, bright and unshaken. “Much better! I still ache, but that won’t stop me! Ahahahaha!”
He threw his head back to laugh—just as Itsuki’s fist thumped his chest. Rengoku gagged mid-laugh, clutching at his ribs while the room gasped in horror.
“You were saying?” Itsuki muttered dryly.
“Insolent as ever,” Rengoku wheezed, then grinned through the pain. “Same as always, my friend.”
Chiori pouted, folding her arms. “Did you have to go that far?”
Rengoku chuckled, eyes darting around the room. But his joy faltered when he noticed a certain presence missing.
“Where’s Aiyaka?” he asked, quieter now. “Is she… on a mission?”
Itsuki crossed his arms. “She’s angry with you.”
A sharp slap echoed—Shinobu had swatted the back of his head. “She isn’t,” she said flatly.
“She’s outside,” Shinobu explained gently, looking back at Rengoku. “She hasn’t left this mansion in days. She needed the air.”
Rengoku blinked, confused—until Senjuro’s trembling voice added softly:
“She’s been here every day, Brother. By your side. She never let go of your hand, not once.”
The words struck harder than any demon’s blade. Rengoku’s wide eyes glistened, his chest heaving as warmth and guilt tangled inside him.
Notes:
And this marks the end of the Mugen Train arc!
Chapter 15: Blossoms Beneath the Flame
Chapter Text
The morning sun spilled over Aiyaka’s garden, turning dew into silver fire across her blossoms. She knelt among the soil, hands dusted with earth as she smoothed the roots of a young sakura sprout. The air smelled faintly of lavender and water, the koi pond rippling softly in the breeze. She tended her plants in silence, distracting herself from the ache lodged in her chest.
Then—she froze.
A familiar scent drifted toward her, warm like smoke and embers. Her heart lurched. Slowly, she turned.
There he was.
Kyojuro, wrapped in bandages, his body weakened but his presence burning as bright as ever. Senjuro was at his side, carefully supporting him down the garden steps.
“Aiyaka…” Senjuro’s voice wavered, worried yet relieved.
Her tools slipped from her hands. She rushed forward, skirts brushing against the flowers. “What are you doing here? You should still be resting,” she whispered, her hands already ghosting over his bandages, checking, touching, as if to assure herself he wasn’t a phantom.
“I couldn’t stay away,” Kyojuro breathed, his voice low and rough. “Not when you’ve always been there for me.”
Her chest tightened. She cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing against his cheekbones, as though her touch alone might hold him together.
Senjuro swallowed hard, then bowed his head. “I’ll leave you two,” he murmured, stepping back, disappearing into the house with a knowing silence.
Alone now, the air between them thickened. Kyojuro’s calloused hands settled at her waist, tentative but firm, pulling her closer. “I’m sorry to have worried you,” he whispered.
“Oh heavens, Kyojuro…” she exhaled, her hands slipping down to rest against his chest, feeling the slow but steady thrum of his heart.
He gathered her into his arms, holding her as though she were something irreplaceable. She leaned against him, her cheek against his shoulder, breathing him in—smoke, steel, and faint medicine.
“Little Flame…” he murmured, his lips brushing against her forehead, lingering there as if afraid she’d vanish. “It’s all right. I’m here now.”
Her fingers trembled as they traced the curve of his jaw. “You can be an idiot sometimes, you know,” she whispered, voice tender, chastising only in love.
Kyojuro smiled, eyes closing as he leaned into her touch. For a moment he was silent, and then, more softly, almost afraid: “Do you want to know a secret?”
Her heart skipped. “Kyojuro—”
“Shh…” His hand slid up her back, steady, soothing. “When I fought Akaza, I thought I would die. I told myself it was all right—that you, my friends, someone would finish the fight, and Muzan would fall.” His voice faltered, raw, his breath brushing her ear. “But then… I thought of you. Of the promise I made. That I’d return. To you.”
His forehead pressed to hers, his lips barely apart from hers, his voice unsteady in a way she had never heard before. “Aiyaka… I realized I couldn’t let go. Because of you.”
Her breath caught, trembling, her heart pounding so fiercely she thought he might feel it through his chest. Time seemed to fracture, the garden spinning away until there was only him—his warmth, his nearness, the aching vulnerability in his eyes.
Her lips parted, a whisper caught between them.
And still—he held her as though she were his anchor, his flame.
She closed her eyes, certain their lips would meet. But instead, a different warmth brushed her cheek—soft, fleeting, trembling with restraint. Her eyes flew open just as his breath ghosted against her skin.
“Sorry…” Kyojuro murmured, his voice low, uncharacteristically fragile. His hand tightened gently at her back, thumb tracing a nervous circle through the fabric. “One day, I’ll be braver.”
The great Flame Hashira—who never faltered before death itself—stood before her with his lashes lowered, his chest rising unevenly, afraid yet unwilling to let go.
Her heart lurched. Aiyaka’s cheeks burned as if the flame he carried had leapt into her own skin. She cleared her throat softly, pressing a hand to the frantic rhythm beneath her chest.
Kyojuro’s golden eyes widened when he noticed her blush. For a moment, wonder lit his features, the edges of his smile trembling as though he had been given a miracle he didn’t dare expect.
He leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, a shy, almost boyish whisper slipping past his lips. “I also think… I owe you for that lunch of ours.”
Aiyaka turned her gaze away, her composure betraying her for once. The corners of her mouth curved, gentle, almost secretive. “I think I know a place.”
The evening air was cool, carrying with it the faint fragrance of pine and stone lanterns warmed by the day’s sun. Kagaya Ubuyashiki moved slowly along the garden path, each step deliberate, his hand resting lightly in Amane’s. Their children followed close behind, their soft sandals brushing against gravel.
“Today is a beautiful day,” Kagaya whispered, his voice gentle, thin, yet filled with warmth.
Amane turned when she sensed another presence. Aiyaka approached quietly, her white sakura-patterned haori trailing like pale wings in the twilight. Her amber-gold eyes glowed softly under the lantern light.
“Kagaya…” Amane’s voice was a low murmur, carrying a note of respect.
Kagaya looked over his shoulder. When his gaze fell on Aiyaka, his lips curved into a faint, serene smile. “Please excuse us, Amane.”
Amane bowed her head with quiet obedience and stepped aside with her children, her presence dissolving into the shadows of the corridor.
Aiyaka reached Kagaya’s side, her hand slipping beneath his arm to support him. “Hey,” she whispered, her voice calm, though her heart stirred with emotion.
Kagaya smiled softly, his clouded eyes full of understanding. “How is Rengoku?”
“He’s doing just fine,” she answered, a small warmth in her tone.
“And you, Aya-chan?” His whisper carried not only concern but the weight of a father figure, always listening more deeply than he spoke.
Her lips curved in a fragile smile. She gave a small laugh, lowering her gaze as though embarrassed. “Do you want the truth… or a lie?”
Kagaya’s smile deepened, serene and knowing. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”
Together, they moved down the stone path, her sleeve brushing softly against his frail arm. The cicadas sang in the distance, the koi pond reflecting shards of moonlight.
After a long silence, Aiyaka exhaled and whispered, “I had lunch with Rengoku earlier.”
Kagaya inclined his head, listening, patient as the night itself.
Her hand pressed briefly against her chest as though trying to quiet something within. “My heart…” She hesitated, voice breaking into a confession. “It couldn’t stop racing.”
The garden lanterns flickered softly, their glow painting pale amber against the stones. Cicadas sang faintly in the trees, their chorus filling the quiet spaces between breaths. Kagaya walked slowly along the path, his movements fragile yet unhurried, like the rhythm of a calm stream. Aiyaka supported him at his side, her sleeve brushing gently against his arm, her presence steady.
He could sense the weight in her silence, as easily as he could sense the shifting wind. His voice was soft when he broke it.
“You are troubled, Aya-chan.”
Her amber-gold eyes flickered away, fixed on the koi pond rippling with moonlight. “I…” Her lips pressed together before she tried again, her voice low, almost hesitant. “Can I ask you something… not as my master, but as my family?”
Kagaya’s smile was serene, touched with warmth. “Of course.”
Aiyaka’s hand brushed the crimson ribbon in her hair, her fingers tightening as if grounding herself. “I don’t understand this feeling. With family, it’s simple. I know how to protect, to nurture… to be an older sister to them all. But this—” She hesitated, her voice almost breaking. “This warmth I feel when I’m near him… it’s different. It makes my chest ache. I don’t know if it’s love, or something else.”
Her confession left her trembling slightly, though her tone never rose. She tilted her face down, a lock of her silky hair slipping free to veil her expression. “You have Amane-sama, and you understand what it means to love… but for me, it feels impossible. I admire it—how couples smile at each other, how easily they hold hands. And yet, I can’t imagine myself deserving that. My hands are stained. My failures are too heavy. Maybe love isn’t meant for me.”
For a long while, Kagaya simply listened, his pale eyes gentle, reflecting the lantern’s glow. His thin hand rested lightly over hers, as if to steady her trembling.
“Aya-chan,” he said softly, “you have given so much of yourself to others, that you’ve forgotten love can be given to you as well. You believe you are tainted, but the truth is—your compassion is what makes you worthy of being loved.”
Her breath caught, her eyes widening slightly.
“Romantic love is confusing, yes,” he continued with quiet wisdom. “It is vulnerability. It is allowing another to see not your strength, but your weakness. That ache you feel… it is not something to fear. It is a reminder you are still alive, still capable of being moved.” His smile deepened, faint but luminous. “And I think… whoever it is that stirs this warmth in you, he must already see your worth, even if you cannot.”
The faintest flush touched her pale cheeks, though her eyes shimmered with guilt and wonder all at once. Her voice trembled in a whisper. “Do you… truly believe I deserve that kind of love?”
Kagaya’s answer came without hesitation. “Without question.”
The night breeze stirred the sakura-patterned haori draped across her shoulders, carrying with it the faint scent of blossoms and iron. For the first time in a long while, Aiyaka let her chest ease, even as that ache remained—softer now, as though it had been heard.
The moonlight poured over the engawa, painting the wooden veranda in silver. Aiyaka sat beside Kagaya, her sleeve brushing lightly against his. The faint scent of her sakura blossom perfume mingled with the night air, soothing yet edged with iron, as though even her calm carried traces of the battlefield.
She tilted her head slightly, her silken black hair slipping forward, ribbon glinting crimson under the pale light. A small smile touched her lips.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she whispered. Her voice was soft, steady, as though she was speaking a thought she rarely gave voice to. “You, Itsuki, and I… we’ve been at each other’s side since childhood. And yet…” her amber-gold eyes softened, “sometimes it feels strange to call you ‘master.’”
Kagaya’s pale features curved into a gentle smile, fragile yet bright. A quiet chuckle left him, his breath warm in the cool air. With effort, his thin hand lifted, resting lightly atop her head in a brother’s tenderness.
“It feels strange to me as well,” he admitted softly, his voice like a calming breeze. “But when I see you and Itsuki standing proudly among the Hashira… my heart can only swell with pride.”
Her chest tightened at his words, and a warmth filled her eyes. She leaned closer until her head rested carefully against his shoulder, her long lashes lowering as if to shield what trembled within her. Her voice dropped, hushed, almost a confession.
“You and Itsuki are the only ones I can confide in… the only ones I’ve ever allowed myself to lean on.” A faint tremor carried through her words. “I don’t think… I could bear it if you were to leave this world soon.”
For a moment, silence lingered, broken only by the chorus of cicadas in the garden. Kagaya did not flinch at her words, nor shy from the ache in them. Instead, he let the quiet hold them both, before he whispered, his tone serene yet weighted with unshakable belief.
“You will endure, Aya-chan. Both you and Itsuki.” His hand slid gently down from her head, resting lightly over hers. “You are far stronger than you allow yourself to believe.”
Her amber-gold eyes glistened faintly, and though her lips curved in a smile, there was a fragile ache beneath it.
Chapter 16: The Peacock and the Wolf
Chapter Text
The Butterfly Mansion was usually a haven of order—until the day a very tall, very sparkly Hashira decided to cause chaos.
“Wait, stop!” Aoi shrieked, stomping her foot as she saw Tengen scooping Chiori up by the wrist like a prized treasure. “Miss Shirakawa is not a fighter! Put her down this instant!”
“Not a fighter, sure,” Tengen replied with a smirk, tossing his braid over his shoulder, eyes glittering like he was already center stage. “But she’s got intel, and intel is flashier than steel. So—she’s coming with me.”
Chiori blinked up at him, face pale but voice calm, though her hand trembled ever so slightly against her kimono sleeve. “M-Mission…?”
“Mission?!” Tanjiro nearly tripped over his own sandals as he darted forward, arms flailing. “Then take us ! Zenitsu, Inosuke, and I—we’ll go with you! Miss Shirakawa doesn’t deserve this!”
Zenitsu clung to Tanjiro’s sleeve, wailing. “DON’T VOLUNTEER ME! I’ll die! I’ll definitely die!”
“Mission?! Where’s the mission?!” Inosuke screamed, already halfway to climbing the wall, boar-head crooked. “I’ll rip it apart first!”
Tengen, entirely unfazed, crouched low and leapt onto the mansion’s roof with a gymnast’s flair, balancing on one hand just because he could. “Sorry, can’t hear you~! Too busy being flashy up here!”
The servant girls gasped. Tanjiro and Aoi stared helplessly. Zenitsu nearly fainted. And then—
A chill swept the courtyard.
“Just what do you think you’re doing, Peacock?”
The voice was low, edged like steel. They all whipped around to see Itsuki standing in the shadow of the gate, arms crossed, his scarred jaw set and crimson eyes glinting like a predator’s. Even the cicadas seemed quiet.
Tengen straightened, one brow rising. “Well, well. Didn’t expect the Wolf to show up.”
In less than a blink, Itsuki blurred—a gust of wind, a flash of black cloak—and suddenly Chiori was gone from Tengen’s grip, swept into Itsuki’s arms, carried bridal style as if she weighed nothing. His boots hit the earth with a dull thud .
“So fast…” Tanjiro breathed, wide-eyed.
Chiori clutched lightly at Itsuki’s uniform, lavender eyes blinking in surprise, cheeks faintly pink. “I—I’m alright… thank you,” she whispered, her usual composure breaking into nervous warmth.
Itsuki inclined his head, voice dropping low for her ears alone. “Good.”
Tengen scoffed, flipping his blades lazily across his shoulders. “Tch. Come on now, I wasn’t stealing her. I just need her for my mission. Don’t be stingy.”
Itsuki looked up at him with the weariness of a man tolerating a child. He sighed through his nose. “Ever heard of disguises, Peacock?”
That gave Tengen pause. His sharp gaze shifted—not to Chiori, but to Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu. A grin tugged at his lips. “Hah. Fine then. You four will accompany me instead.”
Zenitsu collapsed to his knees. “WHHHHY ME?!?”
Inosuke was already foaming at the mouth. “YEAH! A MISSION! WHO DO WE BEAT UP?!”
Aoi pressed her palm to her forehead, muttering through gritted teeth, “How do I end up cleaning all of this up every single time…?”
As they left the Butterfly Mansion, Tengen twirled on his heel with a smug grin. His gems caught the sunlight, throwing flashes across the courtyard as he gestured grandly toward Itsuki.
“Boys, allow me to introduce the Abyss Hashira—also known as the Executioner, the Unflashy One, the Grim Storm, the Man Who Has Never Smiled—”
Itsuki pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling like a man already regretting his life choices.
“Enough. With. The. Nicknames.”
Zenitsu squeaked, clinging to Tanjiro’s haori. “He’s even scarier up close… I can feel my lifespan shrinking!”
Inosuke stomped forward, puffing his chest like a wild boar. “Hah! You look so weird! Like some kind of scarred-up caveman!”
Itsuki arched a brow. “Ever looked in a mirror, boar child?”
Tanjiro nervously chuckled, bowing to smooth things over. “Please forgive us, Abyss Hashira. I’m Tanjiro Kamado. This is Inosuke, and this is Zenitsu.”
Itsuki gave the faintest nod, his red-ringed eyes flicking toward the box on Tanjiro’s back. “Your sister’s with you?”
“Yes, sir!” Tanjiro beamed.
Before Itsuki could reply, Tengen slung a jeweled arm around his shoulders.
“This guy,” Tengen announced proudly, “is the most awkward, terrifying, and antisocial lump of man you’ll ever meet. He probably won’t lift a finger for you unless your name is Aiyaka—or, oddly, Chiori. But hey, when it comes to killing demons? Nobody does it bloodier!”
Zenitsu shrieked. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE WON’T PROTECT US?!”
Itsuki dragged a hand down his face. “For the love of—just tell them the mission, Peacock.”
“Fine, fine.” Tengen struck a pose, rings jingling as he crossed his arms. “We’re going somewhere flashy. The brightest jewel in Japan. A place overflowing with desire, secrets… and demons. The Entertainment District!”
Itsuki groaned, covering his face. His mutter carried just enough to be heard: “Why am I surrounded by idiots?”
Tanjiro tilted his head. “Entertainment District?”
Zenitsu turned beet red, flailing. “You know! That place! With all the gorgeous—shapely—elegant—!!” His hands fluttered wildly, but Tanjiro only looked confused while Inosuke scratched his head.
Itsuki deadpanned. “Do I even want to know how you’re familiar with that place?”
Before Zenitsu could dig himself deeper, a clear voice interrupted.
“I’m coming too.”
Everyone turned. Chiori stood with a small travel pack on her shoulders, serene but determined, wisteria-scent clinging to her robes.
Itsuki blinked, surprised. “Any reason?”
Chiori’s eyes softened, but her tone was firm. “I don’t want my skills to go to waste. I can be useful without lifting a sword. I am the Corps’ intelligence broker for a reason.”
Tengen smirked, intrigued. Tanjiro’s brows rose with admiration. Zenitsu was already gawking, starry-eyed.
Meanwhile, Inosuke jabbed a thumb at her. “Intelligence broker? What’s that? You break smarts? HAHAHA, what a dumb job!”
Before anyone could stop him, Itsuki casually chopped Inosuke on the back of the neck. The boar-headed boy crumpled to the ground with a dull thud.
Zenitsu screamed, diving behind Tanjiro again. “HE KNOCKED HIM OUT WITH ONE HAND!! WE’RE NEXT, TANJIRO, WE’RE NEXT!!”
Itsuki hoisted the unconscious Inosuke onto one arm like a sack of rice. He met Chiori’s steady eyes with an unreadable expression.
“…Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
Chiori nodded, calm and unwavering. “I will.”
Tengen clapped his hands together, grin wide. “Well then! With brains, brawn, and my overwhelming flashiness—we’re unstoppable! Let’s get moving!”
The carriage rattled to a stop, lanternlight spilling through the curtains like molten gold. Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke—and even Chiori—peered wide-eyed at the glowing district. Perfumed air heavy with incense and laughter drifted in.
Chiori leaned toward Itsuki, her voice a whisper like folding paper. “Have you ever come here before, Abyss Hashira?”
Itsuki exhaled, tired already. “More times than I care to count. This peacock—” he jerked his chin at Tengen—“dragged me here often enough.”
Tengen threw his arms wide, rings glittering. “And every single time, it was flashy! You should thank me, unflashy one.”
Itsuki pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d rather not.”
Tengen clapped, suddenly serious. “Alright, listen up. Blend in. Don’t draw attention. And above all—stay in the carriage.”
But Inosuke was already gone, hollering. Zenitsu had bolted after him, shrieking about demons.
Itsuki, deadpan: “There they go.”
Tanjiro scrambled up. “Wait! Come back you two!” And off he sprinted, leaving Tengen fuming.
“What a bunch of hardheaded idiots!” Tengen’s voice boomed, startling a passerby.
Meanwhile, Chiori’s gaze swept the lantern-lit streets, gray-lavender eyes wide. “It’s so bright… like daytime.”
“You’ve never been here?” Itsuki asked, brows raised.
Chiori shook her head, hands clutching her pack. “I only know it from books—district maps, courtesan customs, ledgers. I never thought I’d step into it myself.”
Tanjiro, still half-panting from chasing Zenitsu, beamed at her. “That’s incredible, Miss Shirakawa!”
Tengen’s grin widened. “See? She’s already more useful than half of you!” He flung a jeweled hand at the view. “Behold—Yoshiwara! Awash in vanity, lust, and the flashiest lights in all Japan!”
Inosuke, now standing on a roof beam, yelled, “TOO MANY PEOPLE! I’LL FIGHT THEM ALL!”
The crowd shrieked.
Itsuki groaned and shoved through the chaos. “And here I thought my crow was irritating.” He hauled Inosuke down by the scruff, slinging him over one shoulder like a sack of rice.
When he turned back—Chiori was gone.
Itsuki froze, eyes narrowing. “Goodness gracious…”
Chiori, meanwhile, wandered a few streets away, her breath caught in her throat. Lanterns shimmered like constellations overhead, the noise of shamisen and laughter pressing in on her. Beautiful… and terrifying. For the first time, the serene intelligence broker felt like she was standing inside one of her scrolls, overwhelmed by colors that no ink could capture.
Chiori drifted through the lantern-lit streets, her steps soft against the lacquered boards. The air smelled of perfume, smoke, and sake. Men laughed boisterously, courtesans in dazzling silks glided past like fireflies, and music spilled from every corner. Her grayish-lavender eyes darted about—equal parts fascination and unease.
A man in a fine but rumpled robe noticed her. He had flushed cheeks and the swagger of someone with too much sake in his veins. His gaze swept over her pale lavender kimono and braided hair, and his grin spread.
“Well, well… what do we have here? Such a pretty flower, walking all alone.” He swaggered closer, reeking of alcohol. “How about I buy you a drink, sweetheart?”
Chiori froze. Her pulse jumped in her throat. Is… is he speaking to me?
The man leaned in, attempting to brush a stray thread from her sleeve. “Never seen you around before. You new to the district? Don’t be shy—pretty girls like you shouldn’t waste time wandering.”
Her face bloomed red. Words tangled in her mouth. “I… I—ah—I was only—”
Before she could stammer further, a heavy hand clamped onto the man’s wrist.
Itsuki loomed behind him, shadow swallowing the lanternlight. His crimson-ringed eyes burned like a wolf’s in the dark. “She’s with me.”
The man blinked. “Eh? Who the hell are y—”
Itsuki’s grip tightened until bone creaked. The man yelped.
“Her lover,” Itsuki said flatly, tone colder than steel.
Chiori’s jaw dropped. L-lover?! Her porcelain skin flushed pink all the way to her ears.
The drunk stuttered, sweat beading. “O-oh—m-my mistake! Didn’t realize—!”
Itsuki leaned closer, lips curling in something between a smirk and a snarl. “You touched what’s mine. Next time you try, I’ll cut that hand off and feed it to the crows.”
The man paled, bowing clumsily before fleeing down the street, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Chiori stood frozen, wide-eyed. Her voice was a hushed whisper, trembling between embarrassment and awe. “Y-you didn’t have to say that …”
Itsuki glanced at her, utterly unbothered. “It was efficient.”
“Efficient?” she squeaked, hands pressed to her burning cheeks.
Before she could recover, a loud voice boomed from behind them.
“OOOOH-HO-HO!” Tengen Uzui stood at the end of the street, arms crossed, gems glittering in the lamplight. Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke peeked out behind him.
Tengen smirked. “So the ruthless Abyss Hashira does know how to play the part of a flashy lover!”
Zenitsu shrieked, grabbing Tanjiro’s shoulders. “DID HE JUST SAY LOVER ?! MISS CHIORI, WHAT IS THIS—HOW DID THIS HAPPEN SO FAST?!”
Meanwhile, Chiori wanted to melt into the cobblestones. “I-I… this isn’t… I don’t…”
Itsuki, expression stone-cold, only muttered: “All of you are noisy.”
Chapter 17: Chaos in the Wisteria House
Chapter Text
Tengen’s jeweled headband glittered under the lamplight as he raised a hand with theatrical flair. “Take notes, everybody. During the day, this place is as quiet as a ghost town. At night, it roars to life—perfect conditions for a demon to lurk.” His sharp eyes swept the street before flicking back to them. “The women here are unique. Many are courtesans, sold to pay debts. In exchange, they’re given food, clothing, lodging. If they rise far enough, a wealthy man may buy out their contract. The highest-ranking courtesan is called the oiran. Her beauty, intelligence, and mastery of the arts are unmatched. A shining jewel.”
Tanjiro’s eyes glimmered with genuine admiration. “She sounds incredible…”
Tengen smirked. “Correct. Now, I think that’s enough reconnaissance. Let’s move.”
They followed him into the Wisteria House, the warm lantern glow spilling across tatami mats as they sat down in a circle. Tengen leaned forward, tone dropping lower, more serious. “Listen up. Once inside the Entertainment District, your goal is to locate my wives. I’ll gather intel on the demon threat.”
Chiori blinked, surprised. “Wives?”
Zenitsu’s face went scarlet, and he shot to his feet, trembling finger pointed at Tengen. “W-w-wives?! As in… plural?! ”
Tengen tilted his head innocently. “Huh?”
Zenitsu practically foamed at the mouth. He slapped the floor, stamping his foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “This is RIDICULOUS ! How dare you order us around to— to—what?! FIND YOU MORE BRIDES?!”
Tanjiro’s jaw dropped. “Zenitsu, wait—!”
But Zenitsu was on a roll, his voice cracking in outrage. “You think just because you strut around with muscles, flashy jewelry, and good looks you can collect women like Pokémon?! Forget it! We’re here to slay demons, not play your harem game, you creep!”
Tengen’s eye twitched, his calm cracking. He rose to his full, sparkling height, voice booming through the rafters. “WHAT—?! When did I ever say anything about FINDING ME A BRIDE?!” His hands slammed on the tatami, sending teacups rattling.
Zenitsu jabbed back, “Don’t try to weasel out of this, you freak with no luck in love!”
Tengen bristled, veins popping. “ No luck—?! I’ll have you know my wives are infiltrating the district to gather intel! They’ve stopped checking in—I’m trying to make sure they’re still safe, you shrieking ball of cowardice!”
The two were nose-to-nose now, sparks practically flying.
Meanwhile, Inosuke had crawled onto the table, mask tilted as he flexed. “I don’t get it—what’s a wife ? Is it tasty? Can I fight one?!”
Tanjiro buried his face in his hands. “Inosuke, please—sit down—”
Chiori, quietly watching the chaos, pressed a hand delicately to her mouth to stifle a laugh. Her lavender-gray eyes softened—at least amidst all the shouting, their spirits were alive, even in the face of danger.
Across the room, Itsuki leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His crimson-ringed eyes tracked the argument with quiet disdain. “…Pathetic,” he muttered, though there was the faintest ghost of amusement tugging at his scarred jaw.
Tengen caught the look, smirk tugging at his lips. “You agree with me, don’t you, Itsuki? Surely a good man like you can appreciate a fellow shinobi fighting for his wives’ safety.”
Itsuki’s gaze flicked toward him, cold as winter steel. “…You’re irritating.”
“Flashy, and irritating,” Tengen corrected proudly, striking a pose.
Tengen flicked a bundle of letters at Zenitsu, the papers smacking him in the chest.
“Here’s your proof. Kasugai crow delivered these.”
Tanjiro bent down, picking up the scattered envelopes with careful hands. His brow furrowed. “There’s a lot here… She must have been undercover for quite some time.”
Tengen stretched, deliberately nonchalant. “Oh well, I do have three wives.”
The words landed like thunder.
Zenitsu froze, then shot upright so fast his hair practically sparked. “D-Did you say wives ? As in plural? And not two, but THREE?!” He was shrieking now, clutching his head. “How in the world did YOU, of all people, manage to get THREE WIVES? This is a cosmic-level injustice!”
A vein popped on Tengen’s temple. In one motion he drove his fist into Zenitsu’s stomach. The boy collapsed in a heap, twitching, little whimpers escaping him.
“You got a problem with that, brat?” Tengen barked, flexing his knuckles.
Chiori, who had been quietly observing, covered her lips with her sleeve in surprise. Her calm voice carried a note of awe. “Three wives… truly, the Hashira live lives beyond imagining.”
Itsuki pinched the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh. “Unfortunately, Peacock isn’t exaggerating this time.”
Tanjiro, trying to ignore Zenitsu’s groans on the tatami, spoke gently. “Um… forgive me, but I noticed something in the letters. They all reminded you not to… stand out when you arrive.”
Tengen jabbed a finger at Tanjiro. “Which is exactly why you four are going in instead.”
Chiori tilted her head, gray-lavender eyes glimmering with curiosity. “So… what will we be doing, Sound Hashira?”
Tengen swept an arm at Itsuki, who scowled like thunderclouds. “Like the unflashy one here said—you’ll need to disguise yourselves. And as much as it pains my flamboyant soul…” he grimaced, “it’ll have to be in an unflashy way.”
Chiori’s voice stayed soft, polite. “May I ask, Hashira-dono… who are your wives?”
Tengen’s chest swelled, his teeth flashing in a grin. “All three are kunoichi of unrivaled brilliance. I suspected this district was demon territory, but as a customer I couldn’t get close. So I sent them in—where only women could reach. Each infiltrated a different house.” He raised three fingers dramatically. “Suma at the Tokito House. Makio at the Ogimoto House. Hinatsuru at the Kyogoku House.”
Inosuke, scratching his head with his claws, snorted. “Hah! If they stopped writing, they’re probably all dead.”
Silence.
Then a WHAM .
Itsuki’s massive hand cracked across Inosuke’s back like a thunderclap, launching the boar-headed boy face-first into the floorboards. Inosuke twitched, half-conscious, while Tanjiro flailed in panic.
“I warned you about your tongue,” Itsuki growled, eyes glinting with demonic red.
Tengen barked out a laugh, hands on his hips. “Ha! Maybe you’re not completely insufferable after all, Wolf.”
Itsuki shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t get used to it, Peacock.”
The sliding door creaked, and an attendant stepped in, bowing low with a lacquered box in her hands.
“Pardon my intrusion, sir, but I’ve brought the items you requested earlier.”
Tengen’s jeweled headband gleamed as he gave a broad nod. “Excellent. Set it here.”
The moment the attendant left, he cracked open the box. Inside lay powders, paints, and silks—the tools of transformation. He rubbed his hands together, grinning with a dangerous sparkle. “Time to get flamboyant .”
Zenitsu paled instantly. “W-Wait, wait, WAIT! What do you mean flamboyant ?! Don’t touch me with that brush!” He scrambled backward like a panicked rabbit, only to be grabbed by Tengen’s massive hand.
“Quit squirming,” Tengen boomed, smearing a thick streak of red rouge across Zenitsu’s trembling cheeks. “There! Bold and vivid!”
Zenitsu wailed like a dying cicada. “I LOOK LIKE A CIRCUS CLOWN!”
Meanwhile, Tanjiro sat patiently on the floor, determined to be cooperative… until Tengen smeared his eyebrows into two jet-black caterpillars and powdered his nose chalk-white. Tanjiro forced a smile, though his eyes brimmed with despair. “A-Are you sure this will help us blend in?”
“Blend in?” Tengen barked a laugh. “Boy, you’ll dazzle .”
Across the room, Itsuki crouched over Inosuke with an expressionless face, scooping up powder like it was battlefield mud. With cold precision, he slapped a heavy layer of white onto Inosuke’s wild cheeks, then traced his lips a garish crimson. By the time he was done, Inosuke looked like a boar-headed ghost bride.
Inosuke beamed. “This is AWESOME! I look terrifying!”
Itsuki’s mouth twitched. “Terrifying is the point.”
From the corner, Chiori had been watching in silence, her hands folded neatly in her sleeves. Finally, she let out the faintest sigh, like a mother watching children smear soot on temple walls. She stepped forward, kneeling gracefully beside them.
“Honestly,” she murmured, her voice calm but firm, “if you gentlemen continue like this, the demons will be slain by laughter before swords.” Her lavender-gray eyes softened as she reached for a brush. With deft fingers, she wiped away the smudges, her touch gentle as falling petals. “Makeup requires balance, subtlety… not war paint.”
Zenitsu peeked hopefully through watery eyes. “S-So… you’ll fix this, right?”
“Yes,” Chiori said serenely, dipping the brush with precision. “Hold still.”
Within moments, Zenitsu’s face transformed from disaster to delicate—lashes softened, complexion even, lips tinted lightly. Tanjiro’s “caterpillars” became natural brows, his cheeks shaded with just enough warmth to make him glow. Even Inosuke, though still impossible to tame, had the harsh edges of Itsuki’s paint smoothed into something passably human.
Tengen leaned back, arms crossed, lips twitching between pride and embarrassment. “Tch. Guess I’ll admit it… your touch is less… explosive than mine.”
Chiori gave him a small smile, her tone playful but chiding. “There is art in restraint, Sound Hashira.”
Tengen snapped the lid shut on the disguise chest and turned with a dramatic flourish, jeweled headband glinting in the lantern light. “Now! The grand reveal of your glorious roles!”
Zenitsu trembled. “Wh-what do you mean roles ?!”
“Quiet, mouse,” Tengen said, waving him off before pointing a long, jeweled finger at Chiori. “You, little parchment princess, will become the elegant house attendant of the Kizuna House. You’ll record transactions, arrange guests, keep the place orderly—all while secretly spying for us. Quite the flamboyant secretary !”
Chiori’s lips parted slightly, her gray-lavender eyes widening. “I… a house attendant?” Her hands brushed against her kimono sleeves, already imagining herself fidgeting under the gaze of high-class courtesans. A faint heat prickled her neck. “I’m not accustomed to deception. I might… stand out.”
“Nonsense,” Tengen boomed, striding over and producing a folded pale-blue kimono from the box. He held it high like a rare treasure. “With your grace and poise, you’ll look the part. Besides—” he leaned closer, voice dropping to a sly murmur “—you’ll have a wolf at your side.”
Before she could ask, Itsuki was shoved forward.
“And you,” Tengen announced grandly, “are her escort. A mercenary-turned-guard, scarred by battle, sworn to protect her delicate hands while she writes. Dark, brooding, sharp—oh, it fits you so well it hurts!”
Itsuki glared, jaw tight. His blood-red eyes narrowed to slits. “…You want me to play dress-up .”
“Not dress-up,” Tengen corrected, twirling a sleeve, “ theatrical deception. ”
Itsuki’s stare did not waver. “It’s still dress-up.”
Tanjiro, sitting politely nearby, tried to defuse. “Um, Itsuki-san, I think you’ll look very convincing in that role—”
“Convincing?” Inosuke barked, snorting laughter. “He already looks like a scary guard! Put him in any clothes and people will run away!”
Zenitsu whimpered, hiding behind Tanjiro. “Y-Yeah, but what if someone actually flirts with Chiori-san? Itsuki’ll kill them on the spot!”
At that, Itsuki’s lips curved into a humorless smirk. “That is the point.”
Chiori’s chest tightened, both at the menace in his tone and the odd reassurance it gave her. Somehow, knowing he would stand at her side—eyes sharp, presence looming—made the thought of infiltration less terrifying. She adjusted the pale-blue kimono Tengen had draped over her arm, fingers brushing the fabric as if it might steady her racing heart.
Tengen, of course, noticed immediately. His grin spread like wildfire. “Ohhh? Look at that. The parchment princess relaxes when the wolf prowls near. How flamboyantly heart-racing .”
Chiori’s pale cheeks flushed. “P-Please don’t say it like that, Lord Tengen.”
Itsuki growled low in his throat. “Stop making nonsense.”
Unfazed, Tengen clapped both massive hands together, jewels clinking. “Perfect! A graceful attendant with her brooding guard. At night, she whispers the oddities she observes, and he slips away to carve through the shadows. A matched pair, inside and out. Deliciously dramatic!”
Zenitsu was on the verge of tears. “Matched pair?! Y-You make it sound like they’re… like they’re… engaged or something!”
Inosuke’s eyes gleamed. “ENGAGED?! HAH! I knew it! The wolf and the paper lady are mated!”
Chiori nearly dropped the kimono. “Inosuke-kun!”
Itsuki’s crimson gaze cut sharp enough to silence the boar boy—for a whole two seconds.
Tengen, meanwhile, only laughed louder, the sound booming off the walls. “Oh, this mission is already shaping up to be gloriously flamboyant !”
Tanjiro shifted uneasily, scratching the back of his neck before finally blurting out, “Um—Miss Shirakawa? I’ve been wondering since the start of this mission…”
Chiori glanced up from where she was smoothing the folds of her pale blue disguise, her movements elegant, unhurried. “Yes, young Kamado?” Her voice was warm, parchment-soft, carrying the faint scent of wisteria that seemed to follow her everywhere.
Tanjiro swallowed, earnest eyes bright. “You said you’re the Corps’ Intelligence Broker. But… what does that really mean? I—I don’t understand what your job is.”
Her grayish-lavender eyes softened, lips curving in a faint smile. “I am a keeper of records, a researcher, a weaver of old demon lore. My duty is to maintain a network of eyes and ears across Japan—herbalists, shrine maidens, monks, wandering merchants… all who may encounter whispers of demons. Through them, I gather threads of knowledge.”
Tanjiro’s jaw nearly dropped. His admiration poured out in a rush, “That’s amazing!”
From the corner, Tengen leaned against the wall, arms folded, a grin flashing like polished jewels. “Hah! You’re underselling her, Kamado. To us, she’s not just a broker—she’s the Threadweaver .” His voice boomed with genuine respect, his flamboyant tone wrapped around the compliment like gold thread.
Chiori’s porcelain cheeks tinted pink. She bowed her head slightly, flustered but composed. “You flatter me too much…” she murmured, though a faint smile betrayed her pride. Then, hesitantly, her voice softened into something almost vulnerable: “If it’s not too much to ask… might I meet your sister someday? Nezuko… she sounds very dear to you.”
Tanjiro’s entire face lit up like dawn breaking. “Of course! I’d be honored, Miss Shirakawa!” His sincerity rang out with no hesitation.
Inosuke, snorting through his boar mask, squatted down with his arms on his knees. “Hah! Records keeper? Thread-weaver? Sounds boring! Bet I could do it better. I’ll sniff out demons faster than you scribbling on papers!”
Itsuki shot him a withering look, the red rings in his eyes gleaming with irritation. “Try not to embarrass yourself, beast boy. You can barely sniff your way out of a tree hollow.”
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” Inosuke bristled, headbutting the air toward Itsuki.
Tengen barked a laugh, clapping his hands together. “Ahh, this is why I love group missions. Flamboyance, knowledge, and sheer idiocy all in one room.”
Chiori, despite herself, let a tiny laugh escape—soft, silver as falling paper charms.
Chapter 18: The Wolf and the Scribe
Chapter Text
Rengoku’s eyes widened, his voice erupting like fire itself. “HUH!? They went to the Entertainment District!?”
His golden hair almost seemed to blaze brighter with his exclamation, startling a few sparrows off the garden wall.
Aiyaka, standing nearby in the soft glow of dusk, raised one graceful hand to cover her eyes. Her amber gaze peeked between her fingers, calm but curious. She tilted her head slightly toward Shinobu. “Entertainment District? What is that?”
Shinobu’s lips curved into her usual mischievous smile, her violet eyes glinting with amusement. “My, my… for such a strong and wise woman, I’m shocked you don’t know.” Her voice dripped with a teasing lilt, like silk hiding a needle.
Rengoku coughed into his fist, uncharacteristically flustered. His usually booming tone faltered as he tried to explain, “W-Well, ah—it’s… ah, an area in the city where there are… establishments of—ah—adult entertainment.” His hand sliced the air nervously, his words tumbling faster. “Brothels, courtesans, that sort of thing! Red lanterns to signal—ah—that business is open!”
The more he talked, the redder his ears burned.
Aiyaka lowered her hand slowly, blinking once. Then she simply murmured, “Oh.” Her tone was genuine, unbothered, as if he’d told her about a teahouse. She rubbed the back of her neck, soft strands of her black-and-purple hair slipping loose from her ribbon. “It’s difficult to imagine Itsuki in a place like that.”
Shinobu covered her mouth with a hand, stifling a laugh at Rengoku’s stiff posture and Aiyaka’s innocent response.
Rengoku exhaled, folding his muscular arms across his chest. “When it comes to Tengen, he can drag anyone with him,” he said firmly, trying to regain composure. “Which includes your brother.”
Aiyaka’s expression softened, and she nodded. “You’re right.” Her golden eyes shifted to Shinobu, warm as sunlight through autumn leaves. “I’m not worried for him. I’m only worried about Chiori-sama… and the three boys.”
Shinobu’s laugh tinkled like wind chimes. “With two Hashira around, I’m sure they’re in no danger. Besides—Tanjiro has that stubborn determination of his.”
Rengoku leaned closer, lowering his voice, his hand pressing gently against Aiyaka’s back—a firm, steadying warmth. “Then let us visit them, to reassure ourselves. It would be no trouble at all!” His smile blazed as bright as the sun, though his eyes softened when they lingered on her. “And it would ease your heart.”
Aiyaka glanced down, her long lashes shadowing her cheeks. A small, tender smile curved her lips. “There’s no need.” She drew in a quiet breath, hands folding gracefully in front of her. “I already entrusted Itsuki with one of my mechanisms. I should place my faith in him, rather than worry.” Her voice, calm and melodic, carried both strength and vulnerability.
Rengoku’s chest tightened with admiration. He could still remember her kneeling beside his mother years ago, offering herbs and comfort in the darkest days. To him, Aiyaka was the epitome of warmth—her kindness unwavering, her strength hidden in gentleness. His respect had long since grown into something deeper, something that made his heart race in moments like this.
Shinobu, ever watchful, caught the lingering gaze Rengoku cast on Aiyaka. Her smile turned sly, but she said nothing, only letting the quiet between them hum with unspoken emotions.
The lantern-lit streets of the Entertainment District buzzed with laughter, shamisen strings, and perfume-drenched air. Chiori’s soft steps trailed beside Itsuki’s heavy ones as they wove toward the Kizuna House, her pale-blue kimono swaying lightly, his dark guard attire cutting a sharp contrast against the vibrant crowds.
But suddenly, he stopped. His scarred hand shot out—not rough, but firm—as he caught her arm. “Come with me,” he murmured, his voice low, edged with something she rarely heard: hesitation.
Before she could ask, he pulled her into a shadowed alleyway. The noise of the street dulled into a distant hum. Chiori’s brows knit in concern. “Abyss Hashira… what’s wrong?”
Itsuki didn’t answer right away. Instead, he removed something from his ear—a crescent moon-shaped earring, etched faintly with fangs. He held it out to her, his scarred fingers steady despite the storm in his crimson eyes.
Her breath caught. “What is this…?”
“A mechanism,” he whispered, almost grudgingly. “My sister’s work. If pressed, she’ll come to me immediately. She worries too much.” He paused, gaze flicking away before meeting hers again. “But… if you’re in danger, and I’m not there… you press it. She’ll come to you instead.”
Chiori’s lips parted, stunned. “Aya-chan… at that level of skill?” Her voice trembled with awe.
“Take it,” he said firmly, pressing it into her hand.
She hesitated, gray-lavender eyes soft. “Do you not… trust yourself, after our first mission together?”
The words struck him like a blade. He stilled, shadows deepening around the scars on his jaw. “…You remember that.” His voice dropped to a rasp. “This isn’t about me. Just wear it.”
Chiori swallowed, fingers trembling as she tried to tuck the earring into place. Her long hair slipped down in silken strands, catching the lantern glow. She fumbled—until Itsuki let out a faint, frustrated sigh.
“Let me.”
He stepped closer, so close she could smell the faint iron-and-rain scent clinging to him. His calloused fingertips brushed against the curve of her ear as he carefully fastened the earring. The lightest graze of skin against skin sent a shiver racing down her spine.
Her heart thudded painfully fast. Why… why is it beating like this?
“There,” he murmured, pulling back just enough, though the heat of his presence still lingered. “Now we’re ready.”
Chiori nodded, cheeks faintly flushed as she lowered her gaze. “R-right…”
And though the alley was silent, her heartbeat roared louder than the clamor of the district outside.
The Kizuna House loomed before them, lantern light spilling across its lacquered gates, the faint perfume of incense drifting from within. Laughter and shamisen notes floated on the air, yet beneath the merriment lingered something sharp—the undercurrent of rivalry and hidden claws.
Chiori adjusted the sleeves of her pale blue kimono, her posture poised yet unassuming. The faint weight of her writing kit pressed against her obi, grounding her. At her side, Itsuki’s stride was heavy, purposeful, his scarred arms bare beneath his sleeveless haori. His crimson-ringed eyes scanned the street with wolfish vigilance, every step of his boots announcing silent warning.
Inside, the house mistress’s gaze flicked over them both. Her painted lips curved politely, but suspicion glimmered in her eyes. “And what business do you bring to Kizuna tonight?”
Chiori bowed gracefully, voice calm and respectful. “We seek to offer service. I possess skill in organization, records, and correspondence—qualities useful to a house as esteemed as yours. If permitted, I would serve as an attendant or secretary.”
The mistress’s eyes narrowed, weighing her words.
Itsuki crossed his arms, his shadow stretching behind him like a wolf ready to pounce. “And I,” he said flatly, his tone edged like steel, “will guard her. A house such as this has enemies lurking behind painted smiles. Better to have a blade within reach than regret when it’s too late.”
His presence was suffocating—scars bared, his voice low but brutal. Even without drawing his weapon, his aura was enough to make a few nearby attendants stiffen, their hands faltering on their trays.
Chiori, sensing their unease, placed a slender hand lightly against her sleeve, her voice weaving calm over the tension. “He is… direct, but reliable. A mercenary’s vigilance, redirected toward the protection of your house, could prove invaluable. While I see to the flow of ink and paper, he ensures the safety of all beneath this roof.”
Her gray-lavender eyes lifted, serene but piercing. “We would serve with loyalty.”
The mistress tapped her pipe against her palm, exhaling smoke slowly as she regarded them both. Her gaze lingered on Itsuki, then returned to Chiori. Finally, she smirked faintly. “A sharp-tongued secretary and her wolf of a guard… Perhaps Kizuna could use a pairing such as yours. Very well. You may stay—for now.”
Chiori bowed deeply, relief hidden beneath the smooth curve of her movements. Beside her, Itsuki gave no outward sign of gratitude—only a low grunt, his blood-red gaze still watching the shadows as though expecting knives to fly at any moment.
The Kizuna House thrummed with life even after midnight—paper lanterns glowing warm against the lacquered beams, courtesans’ laughter ringing faintly down the corridors. Perfume clung to the air, too sweet, almost suffocating.
Chiori knelt by a low desk, brush gliding in elegant strokes over fresh parchment. Ink bled into paper with a patient rhythm as she copied records of the night’s transactions—names, payments, favors owed. She smiled gently at the courtesan who leaned over her shoulder, calming the woman’s nerves with a soft word before sending her back to the revelry. Outwardly, she looked the perfect attendant: composed, efficient, quiet.
Yet her eyes were everywhere. She noticed the guest who drank glass after glass but never touched the food before him. The girl whose laughter faltered for a fraction of a second when asked about her missing roommate. The faint, rhythmic thrum beneath the floorboards at odd hours, like a heartbeat under wood. She marked it all down in her mind, and when the corridor cleared, she leaned slightly toward the tall shadow standing guard near the shoji screen.
“Itsuki,” she whispered, her voice so soft it blended with the paper’s rustle. “Second floor—east wing. Too many doors closed, yet no light seeps through.”
His crimson-ringed eyes flicked to hers, sharp as drawn blades. He didn’t speak, only gave the faintest nod. His presence in the house was a contradiction: silent yet oppressive, like a storm contained in human form. Servants skirted him with wary glances, whispering about the “wolf” who watched the halls.
Later, when the night deepened and guests staggered home, the two of them slipped into the garden walkway. Chiori adjusted the pale blue sleeves of her disguise, her hair ornaments catching the lantern glow. Itsuki kept close, so close his arm brushed her shoulder each time another drunk patron stumbled past. She felt her heart kick against her ribs at the nearness, but she forced her tone steady as they spoke in hushed tones between the croak of frogs and the rustle of wisteria leaves.
“The courtesan in the south room…” Chiori’s voice lowered. “She insists her roommate left on extended leave. Yet no notice of departure exists in the records.”
Itsuki’s jaw tightened, the scar along it catching in the dim light. “Then she’s lying. Or covering.” His tone was blunt, merciless. “Either way, I’ll deal with it.”
Chiori reached to still his arm, her slender fingers brushing the leather binding there. “Not yet. If you act too soon, they’ll notice. Let me keep watching.”
For a moment, the air between them thickened. Her grayish-lavender gaze held his blood-red one, parchment and steel locking in fragile balance. Then he gave a short grunt and relented, shifting back into his silent post by her side.
As the hours dragged, they moved together—side by side through crowded hallways, shoulder to shoulder when courtesans ushered drunken men through narrow spaces. When she bent close to murmur notes for him, her voice brushing his ear like the faintest breath, the house attendants would glance twice before looking away, exchanging whispers behind their sleeves.
“Strange,” one of them murmured as Chiori passed, Itsuki shadowing her every step. “They move as if… tethered.”
The night ended with the records sealed away and the lanterns dimmed. And still, the wolf stood at her back, silent and unyielding, while the scribe walked before him, every motion precise.
The resting room was dimly lit, lantern light flickering against the shoji walls. Chiori sat on the tatami with her writing kit in her lap, pale fingers rubbing at her tired eyes before steadying the brush again. Her shoulders drooped ever so slightly, but her expression remained serene, as if fatigue were just another thing to be folded neatly away.
On the balcony, Itsuki leaned against the rail, the night air thick with incense, sake, and the faint sourness of sweat from the revelry below. His eyes—sharp rings of red in the moonlight—swept over the district, searching for even a trace of the stench of demons. Nothing. That silence gnawed at him more than bloodshed would have.
“This is what missions look like,” he said at last, voice low, almost swallowed by the night.
Chiori sighed softly, the sound like paper sliding across wood. “Right.” She dipped her brush, continuing her notes with slow, deliberate strokes before glancing up with a small smile. “Thank you again… for being my bodyguard a second time.”
He didn’t turn. His answer came quiet, rough. “It’s nothing.”
But his hand curled around the railing until the wood groaned faintly beneath his grip. Days without a sign, without even a whisper—too clean, too careful. His gut told him what his mouth refused to voice. If it’s this quiet… then it’s an Upper Moon.
He risked a glance over his shoulder. Chiori was bent over her parchment, the lantern’s glow softening the pale curve of her cheek, the silver glint in her pinned hair. Fragile, yet steady. Too steady for what lay ahead.
His chest tightened. He turned back to the darkened street, the iron-and-rain scent clinging to him sharper now. Under his breath, a vow slipped free, too hushed for her to hear.
“No matter what… I won’t let anything happen to her.”
For days, the façade held. By day, Chiori was no warrior—just the quiet, meticulous attendant of the Kizuna house. Dressed in muted blue, hair pinned with simple ornaments, she bent gracefully over scrolls and ledgers. Her brush strokes flowed with calm precision as she tallied coin and marked appointments. She bowed when courtesans passed, adjusted flower vases in the guest rooms, and offered soft words of welcome that made her seem like nothing more than an efficient secretary.
But her eyes—grayish-lavender, always watching—missed nothing. She noticed the courtesan who smiled but never ate, the guest who lingered though he had no dealings, the muffled footsteps in empty hallways when the lanterns should have burned low. Each night, she gathered these threads in silence, storing them like folded letters in her mind.
Itsuki was her shadow. The guards of Kizuna House were used to standing still, hands on hilts; Itsuki stood differently. His presence pressed into the room like storm air—shoulders broad, back straight, eyes that cut too sharp to belong to an ordinary sellsword. When guests muttered or raised voices, their complaints often withered beneath his blood-red gaze. The courtesans whispered that the new mercenary looked like he’d clawed his way from the underworld itself.
By night, when the district’s clamor dulled to low drums and shamisen strings, Chiori would slide the door of their resting room closed and lean close to Itsuki. Her voice was a breath against the paper walls.
“The courtesan in the vermilion room—she hasn’t touched her meals in three nights. Her skin looks paler each day.”
Itsuki’s jaw tightened. His scar caught the lantern light as he murmured back, “Not human, then.”
She lowered her brush after jotting quick notes. “And another—one of the girls vanished. The house mothers said she eloped with a client. But no one saw her leave.”
His hand brushed the hilt of his blunt weapon, more instinct than thought. “Suspicious. Keep pressing.”
Sometimes their whispers stretched late into the night, their shadows cast side by side against the shoji wall—her delicate frame bent over her notes, his imposing figure leaning forward, close enough to catch the faint ink-and-lavender scent of her hair.
In the crowded streets, he walked half a step behind her, always near enough that the iron scent of him lingered at her side. When drunkards stumbled too close, his arm would shift subtly, a wall of muscle steering them away without a word. She never acknowledged it aloud, but her glances carried quiet gratitude.
By the end of each day, when the night pressed deepest, Itsuki left the house under the pretense of patrols. He slipped into the shadows where Tengen awaited, jewels glinting faintly even in the dark.
Itsuki’s voice was low and flat, but his words precise, carrying Chiori’s observations without embellishment. “Courtesans missing. Guests who don’t eat. No blood, no mess. Clean work. Likely higher-ranked.”
Tengen nodded, grin thin but sharp. “Good. Keep watching. The two of you are getting close to something big.”
Itsuki said nothing more, though his blood-red eyes flicked back toward the faint glow of the Kizuna house, where Chiori remained at her post. His vow lingered, silent and unspoken: I’ll see her through this, no matter what.
Chapter 19: The Wolf, the Boar, and the Flashy Blade
Chapter Text
The afternoon sun slanted across the tiled roofs of the Entertainment District, casting long shadows that shimmered with lantern light even before dusk.
On one rooftop, Inosuke flailed his arms like a wild animal, his boar’s head mask bobbing as he barked, “I told you! There’s a demon at my house, all right?!” His hands curled into strange shapes as he tried to demonstrate. “It looked like this! You get it now?!”
Tanjiro tilted his head, smiling patiently though sweat dotted his brow. “Uh… yeah, I believe you, Inosuke. Just… give me a second to picture it.”
But Inosuke was relentless, bending and twisting, stabbing his fingers in the air. “Like this! And then—like this! Now you see what I’m saying?!”
Tanjiro chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mm-hm. Totally clear.” His eyes softened with humor. “Anyway, Mr. Uzui, the Abyss Hashira, and Zenitsu should be coming to check in soon.”
Inosuke threw his arms up, growling, “And it was like this!” before letting out a frustrated groan. “Tch! You’re hopeless!”
Then—without a single sound—two silhouettes appeared behind them on the rooftop. Neither shingle shifted, nor breath stirred the air. Inosuke froze, instinct prickling, before whipping his head around.
Tengen stood tall, the setting light catching the sheen of his jewels, but his expression was grim. At his side, Itsuki’s broad frame loomed like a shadow cut from storm clouds, blood-red eyes narrowing.
“Zenitsu won’t be coming,” Tengen said flatly, voice carrying none of his usual flamboyance.
Tanjiro and Inosuke spun toward them. Inosuke’s thoughts sharpened like a blade: Not even a puff of air… these guys really are monsters.
“Wait,” Tanjiro blurted, eyes wide with worry. “Zenitsu… what do you mean? What happened to him?”
Itsuki’s gaze slid to Tengen, and in that heartbeat he caught it—the flicker of guilt hidden beneath the Sound Hashira’s bravado.
Tengen exhaled, shoulders stiff. “I feel bad for dragging you brats into this. I was too desperate to rescue my wives. I made poor choices. Zenitsu hasn’t been heard from since last night.” He looked Tanjiro straight in the eyes. “You two should leave now. Itsuki, Chiori, and I will handle the rest. You’re too low-ranked for what’s coming.”
Itsuki scoffed, crossing his arms with a sardonic curl of his scarred lip. “Seeing you beat yourself up is unsettling.”
His eyes cut toward the boys, colder than steel. “Listen well. If this is an Upper Rank—and the signs point that way—you’ll be dead weight. If you disappear, they’ll just assume you’ve been killed. That’s the only mercy you’ll get.”
Tanjiro stepped forward desperately. “But we can help! Please—”
Tengen raised a hand, halting him. His voice was quieter now, but firm. “Don’t be ashamed. Survival matters more than pride. Take this chance and live.”
Itsuki sighed, his gaze lingering on Tanjiro for a beat too long. His tone was flat, but there was something weighted beneath it. “Besides… I’m not Aiyaka. I won’t be there to shield you if an Upper Rank comes.”
Tanjiro’s breath caught—memories of Akaza crashing into him. He knows…
Before he could answer, both Hashira turned in unison and leapt away, vanishing into the rooftops with predatory grace.
“HEY! Get back here, you cowards!” Inosuke bellowed, fists shaking at the sky. He stomped his foot, mask glaring after the shadows. “That Wolf bastard is really getting on my nerves!”
The Kizuna house pulsed with soft laughter, silk rustles, and the faint clink of porcelain cups. Chiori sat with her writing kit, noting transactions as courtesans ushered in wealthy patrons. Itsuki stood half a step behind her, silent, a wall of shadow in his sleeveless haori. He hadn’t spoken in hours. He didn’t need to.
But then—Chiori’s brush hesitated mid-stroke. Her gray-lavender eyes flicked toward a corner of the hall where three “guests” sat too stiffly, their plates untouched. Their smiles never reached their eyes.
She set her brush down, folding her hands in her lap. Quietly, she murmured, “Three at the far side. None of them have eaten since they arrived.”
Itsuki didn’t look at her. His crimson-ringed eyes stayed forward. “Noted.”
When the courtesans excused themselves, leaving the three alone, Itsuki moved. No sound betrayed his steps. By the time the demons realized he was behind them, the room had already changed.
The air thickened. Invisible weight pressed down on their spines, their throats. One gasped, clawing at the tatami as if the floor were dragging him under. Another’s knees buckled, teeth gritting as blood vessels burst in his eyes.
Itsuki’s presence filled the space like a collapsing cavern. He didn’t draw his weapon. He didn’t need to.
“You’ve been sloppy,” he said, voice low, carrying the timbre of thunder rolling beneath the earth. “Not eating. Watching too much. Pretending too hard.”
One demon snarled, desperation flickering across his twisted features as the illusion faltered. “You—how did you—”
Itsuki’s boot pressed down on his head before he could finish. Not forceful, not yet—just enough to grind his face into the tatami, his claws trembling uselessly.
“Save your excuses,” Itsuki murmured, leaning down, scarred jaw shadowing the demon’s ear. “The Abyss doesn’t care why you fall. Only that you do.”
The weight doubled. The other two demons collapsed, choking as the tatami splintered beneath them, the room bending with the sheer pressure of his breathing technique. They couldn’t even scream—lungs too crushed to draw breath.
A heartbeat later, the walls shook with a muffled crack. Flesh split beneath invisible force. The scent of iron flooded the chamber.
When the pressure lifted, silence remained. The three bodies lay broken, reduced to ash in the faint moonlight that leaked through the lattice screens.
Itsuki straightened, brushing a fleck of dust from his haori, expression unreadable. He didn’t spare the corpses a glance. To him, they’d never been alive in the first place.
Chiori, from across the room, dipped her brush again in ink, recording calmly as though noting a transaction. Only her eyes betrayed her—wide, quietly astonished at the way he’d ended three lives without even unsheathing steel.
Itsuki stepped back to her side, crimson gaze fixed ahead once more. “Keep writing,” he said softly, iron in his tone. “No one needs to know this happened.”
And just like that, the predator vanished back into shadow.
Midnight draped the Kizuna house in silence, broken only by the faint creak of paper doors and the far-off murmur of the district’s revelry. In their resting room, the lanternlight flickered low, painting Chiori’s pale features in trembling gold.
Her brush slipped from her hand the moment Itsuki spoke. “Zenitsu is missing.”
Chiori’s gray-lavender eyes widened, her breath catching. “What?” Her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it.
Itsuki stood in the center of the room, shadowed beneath the weight of his words. His expression was unreadable, his crimson-ringed eyes giving nothing away. He stripped off his haori, the fabric whispering as it slid from his scarred shoulders, revealing the sleeveless Corps uniform beneath. The sight of old burn marks and jagged scars etched across his arm struck her with quiet gravity—reminders of how easily he threw himself into the jaws of death.
“I disposed of the small demons,” he murmured, his tone flat, final. “So there’s no need for you to worry.”
Chiori’s lips parted, but no words came. Her hand instinctively rose to the black crescent earring at her ear—the one he had pressed into her palm days before. The cool metal bit into her fingers, anchoring her, even as fear gnawed at her chest.
“What about you?” The question slipped out softer than she intended, a plea disguised as concern.
Itsuki paused, his back to her now, broad shoulders framed in the wavering light. “As a Hashira, I must do my job,” he said, voice low, almost lost to the night. “The farther I am from you, the more likely you’ll survive.”
The words struck her like a blade, cold and cutting. She lowered her gaze, her dark lashes shadowing the ache in her eyes. Her heart pulled between reason and a gnawing dread she couldn’t name.
Then, just as he reached for the door, his voice softened—not cold, not ruthless, but almost human. “You did your role perfectly. You’re not weak, Shirakawa.”
Her breath caught. For a heartbeat, her world stilled, his words sinking deeper than she expected. She looked up, but he was already stepping beyond the threshold, his wolf-like silhouette dissolving into the dark.
Her chest tightened, words escaping her in a whisper she hadn’t meant to release, desperate and trembling as the door slid shut.
“Please… live.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than any demon’s presence.
The Ogimito house rattled with a girl’s shriek. “There’s a monster boar inside!”
Her companions scrambled back in terror, staring wide-eyed as the floorboards bulged—then shattered. With a roar, Inosuke burst upward in a storm of splinters, his boar’s head mask gleaming in the dim light.
“Outta my way!” he barked, slamming his swords into the ground. The vibration led him to a hollow, and when he tore open the planks, a narrow tunnel yawned beneath, reeking of blood and rot.
Too small for most men. But not for him.
Inosuke grinned behind his mask. With a grotesque crack, he dislocated his shoulders and hips, his body contorting unnaturally as he wriggled into the tunnel like a feral beast. The darkness swallowed him whole.
When he finally dropped into a cavern, the stench hit him like a wall—iron, decay, despair. Bones littered the floor, slick underfoot, while the walls pulsed with layers of flesh-like obi. And within those writhing sashes, human shapes twitched and moaned, still alive.
Inosuke’s eyes widened as one obi unfurled to reveal a familiar tuft of blond hair. “Oi… that’s the crybaby!”
Before he could move closer, a sentient sash snapped out, its fabric gleaming with demonic malice.
“An intruder,” it hissed.
Inosuke’s instincts screamed. He leapt back as the sash lashed toward him, its edge cutting the air like a blade. His swords met it in a screech of steel. With a guttural shout, he slashed downward, severing one sash clean through—only to realize he had cut open a cocoon, freeing a dazed, gasping villager.
The obi quivered. “Tch…”
It hesitated. Inosuke’s movements were too sharp, too unpredictable. His wild senses read its intentions before it struck.
From the ceiling above, Daki’s voice echoed through the sash. “Capture him. Kill the others. Leave only the ten most beautiful.”
Inosuke snarled. “Like hell I’m lettin’ that happen!”
The obi surged, writhing faster than his blades could catch. Every time he slashed, the fabric flexed and slid aside, mocking his strikes. He roared and spun, using Beast Breathing, Sixth Form: Palisade Bite , his jagged dual blades closing like fangs around the demon’s body—only for the sash to writhe out of reach at the last second.
Then, like a serpent, it coiled back toward the freed victims. Inosuke’s eyes widened. “You filthy rag—!” He bolted forward, but the sash closed in too quickly.
A glint of steel cut the air. Knives embedded into the ground, pinning the sashes in place.
“Inosuke!” Makio’s sharp voice rang from behind. She stood tall, face set with determination. Beside her, Suma shrieked as she brandished her kunai with trembling hands.
“I-I’m helping! I’m really helping!” Suma wailed, hurling another blade—but nearly hitting Inosuke.
“Watch where you’re throwing, idiot!” Makio snapped, slicing another sash clean through.
Inosuke laughed. “Good! You two keep it busy—I’ll gut the rest!”
But the obi wasn’t done. It swelled with rage, weaving around them like a storm. Just as it lunged again, a sharp crack of thunder split the chamber.
“Thunder Breathing… First Form!”
A streak of lightning tore past Inosuke’s vision. Zenitsu appeared in a flash, his sword glowing as he blurred through the chamber.
“Thunderclap and Flash… Sixfold!”
In six blinding strikes, the sashes fell apart, severed into twitching ribbons. Zenitsu landed in a crouch, his blade still humming. His eyes, though closed, were furrowed with focus.
The obi screeched in fury. “Another one—?!”
It froze. Something else was wrong. It had heard two distinct sounds: the thunderclap of Zenitsu’s attack… and something heavier, rumbling above.
The ceiling exploded in a burst of fire and smoke. Dust rained down as a tall figure dropped into the cavern, twin swords gleaming like polished jewels.
“Sorry I’m late,” Tengen Uzui said, his voice rich with confidence. His presence filled the chamber with flamboyant weight as he blurred through the sashes, severing them with effortless, dazzling strikes. In the blink of an eye, the chamber fell silent save for the groans of freed captives.
His jeweled headband caught the firelight as he turned, relief softening his grin. “Makio, Suma—good work holding out. You’ve made quite the flamboyant mess down here.”
Suma burst into tears, throwing herself at him. “Tengen-samaaa! You were so late, we almost died, it was terrifying—”
“Shut up, Suma!” Makio barked, though her eyes glistened with relief.
Inosuke, panting and exhilarated, slammed his swords together. “Finally! Now things are getting fun!”
The cavern still reeked of damp blood and rotting silk. Victims lay scattered across the floor, groaning faintly as Makio and Suma worked quickly, cutting away the last of the obi bindings. Makio’s hands moved with sharp precision, while Suma sniffled between every motion, tears running down her cheeks as she dabbed sweat from an unconscious woman’s brow.
Tengen stood apart from them, arms crossed, his jeweled headband catching the dim torchlight. His gaze was fixed on the gaping hole above, the tunnel where the sash had retreated. His jaw tightened—he knew every second wasted meant more bloodshed in the district above.
“Hey, you!” Inosuke’s voice shattered the moment, raw and impatient. He jabbed a finger at Tengen, nostrils flaring beneath his boar mask. “That worm belt just flew through that hole and escaped!”
Tengen snapped his head toward him, scoffing with exaggerated annoyance. “Shut your mouth! I just saved every poor soul in this pit—you should be on your knees praising my flashiness right now. Worship me first, then we’ll talk about your little worm!” His tone was flamboyant, but his eyes flickered with restrained urgency.
Inosuke stomped forward, pounding his chest with both fists. “Oh, hell no! Nothing pisses me off more than that Wolf guy! I’ll tear that belt to shreds before he even touches it!”
Makio’s eyes narrowed at that. “Wolf guy…?” she murmured.
Suma gasped, clasping her hands to her chest, her eyes instantly flooding with fresh tears. “Itsuki’s here too?! Oh, thank the heavens! I’m so happy—” Her voice broke into a wail as she collapsed dramatically against Makio’s shoulder.
Makio shoved her aside with a sharp glare. “That’s not the point, Suma! Focus!” Her gaze snapped to Tengen, her voice urgent. “Lord Tengen, if you don’t go after that thing, there will be even more slaughter in the streets!”
Suma sniffled and nodded furiously, waving her hands. “Y-Yes, yes! Don’t worry about us, just go before it’s too late!”
For a moment, the cavern rang with the moans of the freed victims and the dripping of water from the ceiling. Tengen exhaled through his nose, then cracked a grin—flamboyant and sharp.
Without warning, he scooped Inosuke under one arm and Zenitsu under the other, their bodies jerking at the sudden lift.
“Oi, what the hell?!” Inosuke barked, flailing his legs.
Zenitsu screamed. “W-Wait! Why me too?!”
Tengen crouched low, muscles flexing beneath his sleeveless haori. “You heard them. My wives are right. We give chase—now.”
With one explosive leap, the cavern floor cracked under his heel, and the three of them shot upward through the tunnel in a blur of speed. Dust rained down as his voice echoed flamboyantly through the darkness:
“Get ready, boys—this is where the real show begins!”
Inosuke’s laughter thundered back, wild and manic. “I’m gonna defeat that Upper Moon before that Wolf guy can! HAAHAHAHAH!”
Zenitsu clung to Tengen’s arm, pale as chalk. “I-I don’t wanna be part of this show!”
But Tengen’s grin only widened, eyes flashing dangerously. Somewhere above, the obi slithered, and the hunt was on.
Chapter 20: The Abyss Howls, the Boar Charges
Chapter Text
The night air of the district trembled with Daki’s shriek.
“He cut my head off! He cut my head off!” Her body thrashed, silk whips snapping against the tiles as she wailed like a child. “Brother! Help me!”
From the stump of her neck, flesh writhed like a nest of serpents. A hunched shadow unfolded grotesquely, limbs long and crooked, his ribs pressing against sickly green skin. Gyutaro emerged, his eyes glowing with diseased hunger, veins pulsing black beneath his pallid flesh.
Tengen darted forward, blades flashing in a blur, aiming to finish them both—
But the demon blurred, gone before steel could kiss flesh.
When the dust settled, two stood where one had fallen.
Gyutaro crouched beside his sister, gently cupping her scorched cheek. His nails scratched her skin as he tutted, voice dripping like rot.
“Come on now, don’t bawl like that. Can’t even stick your own head back on? You’ve never been the sharpest tool in the shed, huh?”
Her burns hissed, skin knitting closed under his touch. His crooked smile split wider.
“Look at that… a burn on your face? Tch. You really oughta take better care of yourself. Born with a face like yours, compared to this ugly mug of mine? Would be a shame to ruin it.”
Tengen’s jaw clenched. Still alive after being beheaded… and him… His knuckles whitened around his hilts. His reflexes are unreal.
He lunged again, his twin nichirin blades screeching as they met Gyutaro’s sickles. Sparks cascaded like fireworks. For a breath, Tengen thought he had the advantage—until pain lanced across his forehead, warm blood sliding down his temple.
Gyutaro chuckled, voice gurgling like bile.
“Not bad. I was aiming for the kill, y’know. Stopped me at the last second—good for you.” His sunken eyes roamed Tengen’s face hungrily. “You’re a lucky one. Skin like silk, not a scar to be seen. Tall, broad, plenty of meat on your bones… tch. Me, no matter what I eat, can’t put on weight. Ugly, skinny little freak. But you…” His grin widened, dripping with envy. “You make me sick.”
He raised his sickles again—
And his arm exploded in a spray of blood.
Gyutaro staggered, hissing, staring at the stump where his limb had been. He hadn’t even seen the strike.
Tengen smirked despite the blood on his brow. That wasn’t me.
Gyutaro’s head jerked, his senses straining. No… someone else is here.
A sigh drifted from the shadows, low and dangerous, like the growl of a wolf.
“Man,” came the voice, cold and bored, “without me, you really do make a whole mess, Peacock.”
Itsuki stepped into the moonlight. His presence pressed down on the rooftop like a storm. Blood-red eyes glowed from his scarred face, his cleaver-like blade already sunk through Daki’s chest. Black steel pulsed with crimson veins along its jagged edge, as if the weapon itself bled.
Daki’s mouth opened soundlessly. Her body trembled, pinned like a moth beneath a predator’s claw.
She couldn’t even see him move.
Neither could Gyutaro.
Gyutaro turned slowly, his hunched frame twitching, sickles dragging sparks against the tiles. His jaundiced eyes narrowed at the figure behind him.
The man’s silhouette was nothing like the flamboyant Sound Hashira. Taller. Broader. His sleeveless uniform showed corded muscle wrapped in scars, skin pale as bone. Wild black hair streaked with silver glinted beneath the moonlight, and his eyes—blood-red irises ringed in black—glowed like coals in the dark. The stench that came with him was sharp, iron and rain, cutting through the demon’s rancid scent like a storm.
Gyutaro’s grin split his face, jagged teeth flashing.
“Ooh… your appearance is different than the other guy. That face, all torn up… those scars. Your body looks tough, but I bet you don’t get many ladies.” He cackled, scratching his neck until black blood dribbled. “Why don’t you become a demon instead, huh? With that strength and that lovely hate in your eyes, you’d fit right in with us.”
Itsuki’s answer came like a blade across the throat—flat, cold, merciless.
“Nah. I’m good.”
In the same breath, he was gone.
Wind cracked the rooftop tiles.
When Gyutaro blinked, Itsuki was already at his sister’s side. One scarred hand clamped around Daki’s head, fingers digging into her skull until she shrieked. His massive cleaver-weapon pinned her kimono to the roof, the serrated edge biting deep enough to bleed her.
Daki’s eyes bulged in disbelief.
“Don’t mind me,” Itsuki said, voice a low growl. “I’ll borrow your sister.”
And then, like a predator vanishing into the treeline, both were gone.
For a heartbeat, the rooftop was silent.
Then Gyutaro howled, his voice cracking the night.
“COME BACK HERE!” He slashed wildly at the tiles, gouging craters in his rage. His blood sickles dripped venom, his entire body trembling with fury and confusion.
Tengen twirled his blades, blood still running down his temple, and smirked despite the tension in his jaw.
“Oi, don’t get distracted. Your battle’s with me, you know.” His teeth flashed under the moonlight, voice cutting sharp. “And if you’re worried about your precious sister… well—” He spun his swords into a deadly arc, sparks raining as steel met steel. “—feel bad for her. She’s facing
that
Wolf.”
The street shuddered as another of Gyutaro’s sickles carved through the air, venom spraying like acid rain. Roof tiles shattered, wood splintered, and the building collapsed around them in a storm of ash and embers.
Tengen twisted midair, his twin blades singing in perfect rhythm as they deflected the strike. Sparks rained across his face, mixing with the blood dripping from the gash on his temple. He landed light on his feet despite the devastation, cloak fluttering like a stage curtain before the next act.
Gyutaro sneered, his hunched frame trembling with barely-contained fury.
“You’re starting to piss me off… You’re a good-looking guy, got three wives hanging off you, and on top of that—” his voice cracked with venom, “—you’re teeming with confidence.”
His words twisted into a jealous growl.
“You’re different. Not like the other Hashira I’ve slaughtered. They had to claw and bleed to get strong, but you…” his sickles rattled as he pointed them, “…you were
born
with it, weren’t you? Born with talent. Must be nice.” His mouth split wide, teeth jagged and slick with black blood. “I thought I was envious before… but now, all I want is to tear you to shreds.”
Tengen wiped the blood from his brow with the back of his hand, and smirked despite the sting in his muscles.
“Born with talent, huh?” His blades crossed in front of him, ringing like cymbals. “Ha! You think I look like someone with talent to boast about? Then you’re more out of touch than I thought. Centuries old, and stuck rotting in this red-light cesspool—it makes sense you’d be blind to the real world.”
Gyutaro’s eyes twitched, veins bulging with rage. “What do you know about the real world, huh?”
The Sound Hashira spun on his heel, blocking another incoming strike with a thunderous clang. His words came sharp and rhythmic, like notes in a song.
“I know it far too well. This country—” he ducked under Gyutaro’s sickle, countering with a slash that lit the night with sparks, “—is massive. Full of people who would blow your mind.”
Gyutaro snarled, but Tengen pressed on, his smirk sharp but his voice carrying the weight of memory.
“Some are a complete mystery…” his thoughts flickered to Gyomei.
“Some pick up a sword and become Hashira in two months…” he thought of Muichiro’s eerie genius.
His grip tightened, eyes narrowing.
“And some…” Aiyaka. Itsuki. “Some are forced to be strong from the start, never given space to breathe.”
He shoved Gyutaro back with a brutal kick, the clash echoing like a drumbeat.
“And you’re saying
I’m
special?” Tengen’s voice thundered, anger breaking through his flamboyance for the first time. “What a load of crap!”
His twin swords glimmered under the moonlight, trembling with the force of his conviction.
“Do you have any idea,” he growled, eyes burning, “just how many lives have slipped through my fingers?”
The words hung heavy in the smoke-choked air, his bravado breaking just enough to reveal the regret buried beneath the showman’s mask.
The red lanterns of the Entertainment District swayed in the night breeze, their light shattered as an immense shockwave ripped down the alley. Itsuki’s strikes met Daki’s whirling belts with bone-cracking force, each clash detonating like a cannon blast. Wood splintered, tiled roofs caved in, and the street quaked as if the ground itself could not bear the weight of his Abyss Breathing.
Daki reeled back, her silken sashes lashing outward like serpents, shredding walls as they tried to ensnare him. “You brute!” she spat, her pale face twisted with rage and mockery. “Swinging around such a hideous chunk of metal—do you really think raw strength can compete with beauty and elegance? I’ll carve you to ribbons and make you beg to be part of my collection!”
Her belts darted, dozens at once, weaving a fatal lattice meant to bisect him.
Itsuki did not retreat. His blood-red eyes burned like coals, jaw set, scars tight with grim focus. He ripped forward in a blur—reckless, fast, predatory. His blade howled as it cut, “Abyss breathing First Form: Void Rend!” The cleaver split through three belts at once, the force so great it launched shards of stone skyward and rattled the foundations of the brothel walls.
Daki staggered at the sheer pressure radiating from him. Why… why does it feel like the air itself is crushing me?
Itsuki advanced, his voice low, thunder in a storm.
“You call this beauty? To me, it’s just flesh waiting to rot.”
His swing came again—feral, overwhelming—colliding with her belts. The shockwave tore down a nearby house, raining debris across the street. The belts frayed under his brute power, snapping like silk threads in a fire.
From a rooftop, Makio’s breath caught in her throat as she watched, eyes wide, hand trembling on her kunai. She had seen Hashira fight before, but this…
This was something else.
“He’s… tearing her apart,” she whispered. “Every strike—it’s like he’s dragging her into the abyss itself…”
Daki screamed, lashing out in fury. She sent a wave of belts outward, hundreds like a blooming flower of death, glowing with her blood demon art. “You’ll die here, dog!”
Itsuki closed his eyes, and the air thickened. The world went silent.
Abyss Breathing, Second Form: Drowning Silence.
The shock of pressure struck Daki like invisible hands crushing her lungs, suffocating, drowning her in terror. Her belts faltered for the first time, movements jagged, broken. She gasped, clawing at her throat though no wound was there.
Itsuki was already there, cleaver raised high. His blade bore the inscription 「絶望」—Despair—carved into the steel. He swung down with merciless weight.
Abyss Breathing Fourth Form: Hell Maw.
The strike split the air into jagged fangs of force, slamming into her belts. They shattered, torn to ragged threads. The ground cratered beneath them, cobblestones pulverized.
Daki’s eyes widened, fear piercing through her vanity. He… he’s not human. He fights like a beast in human skin!
Itsuki loomed above her, blade poised to strike again, the shadow of his wolf-like silhouette cast across her. His blood-red gaze bored into her trembling frame.
“Pray your brother comes,” he said coldly, “because against me—your beauty means nothing.”
Another shockwave detonated as he lunged, and the entire block collapsed around them.
The clash of steel and silk split the night. Itsuki’s cleaver ripped through Daki’s belts, each impact shaking the ground with shockwaves that toppled buildings like children’s toys. The jagged blade gleamed with streaks of crimson, carving the air itself as Daki snarled.
“You ugly brute!” she screeched, her sashes exploding outward in a deadly storm. “You’ll never match my beauty—your filthy blade will snap before I let you scar me again!”
Itsuki didn’t flinch. He stepped forward, abyssal pressure rolling off him in suffocating waves. His blood-red gaze burned, voice low and merciless:
“Beauty doesn’t matter when you’re reduced to ash.”
The belts lunged.
Before they could close around him, two jagged swords whirled in from the side, shredding Daki’s sashes into fluttering ribbons. A boar-headed figure dropped in from above, landing with a crouch.
“GYAAHAAA! BOAR GOD COMING THROUGH!” Inosuke roared, pounding his chest. “These belts are MINE to tear apart, you wolf bastard!”
Itsuki’s scarred jaw tightened, irritation flaring in his crimson eyes. “Tch. And what sewer did this beast crawl out of?”
Inosuke stomped forward, snorting through his boar mask. “I’M NOT SOME WEAK SEWER RAT, YOU MANGY WOLF! I’M KING OF THE MOUNTAIN!” He raised his dual blades proudly. “Beast Breathing, Tenth Fang: Whirling Fangs!”
He spun into a cyclone, shredding another wave of belts before they reached Itsuki.
Itsuki’s cleaver came down at the same time, obliterating the last of them with a single Void Rend. The shockwave blasted both their hair and cloaks back, rubble raining down around them.
For a moment, silence hung—then they turned on each other, voices clashing louder than the battle.
“Stay out of my way, boar.” Itsuki’s voice was a growl, cold and dangerous. “I don’t do teamwork.”
“HAH?!” Inosuke slammed his forehead against Itsuki’s chest like a headbutting ram. “TEAMWORK? WHO NEEDS IT?! I’LL RIP THIS DEMON TO SHREDS MYSELF!”
“You’ll die.”
“I’D RATHER DIE THAN LOSE TO YOU!”
Their snarling, barked words snapped through the ruins like two predators in the same territory.
Meanwhile, Daki stood frozen, her eye twitching, her lips parting in disbelief. “Are… are you two ignoring me? ”
Neither looked at her.
Itsuki and Inosuke leaned forward, practically nose-to-mask, voices rising.
“Wolf.”
“Boar.”
“I’ll tear your throat out if you get in my way.”
“I’LL TEAR YOURS FIRST, WOLF FACE!”
Daki’s teeth ground together, her face flushing red with rage. Veins pulsed across her forehead as her voice tore through the night in a screech.
“STOP—IGNORING—ME!”
She unleashed a storm of glowing sashes, tearing through the rubble like blades of light. But instead of panicking, the wolf and the boar turned toward her in unison—blades raised, eyes blazing.
Daki faltered. Why… why does it feel like I’m the prey?
Chapter 21: The Wolf Who Would Not Rot
Chapter Text
The district shook as Daki’s sashes whipped through the ruins, slicing stone and wood like paper. Her eyes gleamed green under the lantern light, lips curling into a sneer.
“You insects think you can cut me?” she hissed, ribbons spiraling around her body like a deadly bloom. “I’ll carve your filthy bodies into strips—then maybe you’ll be worth wearing!”
Itsuki answered first, his massive cleaver raised. The black steel pulsed with red veins, glowing faintly as if it carried magma inside. His shadow fell long and heavy, drowning her in suffocating weight.
“Abyss Breathing, First Form: Void Rend.”
One swing. The air split with a deafening crack, the sash she sent his way shredded into fluttering ribbons. Daki staggered back, pupils dilating as if reality itself had been torn open.
Before she could retort, another sash fell apart behind her—cut clean by twin serrated blades.
“GYAAAHAHAHA! DON’T YOU DARE FORGET ABOUT ME!” Inosuke bellowed, bursting out of the rubble, his boar mask glinting in the moonlight. “THE ALMIGHTY BOAR WILL HUNT YOU TO PIECES!”
Itsuki grimaced, irritation flashing in his crimson eyes. “Tch. Stay out of my way, pig.”
“WHO ARE YOU CALLING PIG, YOU FLEA-RIDDEN WOLF?!” Inosuke stomped, swinging both blades. “I’M THE ONE LEADING THIS HUNT!”
“Fine,” Itsuki growled. His cleaver came down again, crushing the ground with a Void Rend that disoriented Daki. “Just don’t slow me down.”
“HAH?! YOU’RE THE SLOW ONE!”
Before either could snap again, Daki shrieked. Her sashes shot forward, glittering with malice. “STOP IGNORING ME!”
She hurled dozens at once, enough to shred them both—but the wolf and the boar lunged together without thinking.
“Beast Breathing, Fifth Fang: Crazy Cutting!” Inosuke spun like a wild top, ripping through half the sashes.
“Abyss Breathing, Fourth Form: Hell Maw.” Itsuki’s cleaver followed, arcs of black-red light converging like fanged jaws. His strike devoured the rest, crushing through her defense.
The shockwave threw Daki back, her cheek slashed open.
For a heartbeat, silence fell—until Itsuki and Inosuke turned on each other again.
“You cut into my swing.” Itsuki’s tone was ice.
“You got in my way first, wolf-face!” Inosuke barked, jabbing a blade at him. “My strike was better!”
“Your strike was pathetic.”
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!”
Meanwhile, Daki clutched her torn cheek, trembling with rage. “You two… you’re mocking me. Mocking me! ”
They didn’t answer. They were too busy shoving shoulders, snarling like rabid animals. But when her sashes lashed out again, they both moved in perfect sync—Itsuki’s cleaver cleaving space itself, Inosuke’s blades whirling with feral speed.
Each attack landed. Not because they planned it—because their madness and brutality collided into something Daki couldn’t predict.
She stumbled back, blood dripping, disbelief twisting her beautiful features. Why… why does it feel like I’m fighting monsters?
The district’s ruins trembled as Daki’s belts lashed outward, no longer flimsy silk but hardened like blades of steel. They struck walls and shattered them into dust, the sound shrill and sharp like glass snapping.
Her smile was gone. Her flawless face twisted, veins bulging in fury.
“You’re mocking me! Both of you—mocking me!” she screeched, green eyes blazing. “Do you think I’ll let filthy men like you ignore me?! I’ll grind your bodies into ribbons!”
Her belts shot forward in a storm, cutting through air with shrieks like talons.
Itsuki met them head-on, his cleaver howling as it tore the first wave apart.
“Abyss Breathing, Fourth Form—Hell Maw.”
Jagged arcs of black-red converged, his blade splitting her hardened belts like bones crushed in a wolf’s jaws. The shockwave rattled the ground, forcing even Daki to brace her footing.
But more belts streaked past, aiming for his exposed back—
—only to be shredded by a whirling blur.
“BEAST BREATHING, EIGHTH FANG: EXPLOSIVE RUSH!” Inosuke roared, his dual blades crossing in a furious cyclone that chewed the sashes into scraps. He skidded up beside Itsuki, mask grinning, chest heaving. “GYAAAHAHAHA! THE ALMIGHTY BOAR SAVES YOUR HIDE, WOLF-FACE!”
Itsuki snarled, not even glancing at him. “I didn’t need saving.” His grip on Zetsubō tightened, veins standing out in his forearm. “You just got in my way.”
“WHAT?!” Inosuke’s veins bulged at his temples. “SAY THAT AGAIN, YOU FUR-BRAINED FLEA-BAG!”
Another sash screamed toward them—this one razor-sharp and glowing with demonic power. Without thinking, both men struck at once.
“Abyss Breathing, First Form: Void Rend!”
“Seventh Fang: Spatial Awareness!”
The cleaver and the twin katanas ripped through it from different angles, their strikes colliding in sparks that lit the night like fireworks. The belt exploded midair, showering silk and blood.
For a brief moment, they both exhaled, shoulders brushing against each other.
“…Don’t fall behind,” Itsuki muttered coldly.
“HAH?! I’M ALREADY AHEAD!” Inosuke barked, jabbing a blade toward Daki.
The demon shrieked, her beauty marred by fury. She hardened every belt until they gleamed like blades, the street quaking under the sheer number of them. Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch:
“Die together, then! I’ll carve you into a mural of meat and cloth!”
The belts descended like a thousand guillotines.
For once, Itsuki and Inosuke didn’t argue. Their bodies moved—reckless wolf and feral boar, shoulder to shoulder.
Itsuki’s cleaver carved wide arcs, the ground splitting where he struck. Each slash carried the suffocating weight of despair, forcing Daki’s belts back as though space itself bent to his will.
Inosuke darted into the gaps left by Itsuki’s swings, his movements jagged, animalistic, but sharp enough to intercept every strike Itsuki couldn’t cover.
“GYAAAHAHAHA! YOU SLICE THE BIG ONES, I’LL SHRED THE REST!” Inosuke bellowed, sweat flying as his muscles flexed.
Itsuki smirked faintly, voice low and edged. “…Fine. Just don’t trip me up.”
Together, they advanced through the storm. Belts snapped, dust filled the air, and Daki screamed in disbelief as both predators cut her apart from two sides.
The street was in shambles, wooden beams jutting out of rubble like broken bones. Daki’s belts lashed wildly, harder and sharper than before, their edges glinting like tempered steel. Each strike shredded the ground, leaving deep scars across the cobblestones.
Inosuke darted through them with unhinged laughter, his body twisting like a wild animal in heat.
“GYAAAHAHAHA! TOO SLOW, YOU STRINGY WORM!” He slashed upward, Beast Breathing carving clean lines through two belts at once. His dual blades clanged and shrieked, sparks spraying as the clash of steel and flesh echoed through the district.
Itsuki moved differently—no frenzy, no wasted motion. His cleaver swept in arcs that broke the air itself, the blade’s black-red edge dragging despair into every strike.
“Abyss Breathing—First Form: Void Rend.”
With a single swing, the wolf-like blade tore through three of Daki’s belts, the shockwave sending rubble flying and rattling her bones.
Daki screamed, her beautiful face warped with fury. “You—you men are mocking me! Thinking you can just ignore me ! I’ll make you regret it! I’ll tear you both apart until nothing’s left!”
But before she could unleash another flurry, Inosuke moved like lightning, his beastly instincts taking over. He lunged through the air, blades flashing—
“BEAST BREATHING, FIFTH FANG: CRAZY CUTTING!”
His twin swords crossed and bit clean through her neck . Daki’s green eyes went wide as her head spun from her shoulders, tumbling through the air before Inosuke caught it in his hands.
“I WON! HAHAHA! THE BOAR KING BEATS THE WOLF!” Inosuke bellowed, chest puffed out as he clutched the severed head. He stomped on the rubble like a child showing off prey, completely oblivious to the tension in the air.
But Itsuki froze. His blood-red eyes narrowed, the iron scent of the district suddenly thick with rot. His muscles locked, every scar on his body prickling like lightning.
“…No,” he muttered. His gaze flicked to the shadows. “Something’s wrong—Inosuke! DROP IT!”
Before the boy could process, Itsuki lunged—shoving Inosuke with all his weight.
Inosuke stumbled back, confused. “Hah?! What’re you—”
The sound came first: a sickening shlick .
Itsuki staggered, coughing blood, a jagged sickle jutting from his side. From the darkness, a thin, emaciated figure emerged—skin a mottled gray-green, eyes burning with sickly yellow malice. Gyutaro’s crooked grin split his scarred face, voice dripping with mockery.
“Heheh… not bad reflexes, huh? Too bad you didn’t dodge fast enough.” His tongue slid over the bloodied sickle as Itsuki collapsed to one knee, veins already pulsing purple. “I love it when men like you fall apart.”
“ITSUKI!” Inosuke roared, rage twisting his tone—but before he could charge forward, Daki’s severed head began to whine . The body still standing nearby spasmed, threads writhing from the stump of her neck.
“BROTHER! KILL THEM!”
Her obi belts surged outward in all directions like a detonation, slicing through houses, collapsing rooftops, igniting wood into an inferno.
The explosion rocked the entire block. Fire and debris surged toward Inosuke with the speed of a tidal wave.
Time seemed to slow. Inosuke’s feral instincts screamed at him to run, but before he could, he felt a hand shove him—hard.
Itsuki.
The Abyss Hashira threw himself between Inosuke and the explosion, his cloak shredded in an instant, body battered by the force. The shockwave swallowed him whole.
The last thing Inosuke saw before he was blown clear was Itsuki’s back, scarred and unyielding, shielding him from the storm.
Tanjiro’s eyes fluttered open to a haze of smoke. The air was thick, acrid, every breath scraping down his throat like glass. He coughed, voice rasping.
“Where… am I?”
The world came into focus in jagged fragments—the Yoshiwara District burning, whole rows of homes collapsed into blackened rubble. Ash fell from the sky like gray snow. His stomach turned.
“This is awful… How did it come to this? Please… let the people have escaped.”
His gaze snapped back, and relief swept over him like a tide—Nezuko. She stood outside her box, unharmed, her small form trembling with restrained fury. He exhaled, whispering, “Thank goodness.”
But the moment’s peace shattered with a rasping chuckle.
“Well, well… still kicking, huh?”
Gyutaro stood just ahead, scratching at the corner of his diseased eye with his jagged nail. His hunched frame and grotesque grin made his presence even more suffocating than the fire’s smoke. Daki lounged above on a rooftop, her perfect face lit by the flames, smirking down at the scene as if she were watching theater.
Gyutaro’s voice slithered into the silence. “I’m shocked, really. You’re still alive after all that? Guess you’re just lucky. Not that you’ve got anything else going for you besides that.” His laugh was wet and broken, rattling in his throat.
Tanjiro’s head whipped around, eyes wide. Zenitsu was half-buried in rubble, his hand twitching faintly. Inosuke lay sprawled nearby, motionless, blood soaking the ground beneath him.
“Zenitsu! Inosuke!” Tanjiro’s voice cracked.
Gyutaro tilted his head, eyes glinting yellow in the firelight. “Heh… pathetic sight, isn’t it? That flashy Hashira too—dead. Poison got him in the end. All bark, no bite.” His smile widened, jagged teeth flashing. “You’re all disgraceful. Utterly disgraceful.”
The words hit Tanjiro like hammer blows. His chest tightened as his gaze darted, desperate—where was—
“Mr. Itsuki…” Tanjiro whispered, breath catching.
Gyutaro barked a laugh, throwing his head back. “That one? Hah! For a second, I thought he was a demon in disguise—seriously, did you see that freakish face of his?” His tone twisted with contempt. “But nah… he’s probably somewhere crawling in the dirt right now, rotting slow from the poison.” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a mock whisper. “If he hadn’t thrown himself in front of that wild boar, he’d still be fighting.”
Tanjiro’s eyes widened, his pulse spiking.
“He… protected Inosuke?”
The memory surfaced unbidden, Itsuki’s voice sharp and cold: “Besides… I’m not Aiyaka. I won’t be there to shield you if an Upper Rank comes.”
And yet—he had shielded someone.
Tanjiro’s throat burned, but against the overwhelming despair, a faint smile tugged at his lips. Not because he was unafraid, but because he realized—this fight wasn’t over. Not yet.
Gyutaro’s grin faltered into a sneer. “You’re smiling? In all this filth, with your friends dying like insects? Tch, you’re disgusting.”
He scratched at his face again, skin peeling under his nails, voice rising. “You lot are all shameless in your own ways, but you… you’re the worst.”
His finger shot toward Nezuko, who glared up at him, fangs bared, smoke curling from her mouth.
“That one. The brat crawling out of that box. She’s related to you, isn’t she? Even under the stink of fire and blood, I can tell.” His smile spread, eyes gleaming with twisted curiosity. “Tell me—she’s your sister, isn’t she?”
The air trembled with heat and ash. Tanjiro’s lungs burned with every breath, smoke clawing at his throat. Gyutaro’s laughter grated against the flames, and Daki perched above with a sneer, her silken obi swaying like serpents waiting to strike.
But then—
A sound. Heavy, deliberate.
Thud… thud… thud.
All three froze. From the smoldering haze, a silhouette emerged.
Itsuki.
He walked through the firestorm as if the chaos parted for him, his shredded cloak trailing like torn shadows. Poison webbed across his face in dark, ugly veins, yet he strode upright, unshaken, each step ringing with the weight of iron. His massive cleaver rested on one shoulder, jagged teeth of the blade glinting blood-red in the firelight, as though it were hungry.
Tanjiro’s heart leapt, his voice hoarse but fierce.
“Mr. Itsuki!”
Gyutaro’s crooked grin faltered, his eye twitching as he scratched at his neck. “No way… He’s walking? With my poison in him? You’ve gotta be kidding me…”
Daki leaned forward, her pale face twisting, beauty marred by disgust. “That’s not human. No human should still be moving like that. Are you sure he’s not one of us?!”
Itsuki’s crimson eyes snapped toward her, gleaming like coals in the dark. He scoffed, the sound low, cutting.
“Related? To filth like you?” His gaze shifted to Gyutaro, voice colder than steel. “Don’t insult me. I’d sooner burn in the abyss than claim kinship with the Twelve Kizuki.”
The air thickened. Even the fire seemed to bend around him.
Gyutaro clicked his tongue, nails raking bloody lines across his own skin, voice rising with a mix of envy and rage. “Tch! Look at you. Still standing, scarred up like a monster, acting tough. You’re no better than us!” His grin returned, wide and jagged. “But don’t fool yourself. You’re dying on your feet. You can’t take me and Daki. Not a chance.”
Itsuki tilted his head, lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. More like the baring of a wolf’s fangs.
“Try me.”
The massive blade slid down from his shoulder with a screech of metal. The ground cracked beneath his stance, ash swirling at his feet. For a moment, even Tanjiro felt a chill that cut deeper than the fire around them — the weight of a predator ready to tear the world apart.
Chapter 22: A Wolf’s Burden, A Peacock’s Farewell
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The moment Itsuki shifted his foot forward, the earth itself seemed to respond.
Crack. The stone beneath him split, a jagged fissure crawling outward like veins in broken glass. The ground trembled as if it feared to hold his weight.
Gyutaro’s eyes widened, his crooked grin faltering. His body twitched, a shiver racing down his hunched frame. His legs bent involuntarily until his knees nearly touched the rubble. “Wha—what the hell…?” He scratched furiously at his neck, blood slicking his fingertips. “This pressure… it’s worse than any Hashira I’ve ever—!”
From above, Daki shrieked, her face twisting in anger to mask her fear. “Don’t you dare act like you’re above us!” Her belts shot out in a flurry, slicing the air toward Itsuki.
But the moment they entered his killing aura, the fabric shuddered mid-flight, writhing as if trapped under invisible weight. They slowed, dragged down, trembling like prey caught in a predator’s gaze. The brilliant sheen of her obi dulled, fraying at the edges as if refusing to approach him. Daki’s eyes went wide, her voice cracking. “M-My belts—?!”
Tanjiro staggered backward, lungs burning as if the air itself had turned to stone. The crushing presence bore down on his chest, every breath sharp, suffocating. His heart pounded, sweat trailing down his temples even through the heat of the burning district. This isn’t like Mr.Uzui… it isn’t like any Hashira I’ve seen before. This is… something else.
Itsuki raised his head slowly, blood-red irises narrowing. The black rings in his eyes constricted, wolf-like, and the scar carved across his jaw tightened as his teeth bared in a cruel half-snarl.
Cold words slid from his lips, low and absolute.
“You thought this was a fight.”
He shifted his grip on the monstrous cleaver, the jagged teeth glinting in the firelight like a predator’s maw. The weapon hummed, almost alive, veins of red crawling faintly along the blade’s edge.
“This is an execution.”
The fire around them bent inward as if drawn to him, embers sucked into the suffocating abyss of his aura. Even Gyutaro’s laughter died in his throat, replaced by a ragged, rasping breath. His crooked smile trembled.
Itsuki took another step. The ground screamed beneath him.
Tanjiro’s lungs burned, his whole body screaming, but he forced his hands steady on the hilt. “Hinokami… Kagura!” Flames roared to life along his blade, crackling like the district itself was igniting through him. With a guttural cry, he brought the sword down and cleaved toward Gyutaro’s neck.
The Upper Moon flinched, his sickly grin faltering as steel bit into flesh. Blood sprayed, hissing in the firelight. “Tch—damn it! A distraction!?” Gyutaro snarled, his hunched frame twitching as the blade sank deeper.
Tanjiro’s chest heaved, eyes flicking toward the side—Itsuki was kneeling by Tengen, his scarred hands pressing roughly against the Sound Hashira’s chest, trying to keep him conscious even as the poison ate through his veins.
“Hey!” Daki screeched from above, her eyes narrowing with fury. “Don’t ignore me like I’m nothing! Don't get beheaded by someone like him!”
Her belts snapped forward like whips, slashing toward Tanjiro with murderous speed—
—but a streak of yellow light burst from the rubble.
CRASH! Zenitsu ripped free of the debris, lightning arcing across his body. His blade tore through the incoming obi with a shriek of steel, scattering silk like shredded paper.
Daki froze, eyes wide. “That brat!? He pulled himself out of the rubble!?” She pointed, her lips twisting into a cruel snarl. “Die, you ugly little freak!”
Her belts lashed again, hundreds of slivers glinting under the moon.
But Zenitsu’s eyes remained shut, his breathing deep and even. Lightning sparked along his blade, his stance lowering, every muscle trembling on the edge of release.
“Thunder Breathing…” His voice was quiet, almost calm beneath the chaos. “…First Form—Thunderclap and Flash… Godlike Speed! ”
The world blurred.
In an instant, Zenitsu vanished.
Daki barely had time to gasp before the crack of thunder split the air and he reappeared at her throat. Her pupils shrank. “S-So fast—!”
The edge of his Nichirin blade carved across her neck, severing her obi as it shrieked under the force. Panic laced her scream. “M-My head—! My neck’s being severed! Damn it! I didn’t know he could move like this!”
Meanwhile, Tanjiro gritted his teeth, clashing with Gyutaro again, sparks flying as the demon’s sickle nearly gouged his eye. Gyutaro’s strikes came faster, sharper, his sickly frame twisting unnaturally as the poison burned out of his veins. “Heh-heh-heh! I’m speeding up again! You’re finished, brat!”
Tanjiro staggered, his arms shaking, vision tunneling. No—I can’t stop! I won’t give up—!
The blade arced toward his eye—
—and clashed with another.
BOOM!
An explosion shook the street as Tengen Uzui appeared, intercepting the strike with his one remaining hand. His twin blades howled, sparks scattering into fireworks as he shoved Gyutaro back with a savage grin.
Tanjiro’s eyes widened. “Mr. Uzui—! You’re alive!?”
The Sound Hashira’s voice was hoarse but unshaken. “Heh. Had to stop my heart for a bit. Poison’s not flowing now. Flashy, right?” His bloodied face twisted into a confident grin. “I can still fight. And with my Musical Score, I’ll hear every note of this bastard’s rhythm. We’re gonna win this.”
Gyutaro hissed in fury, veins bulging across his face. His sickles whirled, vomiting a tidal wave of crimson blood blades that shrieked toward them.
But Tengen only spun his swords, listening— truly listening —to the pattern in the storm of death. His ears twitched, his smile widening. “Hah! I can hear it. The song of your techniques.”
“Sound Breathing—!”
He lunged forward, blades carving a flawless dance, every slash shredding the oncoming tide of blood blades in a symphony of sparks and explosions.
The battlefield had become a furnace of fire and blood. The Yoshiwara District, once glittering with light, was nothing but ash and collapsing rubble.
Tengen roared, spinning his blades in a dazzling arc. Sound Breathing, First Form: Roar! He slammed them into the ground, sparks igniting as the blast shook the air. Gyutaro twisted away just in time, his wiry body bending grotesquely, but his sneer faltered when he realized—Tengen had turned his Rotating Circular Slashes into a rhythm he could deflect. With one arm.
“You flashy bastard…” Gyutaro spat, veins bulging across his sickly green skin. “D’you think you can mock me like that!?”
The two collided head-on, sparks and blood erupting in a violent explosion that tore through the burning district. Fire lit the sky as blades of sound clashed against whirling scythes of blood, each strike louder, faster, more desperate. Houses crumbled, ash rained, and the city itself seemed to tremble beneath their fury.
Tanjiro sprinted across collapsing rooftops, his lungs screaming, his blade blazing with Hinokami Kagura. But no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn’t keep up with their speed. His breath hitched, vision tunneling as sweat stung his eyes.
“I… I can’t keep up!”
Before he could falter, a shadow surged beside him—calm, steady, terrifying. Itsuki.
With one hand, he seized Tanjiro’s haori, lifting him like a child. His blood-red eyes burned in the flames. His voice was a quiet growl, colder than the steel in his hand.
“As much as I want to be the one to take his head…”
He hurled Tanjiro toward the clash like he weighed nothing. “…you do it.”
The momentum shot through Tanjiro’s body like lightning, propelling him higher, faster. His heart pounded. I can’t waste this chance!
Gyutaro twisted mid-air, scythes screeching as they met Tanjiro’s blade. “You’re too slow, brat!” His sickle arced down, piercing into Tanjiro’s jaw with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed. Gyutaro’s grin widened, jagged teeth glinting. “No matter how hard you struggle—you’ll still die choking on your own blood!”
Tanjiro’s scream tore out, raw and broken—
CLANG!
The sickle snapped.
Itsuki’s cleaver whirled back to his hand like a wolf returning to its master, the air vibrating from the sheer force of his throw. Sparks lit the ground where the sickle’s edge shattered, Gyutaro’s eyes snapping wide in fury.
“You—!” His voice cracked with rage, spittle flying. “It’s all because of you! You’re the reason everything’s falling apart!” His scream echoed across the ruins, directed not at Tanjiro—but at Itsuki.
Tanjiro, blood filling his mouth, gripped tighter. His vision blurred, but his mark burned brighter than ever, flames spreading like wings across his scar. Not yet… not while everyone’s still fighting!
His sword burned hotter. And this time, it cut deeper into Gyutaro’s neck.
Elsewhere, lightning split the night. Zenitsu, his body screaming for rest, still streaked through the air with Godlike Speed, his blade pressed against Daki’s throat. His muscles trembled, lungs on fire. Move… one more step… just one more step!
“You brat!” Daki shrieked, her face contorting with fury. Her obi slashed from behind, whipping like a serpent to tear Zenitsu apart.
But before it could reach him—
“Beast Breathing, Seventh Form: Spatial Awareness!”
SLASH!
Obi silk exploded around Zenitsu. Inosuke burst from the chaos, his boar’s head mask cracked, his chest heaving with savage laughter.
“Ha! Thought I was dead!? Like hell a measly explosion would kill me!” He twirled his dual blades, muscles twitching with manic energy.
Zenitsu gasped, but his footing never wavered. The three of them—Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke—roared as one.
Their blades sang.
And in a final, synchronized strike, they severed the necks of Upper Six.
Gyutaro’s and Daki’s heads tumbled across the dirt, blood splattering in arcs across the broken city. They rolled, and by cruel fate, stopped face-to-face.
Brother and sister. United in death.
The silence after the decapitation was deafening. The sound of blades clashing, of explosions ripping through the night, had been replaced by nothing but the crackle of flames consuming Yoshiwara’s ruins.
From the rooftop, Suma clutched the edge of her sleeve, tears brimming in her wide eyes. “They… they did it.” Her voice cracked, disbelief giving way to trembling relief. “They really did it!” She spun toward Hinatsuru, grabbing her by the shoulders, almost laughing through her sobs. “Hear that, Hina? Just look—they did it from beyond the grave!”
Makio smacked her hand against the tiles, glaring. “Idiot! Do you even hear yourself? Don’t jinx it with that kind of talk!”
Hinatsuru’s lips parted, her body stiffening. She didn’t scold them—because she saw it first. Her breath hitched, her gaze locked on the battlefield below. “Wait. Something’s… wrong.”
Down in the rubble, Tanjiro staggered, his sword tip dragging across the ground as his vision swam. The poison burned through his veins, his body screaming to collapse. He blinked, but the world around him blurred, colors smearing together, his hearing muffled like he was underwater.
Tengen knelt not far away, one hand pressed to his chest, veins bulging black with poison. Even as he tried to steady his breath, his body twitched violently. “Tch—damn it,” he hissed, forcing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
Itsuki felt it before he saw it. His lungs tightened, his skin prickled, and his blood-red eyes widened. The carcass of Gyutaro’s body—headless, ruined—was writhing. Muscle and blood boiled unnaturally, forming into a grotesque, throbbing core. The air grew heavy, vibrating with an ominous hum.
“Damn it,” Itsuki snarled, his voice low, edged with venom.
And then it came—an eruption of blood blades, countless scythes of red lashing outward with the force of a hurricane.
Itsuki didn’t hesitate. Despite poison gnawing at his veins, he lunged forward, grabbing Tanjiro by the collar with one arm, hauling Tengen over his shoulder with the other. His blade was sheathed; he needed speed, not slaughter. Zenitsu, unconscious, and Inosuke—still laughing weakly through cracked ribs—were both snatched up into his iron grip.
Every muscle in Itsuki’s body screamed, but he ran. Faster, harder, his footsteps shattering stone beneath him. The scent of iron and rain clung to him as he ripped through the air, fleeing the maelstrom.
The blast caught him anyway.
The world turned red. A storm of blades tore through the district, shredding everything in its path. Itsuki shielded the boys with his own scarred frame, his cloak ripped to tatters, his flesh torn. The force hurled him across the burning wreckage, slamming him into the ground.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then—
A box clattered through the air, splintered open.
Nezuko burst free in a blaze of fire, her small frame igniting with crimson light. She landed barefoot on the shattered earth, eyes glowing with fierce determination. With a cry, she spread her arms, her Blood Demon Art igniting in a storm of pink-hued flames. The fire clung to the blades, consuming them, purging the poison as the wave disintegrated into ash.
The district burned—but they lived.
Tanjiro’s eyes fluttered open, consciousness returning in fragile waves. His throat burned as he coughed, rolling onto his side. The world was haze and ruin. Smoldering beams collapsed in the distance, smoke biting his lungs. He forced himself upright, turning—and found Nezuko beside him, her flames still licking faintly across her skin as she stood guard.
He swallowed, voice hoarse. “How… awful…” His gaze swept across the wreckage. Streets flattened. Houses gone. Ash everywhere.
He clenched his hands weakly, whispering to the night. “I hope… everyone’s alright…”
The flames still licked at the ruins of Yoshiwara, the night air thick with smoke and ash. Tanjiro tried to stand, but his knees buckled, forcing him back to the ground. His chest heaved, each breath rattling like glass.
“Taaanjirooo!” a familiar wail echoed across the wreckage. Zenitsu, half-buried under broken beams, flailed an arm. “Help meee! Everything hurts! Are both of my legs broken?! I can’t feel them! Oh no—I can’t look!”
Tanjiro, draped weakly over Nezuko’s back, blinked at him in surprise before sighing. “Thank goodness… you’re okay.”
Zenitsu’s face twisted. “O-okay?! I’m dying , Tanjiro! I deserve pity too!” His voice cracked into shrill sobs.
Before Tanjiro could answer, a shout cut through the smoke. “HEY!”
He turned—and his eyes widened. Inosuke stumbled forward, dragging a limp body by the legs. Tears streamed beneath the boar mask, wetting the fur. “OI! HEY! SOMEBODY HELP! The Wolf guy’s dying!”
Tanjiro’s stomach dropped. “Mr. Itsuki!”
Zenitsu gasped dramatically. “His heartbeat—it’s getting fainter! He’s slipping away!”
“Shut up, Yellow,” Inosuke barked, shaking Itsuki’s body like a stubborn animal. “Don’t you die, Wolf man!”
Tanjiro crawled forward despite his spinning vision. His throat tightened at the sight—Itsuki’s face was almost blackened with poison, veins crawling across his pale skin. “Mr. Itsuki… if it weren’t for us, you… you would still…” His words broke, tears stinging his eyes.
Nezuko crouched low, her tiny hand pressing against Itsuki’s scarred chest. Crimson flames burst from her palm, wrapping him in a cocoon of fire. The air hissed, and the stench of burning poison filled their noses. Slowly, the dark veins began to fade.
With a jolt, Itsuki’s eyes snapped open. He growled, clutching his head. “Alright—which idiot dragged me!? Why does my skull feel like it’s splitting!?”
Tanjiro’s face lit with relief. “Mr. Itsuki!”
“YOU MORON!” Inosuke shouted, smacking his arm against Itsuki’s shoulder. “How dare you scare me like that, Wolf guy!”
Before Itsuki could shove him off, he was smothered by Tanjiro’s desperate hug, Nezuko nuzzling against his chest, and even Inosuke’s boar head bumping into his side. Itsuki froze, crimson eyes twitching. “Tch… get off me before I cut you all in half.”
But his voice lacked the bite it usually carried.
Then his gaze sharpened. He hissed, “Peacock… where is he?”
“Right here.”
Tengen strode toward them, one arm slung over Makio’s shoulder while Suma clung to his other side, sobbing loudly. Hinatsuru steadied him from behind, her eyes glistening. Despite his pallor, the Sound Hashira’s grin was dazzling.
“Uzui-san!” Tanjiro gasped. “You’re alive! But… weren’t you poisoned?”
Tengen tilted his head toward Itsuki, smirking. “This wolfish bastard took the worst of it for me.”
Itsuki clicked his tongue, averting his gaze. “…Whatever.”
Suma wailed louder, tears pouring down her face as she threw herself into a kneel. “Waaahhh! Itsuki! You saved his life! I can never thank you enough!”
Makio scowled, smacking Suma on the head. “Quit blubbering and at least let him breathe!”
Tengen chuckled, despite his ragged breaths. He looked at Itsuki with that infuriating, glittering smile. “Flashy work, Wolf. Beneath that merciless growl of yours… you’re a good man.”
Itsuki glared at him, eyes narrowing. “…You’re irritating.”
But he didn’t deny it.
The battlefield was finally quiet, save for the faint crackle of dying embers and the hiss of smoke drifting into the night sky. The smell of ash and blood clung thickly to the air. Tanjiro and Nezuko moved off into the ruins, searching for the severed heads to finish the job.
That left Itsuki and Tengen behind, sitting among the rubble. Itsuki leaned against a half-collapsed wall, his massive cleaver resting beside him like a slab of death. His crimson-ringed eyes flicked to the Sound Hashira, who was propped up by his wives, his body trembling from the strain of poison and blood loss.
“So,” Itsuki muttered, voice low and edged, “what now? You’ve lost an eye and a hand. How long until you drag yourself back into duty?”
Tengen’s smile faltered, his one remaining eye softening. “I won’t. I’m retiring.”
Itsuki’s jaw clenched. “Retiring?” He scoffed, bitter. “I took the damn poison into my own body so you’d live, and this is how you repay me?”
Tengen chuckled weakly, his voice still carrying that maddening flash of flamboyance even through the pain. “You’re still a Hashira, aren’t you? That’s plenty. Besides…” His gaze shifted past Itsuki, smirking. “It’s not too late for you to start teaching a few brats of your own.”
Itsuki followed his eyes—and noticed Inosuke slumped against him, fast asleep. The boy’s head rested squarely on Itsuki’s lap, boar mask tilted awkwardly as his chest rose and fell with noisy, careless breaths.
For a moment, Itsuki stared down, lips pressed into a thin line. He looked like he might shove the boy off. Instead, he exhaled through his nose and looked away, eyes burning like dying coals.
Tengen smirked knowingly. “A boar and a wolf… sounds like a good pair to me.”
Itsuki rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. “Good grief.”
But he didn’t move Inosuke.
Notes:
And this marks the end of the Entertainment District arc!
Chapter 23: The Abyss and the Wisteria Tears
Chapter Text
The biwa echoed through the shifting halls, and the Infinity Castle swallowed the Upper Moons into its endless, nightmarish expanse.
Muzan sat in silence at the center, his pale face carved with simmering fury. The air itself seemed to thrum with his heartbeat.
Gyokko slithered forward, porcelain pots shifting grotesquely. “How curious ... who could possibly bring down Gyutaro and Daki? I would enjoy seeing the faces of such pests before I—”
“I wonder too,” Hantengu muttered, voice trembling as he shrank into himself. His eyes darted between shadows as if demons lurked among demons.
Muzan’s voice cut the air like a blade. “Two Hashira. Three more slayers at their side. That is all it took.”
Dōma’s hands clapped together, his painted smile unbothered. “Ahhh, two Hashira! How delightful. I should’ve been more generous with my blood. Perhaps poor Gyutaro would still be here, yes?”
Muzan’s crimson eyes snapped toward Kokushibo. His tone deepened, venom dripping. “And where is your pupil ? A time like this, and she is absent?”
Kokushibo’s six eyes shifted slightly, unreadable. For a long breath, he said nothing. Finally, his voice rumbled low. “She is on assignment. She answers to me alone. You need not concern yourself.”
A dangerous silence followed. Muzan’s lips curved into a cold, almost human sneer. “Still… my instincts stir. As though the Ubuyashiki house has acquired two shields that even I cannot shatter.” His gaze bored into Kokushibo, sharp as daggers. “If it is who I think it is… then you have failed me.”
The Infinity Castle held its breath.
Kokushibo did not flinch. He only turned, the sweeping edges of his haori vanishing into the endless corridors as he walked away.
Muzan’s eyes followed him, glowing like coals in the dark.
The Infinity Castle pulsed with the echo of a biwa string, walls twisting into endless corridors. The Upper Moons stood in the void, shadows stretching around them.
Dōma’s voice broke the silence, light and mocking. He pressed his palms together, smiling wide. “Oh my, oh my! I don’t seem to understand… what are you all so afraid of?” His laughter rang hollow, too bright in the suffocating dark.
Muzan’s crimson gaze slid past him, cold and contemptuous. His voice rose, smooth yet edged like steel. “Enough.” The air thickened, pressing down on every demon present. “You will receive a new mission.”
His words struck like thunder. “Pursue the Elysian and Abyss Hashira. Tear them apart. Bring me their heads.”
Akaza’s fists clenched, his jaw tight. His mind flickered back to the Mugen Train—Rengoku’s burning spirit, and a strange woman’s presence. That memory clawed at him now. It couldn’t be her… could it? His chest twisted with something uncomfortably close to dread.
Kokushibō’s six eyes did not waver. His deep, rumbling tone broke the silence. “As I have said, there is no need for concern. My pupil is already in motion. The task will be completed. It will not be long.”
Muzan’s glare fixed on him, unblinking, sharp enough to pierce flesh. His pale face barely moved, but the venom in his voice coiled tight. “For your sake, Kokushibō… you had better be right.”
The Infinity Castle fell silent again, the only sound the faint, lingering vibration of the biwa string.
Itsuki jolted upright with a sharp gasp, breath ragged, sweat clinging to his scarred skin. For a moment, the walls seemed to breathe with him, his blood-red irises darting around the unfamiliar room. The faint scent of herbs and clean parchment told him where he was before his eyes confirmed it — the Butterfly Mansion. He dragged a hand down his face, groaning.
“Must be imagining…” he muttered, though the heaviness in his chest told him otherwise.
Muffled voices filtered through the sliding door.
“Please, let me see him!” Chiori’s voice cracked, panicked and uncharacteristically desperate. “I swear I heard something!”
And then, softer, edged with a calm steel, Shinobu’s reply: “Please, calm yourself, Chiori-san. Even if he is awake… I doubt he would want to be disturbed.”
Itsuki grunted, annoyance pulling at the corner of his mouth. He turned, and a breeze slipped through the open window, cool against his fevered skin. A figure leaned there, framed by pale morning light.
“Aiyaka…”
She smiled, warm and gentle, as though two months of silence had been nothing more than a passing storm. “Morning. Better late than never.” She stepped into the room, silk sleeves whispering against the floor. “You’ve been unconscious… for two months.”
Itsuki’s jaw clenched. He pressed his palm against his forehead, groaning. “Two months? Tch. Humiliating.”
Aiyaka only chuckled, her smile serene — that same maddeningly calm smile that disarmed even him. “It’s good to see you back, brother.”
For a heartbeat, he simply stared at her, realizing just how much he had missed that glow. Then, lowering his hand, his tone hardened again. “You were the one who took Chiori back, weren’t you?”
Aiyaka nodded, her ribboned hair swaying. She gave him a light punch on the shoulder — gentle, yet firm enough to be sisterly scolding. “I was surprised to see your earring on her,” she chided softly. “Not to mention… my mechanism that I created for you.”
Itsuki groaned louder, shoulders sagging. “Geez… too early for lectures.” He tipped his head back against the wall. “Any second now, they’ll—”
The door slammed open with a bang. “Abyss Hashira!!”
Chiori stood breathless in the doorway, her face pale but her eyes alight with relief. Shinobu lingered just behind her, blinking at the broken doorframe with a sigh. “Oh my. My door.”
Itsuki pinched the bridge of his nose. “Speak of the devil…”
Aiyaka pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. With a knowing look, she gently steered Shinobu aside. “We’ll leave you two,” she said, her tone like a soft hymn. “I have a feeling… you both have some catching up to do.”
Chiori rushed to his bedside, her hands trembling as they hovered just above his chest, afraid to touch the scars but desperate to feel if he was real.
“How are you, really? How’s your head? Your arm? Your chest—”
“Everything’s fine,” Itsuki cut in with a low sigh, his voice gravelly. He turned his head away, whispering, “I’m still alive.”
“Fine!?”
The sharpness in her tone made him jolt. He looked back, surprised to see her calm, serene mask cracking. Her lavender-gray eyes shone with anger and grief.
“Just like everyone else, I had no choice but to leave the district!” Her voice broke, and her hands finally pressed against his arm, gripping tight. “Do you know how worried I was when I heard from the Sound Hashira’s wives that you were there—fighting!?” Her breath hitched, words tumbling faster. “And then… I had to wait two months for you to wake up!”
Itsuki parted his lips, but no words came. He could only watch as her shoulders trembled, the composure she always carried slipping away.
“When I heard Uzui was going to retire, I was worried,” she whispered, her voice softening—until tears welled up and spilled over, sliding down her pale cheeks to fall warm against his scarred arm. His eyes widened at the sensation.
Her whisper cracked into a whimper. “But nothing hurt me more than when I heard you were the one in the most critical condition.” She pressed her forehead briefly against his arm, her tears soaking into the bandages there. “You even took all the poison from the Sound Hashira onto yourself… If it weren’t for Tanjiro’s sister…”
Her words failed. The room was quiet but for her trembling breath and the faint rustle of her sleeves as her body leaned against his.
Itsuki’s jaw tightened. His instinct was to push her away, to snarl that weakness was useless. But his chest ached, and not from the wounds. He let out a low exhale, scarred fingers twitching, hesitating before he rested his rough hand lightly on her shoulder.
“…Enough,” he muttered, his tone quieter than he intended. “You’ll make yourself sick crying over me.”
Chiori’s voice cracked as she cried out, her face lifting to meet his. Their foreheads almost brushed, breath mingling.
“Why can’t you accept that I care about you—that I worry for you?”
Itsuki’s crimson-ringed eyes widened, the unreadable mask he always wore faltering. Before he could form an answer, Chiori’s arms swept around him, pulling his scarred face into the soft press of her chest.
He froze. His entire body went rigid, breath caught in his throat. No one touched him like this—no one dared. Yet here she was, trembling but unyielding, clutching him as though letting go would mean losing him forever.
His eyes stayed wide, unblinking. Then he heard it— thump, thump —not one, but two heartbeats. Hers pounding against his ear, steady and fragile. His own hammering beneath his palm when he pressed it to his chest. The rhythm was too loud, too wild.
His hand twitched, scarred fingers curling against the sheets. His chest hurt in a way that had nothing to do with battle wounds.
Chiori’s tears dampened his hair as she buried her face against him. “I don’t want you to die yet!” she sobbed, voice muffled, raw. “I want to know you—I want to know your hobbies, your likes and dislikes, your favorite foods…” Her shoulders shook, but she only held him tighter. “I can’t take it anymore, watching you throw yourself into the front lines every day like your life means nothing!”
Itsuki’s mind reeled. She… wants to know me? Not the blade. Not the killer. Me?
The thought felt foreign, dangerous. Yet with her scent of parchment and wisteria filling his lungs, her warmth pressed against his scars, he couldn’t push it away. For the first time in years, the merciless Hashira didn’t know how to fight what was happening inside him.
After what felt like an eternity, Itsuki realized Chiori’s sobs had faded. The weight of her trembling against him was gone, replaced by steady, delicate breaths.
He lowered his gaze. “...Shirakawa?” His voice, usually sharp as steel, came out rough and uncertain. No answer.
Carefully, almost reluctantly, he pulled back—and found her asleep, lashes still wet with tears.
For a long moment he sat frozen, the Abyss Hashira who knew nothing but violence, staring at the fragile woman in his arms. Then, with a faint exhale, he shifted. His scarred hands, hands that had only ever taken life, scooped her from the floor with surprising care. She weighed less than his blade, yet his chest tightened as if he carried something unbearably precious.
He placed her on the bed beside him, then leaned back against the headboard. For reasons he couldn’t name, he drew her close again, letting her head rest against his chest. Her warmth seeped into the scars that no medicine had ever soothed.
His crimson-ringed eyes softened as he studied her features—the delicate lines of her face, the faint silver sheen in her hair, the pale hands that had clung to him as though to tether his soul. Her earlier words echoed mercilessly in his mind.
“Even if you knew my origins…” he whispered, his voice low, raw, almost breaking, “...would you still want to know me?”
The silence gave him no answer, only her steady breathing, the fragile rhythm of a heartbeat against his chest. And for once, that silence terrified him.
Chapter 24: Eight Against the Abyss
Chapter Text
The room was hushed, lit only by the soft glow of lantern light that cast long shadows over the sliding paper doors. Itsuki sat cross-legged across from Kagaya, his massive frame and jagged scars a sharp contrast to the frail man before him. The faint scent of iron and rain from his body lingered against the faint wisteria incense curling through the air.
Kagaya’s lips curved in his calm, ever-gentle smile. His voice, no more than a tender whisper, carried an unshakable warmth. “I cannot thank you enough for defeating the Upper Rank Six with Tengen, Tanjiro, Nezuko, Inosuke, and Zenitsu.”
Itsuki scoffed softly, his blood-red eyes narrowing as he muttered, “A task like that doesn’t deserve your praise.”
Kagaya chuckled faintly, though his pale features held a shadow of sadness. “Of course. It is difficult to reach you sometimes.” His smile softened further, though his breath caught slightly as he continued. “I know you dislike hearing it, but… how are you, truly?”
Itsuki’s jaw tightened. He wanted to dismiss it, as always. But Kagaya’s presence—gentle yet unyielding—drew truth out of him. He lowered his gaze, voice rough. “I’m not certain of my abilities anymore. For years, Aiyaka and I held back. If I stopped—if I unleashed everything—I fear the demons wouldn’t be the only ones I’d destroy.”
The words hung heavy, the silence between them almost suffocating. Kagaya closed his eyes for a moment, expression serene yet lined with quiet sorrow. “I owe you and Aya-chan an apology, Suu-kun,” he whispered. “For years, you’ve stood as shields for me and my family, even as children. No matter how I try, I can never repay the blood you’ve shed in my name.”
Itsuki exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly, eyes distant. “You promised to lead the Corps. Aiyaka and I were just doing our duty as your bodyguards. You kept your promise. That’s all that mattered.”
Kagaya’s hand trembled faintly in his lap, though his smile endured. He blinked slowly, holding back the sting of tears. “And yet… I still feel indebted.” His voice faltered before steadying again. “But you didn’t come here just to check on me, did you?”
Itsuki dragged a hand through his wild streaked hair, sighing low. “I heard your sickness has worsened. I should’ve finished the mission sooner—been here.”
Kagaya shook his head gently, his frail features serene despite the truth in Itsuki’s words. “Please. Do not burden yourself with guilt. Aya-chan has been here for me every day in your absence.”
Itsuki’s crimson eyes flickered with relief for only a second. “Good. At least she’s here.” He leaned forward slightly, the iron in his tone sharpening. “But you’re right. I didn’t come only to reunite.”
Kagaya’s smile lingered, though his gaze studied Itsuki carefully, as though he could see through him. “That look on your face… I’d wager you’ve come up with some wild proposition.”
For the first time since entering the room, a faint smirk tugged at Itsuki’s scarred jaw. “Crazy is my middle name.”
The pale light of dawn spilled over the Ubuyashiki estate, mist curling low across the gravel paths. Birds sang faintly in the distance, though their melody felt drowned beneath the tension that gathered in the courtyard.
The Hashira arrived one by one—Rengoku’s commanding stride, Mitsuri’s anxious bounce in her steps, Sanemi’s scowl, Giyuu’s unreadable calm. Muichiro wandered in with absent eyes, while Obanai’s sharp gaze flicked across every detail, snake coiling restlessly at his shoulders. Shinobu folded her hands neatly at her waist, her delicate smile betraying nothing, and Gyomei’s heavy beads clicked softly as his massive frame settled in silent prayer.
They had all been summoned suddenly by Kagaya, and confusion clouded the air as they knelt before him. His frail body sat upright on the futon, lantern light spilling across his scarred face, yet his smile was calm, almost serene.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Kagaya whispered, his voice gentle yet carrying to every corner of the courtyard. “I imagine you are wondering why.”
Sanemi broke the silence first, his voice sharp. “Damn right we’re wondering. What’s so urgent you drag us all here at dawn?”
Kagaya’s soft chuckle made the tension only stranger. “You are here for a duel.”
The Hashira blinked in unison, stunned into silence. Mitsuri tilted her head, eyes wide. “A… duel? With who?”
Obanai narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you mean against each other. That would be pointless.”
Kagaya’s faint smile only deepened. “Not each other. You will duel… him.”
A heavy sound of boots against stone echoed from the shadows of the veranda. Itsuki emerged into the courtyard, his shredded black cloak trailing behind him like the silhouette of a wolf. The morning light struck his scars, the jagged burns on his arm, the unnatural gleam of his blood-red eyes. The massive cleaver-like blade rested against his shoulder, its jagged edge catching the dawn like veins of fire.
Every Hashira stiffened at once.
“You’ll be fighting me,” Itsuki said, his voice cold and unyielding.
Rengoku’s fiery eyes lit immediately with excitement, a broad grin spreading across his face. “So it’s you! Hah! What an honor—an all-out clash with the Abyss Hashira! Flames burn brighter when tested against steel!”
Sanemi spat to the side, snarling. “Tch. Figures. You think you can take us all on? Don’t screw with me.”
Shinobu tilted her head, her smile calm but her eyes sharp as needles. “My, my… this seems awfully unfair. One against eight? Or perhaps unfair… for us?”
Muichiro blinked slowly, his gaze distant as clouds. “If he asked for this… then he must think we can’t touch him. Otherwise, why bother?”
Obanai’s hand tightened around his blade, Kaburamaru hissing softly as if sensing the storm brewing. “He’s serious. Look at him. He wouldn’t stand before us otherwise.”
Mitsuri fidgeted, torn between awe and worry. “But… but isn’t this too much!? Even for him? What if someone gets really hurt?!”
Gyomei’s beads clinked together as he raised his head, his deep voice resonant and mournful. “A test of strength between pillars of humanity… such a burden weighs heavily. But perhaps it is necessary.”
Giyuu stood in silence, his hand resting lightly on his blade, water-like calm masking the turmoil within.
Then Itsuki’s lips curved into something close to a smirk, though his eyes remained cold as steel. He planted his blade into the ground with a thunderous crack, dust scattering across the stones.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he said flatly. “This won’t be one at a time.” His crimson eyes swept over them, daring them to move. “I want you all to come at me. At once.”
The courtyard fell into stunned silence. Even the birds had stopped singing.
Sanemi growled. “You cocky bastard.”
Rengoku roared with laughter. “Magnificent! Then we’ll give you everything we’ve got!”
Shinobu’s smile deepened, unreadable. “This will be… interesting.”
Muichiro simply blinked, exhaling softly. “This will be over quickly… one way or another.”
Kagaya’s voice drifted softly above the tension, calm and unwavering. “Begin when you are ready.”
The Ubuyashiki estate was quiet at dawn, save for the faint rasp of Kagaya’s breath as he spoke from his seat beneath the open sky.
“We will not do this here,” he said softly, his ruined face serene despite the storm his words carried. “A clash of this magnitude must not endanger the estate or my family. We will move.”
Guided by attendants, the Hashira followed him beyond the walls to a wide, secluded training ground surrounded by pine forest. Mist hung in the trees, the air cool, damp, heavy with expectation.
The nine of them stood in a loose circle, Itsuki apart from the rest. He leaned on his massive cleaver, its jagged streaks of crimson catching the pale light, his shredded cloak dragging against the stone floor. His eyes—blood-red with black rings—fixed on them like a predator surveying prey.
Kagaya’s voice was quiet but firm. “You eight will face him together. Your task is simple: bring him to his knees. Nothing more.”
Shock lingered, but no one argued.
Rengoku’s grin was bright, blazing as his hair. “Ha! What a trial! The Wolf that Devours the Moon against all eight pillars! Splendid!”
Sanemi spat to the side, cracking his knuckles. “Tch. Don’t think this’ll be easy for you, bastard.”
Shinobu only tilted her head, her soft smile betraying no fear. “I wonder… will you hold back, Executioner?”
Itsuki’s reply was ice. “No.”
The ground seemed to grow colder with that single word. Mitsuri bit her lip, her knuckles tightening on her blade. Obanai adjusted his grip, Kaburamaru hissing in tune with his sharp breath. Gyomei pressed his beads together, muttering a quiet prayer. Giyuu said nothing, but his stance shifted subtly—ready, watchful. Muichiro’s eyes lingered on Itsuki longer than most, voice flat as mist: “The Black Wolf won’t fall easily.”
Kagaya gave a single nod. “Begin.”
The courtyard erupted.
Sanemi was the first to strike, Wind Breathing scattering in a savage gale as he closed the distance, blade shrieking. Rengoku followed, fire roaring in his wake, twin gales and flames crashing forward.
Itsuki moved. Abyss Breathing, First Form: Void Rend . His cleaver swept outward in a brutal arc, the air splitting with a sound like tearing steel. Wind scattered, flames hissed and bent backward, as if the strike ripped the world itself open.
Shinobu darted in low, her blade whispering, quicksilver grace. “Insect Breathing, Dance of the Bee Sting: True Flutter!” The tip sought flesh—only for Itsuki to twist, catching her short sword against his scarred forearm. He snarled and shoved her back, his counterstrike heavy enough to splinter stone.
“Too slow,” he growled.
Muichiro appeared behind him, mist rolling across the battlefield. His form blurred, afterimages overlapping. “Mist Breathing, Seventh Form: Obscuring Clouds.” The mist swirled like phantoms, dozens of blades slashing from every angle.
Itsuki exhaled, blade sinking low. Abyss Breathing, Second Form: Drowning Silence. Pressure crashed outward. Muichiro staggered mid-strike, gasping, as if his lungs were suddenly crushed underwater.
“Muichiro!” Mitsuri leapt, her whip-like sword curling around Itsuki’s cleaver. “Love Breathing—Second Form: Love Pangs!” Her blade snapped with impossible speed, her strength tearing through the bindings.
Obanai slid in next, his serpent sword curving like a fang. “Snake Breathing—Third Form: Coil Choke!” Kaburamaru hissed as the strike weaved impossibly sharp toward Itsuki’s exposed flank.
For the first time, Itsuki grunted, deflecting Mitsuri’s whip, twisting aside to avoid Obanai’s cut. His eyes flared crimson. “Not bad.”
Then Gyomei’s presence fell like a hammer. Stone Breathing—Third Form: Stone Skin. His chained axe and flail thundered down, the ground exploding beneath the weight of his strike.
Itsuki planted his cleaver into the ground. Abyss Breathing, Fourth Form: Hell Maw. Twin arcs of jagged black-red slashes tore upward like jaws closing, biting through Gyomei’s attack with a screech of metal on metal. Sparks showered as both men held, locked in brute force.
Rengoku roared, flames igniting. “Ninth Form: Rengoku!” His blade blazed like a burning sun, streaking downward toward Itsuki’s head.
At the same moment, water surged. Giyuu’s calm voice whispered: “Eleventh Form: Dead Calm.” His blade cut silent and clean, the surface of a still pond breaking beneath Itsuki’s guard.
For the first time, Itsuki dropped to one knee—only to rise again instantly, snarling, his blade cleaving a wide circle that forced them all back. Dust and blood-scent choked the air.
He was breathing heavily now, but his eyes still burned with relentless fire. His voice was low, a growl that shook them all.
“Is that all the Hashira can do together?!”
Rengoku laughed even as blood streamed down his arm. “Marvelous! Truly magnificent! The Wolf that Devours the Moon still stands against the pillars of mankind!”
Sanemi’s teeth bared in a feral grin. “Tch… damn stubborn bastard. Fine. Let’s see how long you last.”
Kagaya watched silently from the edge, his pale smile unchanged, though the weight of his gaze seemed endless.
The duel raged on, each Hashira pressing, combining breathing techniques in desperate coordination. Yet no matter how fierce the storm, Itsuki stood like the abyss itself—unyielding, merciless, a predator refusing to bow.
And though they fought as one, not a single Hashira could force him to the ground.
By evening, the training ground was unrecognizable.
Every tree had been cut down, their trunks scattered like broken matchsticks. The earth was torn, pockmarked with craters and deep gouges where strikes had landed. The air still carried the stench of ozone, charred bark, and blood.
Eight Hashira sat or knelt in the ruins, breathing hard, their haori scorched and tattered. Even Gyomei’s hands trembled faintly around his beads, his forehead shining with sweat.
Only Itsuki still stood. His broad shoulders rose and fell with steady breaths, his cleaver planted in the dirt beside him. He was tired—there was no denying it—but compared to the others, he looked almost calm.
Sanemi lay flat on his back, glaring up at the fading sky. “Damn wolf… huff …still on your feet? Tch. Pisses me off.”
“Fufufu…” Shinobu covered her mouth with her sleeve, her smile oddly bright despite the bruise forming along her jaw. “You’re all sprawled out like patients in my infirmary. It’s a little cute, in a tragic way.”
“Cute?!” Mitsuri whimpered, her arms aching as she flopped down, pink strands of hair sticking to her sweaty cheeks. “I can’t feel my body…! Even my eyelashes hurt!”
Obanai exhaled sharply, Kaburamaru draped lazily around his shoulders. “Tch. I hate to admit it, but he didn’t even take us seriously the whole time. Did you, Itsuki?”
Itsuki finally looked at them, his expression unreadable. “I needed to… come back to reality. To be serious again.” His voice was low, almost a growl, but there was no gloating in it. Just… matter-of-fact truth.
Rengoku, still grinning despite a bloody lip, slapped his knee. “Marvelous! Truly marvelous! To think a single man could endure all eight Hashira striking at once! You’ve earned your title again today—The Wolf that Devours the Moon!”
Itsuki didn’t react, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
Muichiro, sitting cross-legged with his sword across his lap, tilted his head curiously. “Then why didn’t you call Aiyaka? She’s a Hashira too.”
For the first time that day, Itsuki chuckled dryly. “Because no matter how serious I get, or how hard I go… I can’t win against Aiyaka.”
Silence.
Every single Hashira froze, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
“W-What?!” Mitsuri sat bolt upright, eyes wide. “B-But Itsuki, you’re so scary and strong, like a big scary wolf—but cute, too! How could anyone be stronger than you?!”
Sanemi barked a laugh that immediately turned into a cough. “The hell are you saying, bastard? You just held us all off at once! Don’t tell me you’re actually weaker than her—”
Obanai’s eyes narrowed, though his voice was sharp with disbelief. “You mean to say… you lose to her? Always?”
Itsuki simply nodded. “Every time.”
The stunned silence stretched, broken only when Shinobu tilted her head with that same infuriatingly calm smile. “Ara, ara. So even the Executioner has someone he can’t touch.” Her voice softened just a fraction. “That’s… rather reassuring, actually.”
Giyuu, quiet all this time, finally murmured. “…I believe him.” His gaze flicked toward Itsuki, steady, unblinking. “He doesn’t exaggerate.”
That’s when Kagaya’s soft voice drifted over, calm as falling snow. He had been watching silently from the sidelines, his pale smile serene.
“You think this because you only know Aiyaka as she fights with restraint. She has always carried mercy in her blade, always held back her true strength.” His ruined face tilted toward them, gentle despite its scars. “Itsuki has no mercy. That is why you fear him. But Aiyaka’s mercy is far heavier than his ruthlessness. Should she ever discard it…”
The Hashira shivered as one, the weight of Kagaya’s words chilling them deeper than the evening air.
Itsuki said nothing, simply turning his face to the darkening sky, the iron-and-rain scent of him sharp in the ruined field.
Chapter 25: Hashira's Thoughts on Aiyaka and Itsuki and Vice Versa
Chapter Text
What Aiyaka Thinks about the Hashira and Itsuki:
🦋Kocho Shinobu: I knew the Kocho siblings before they became a Hashira, after the incident with her parents, I would help Gyomei take care of them. It was after I became a Hashira that we spent more time together. I would help her out with her medicines and take care of the young slayers in the butterfly mansion.
☁Muichiro Tokito: He reminds me of Itsuki and I, so young, lost everything at such a young age. I can’t turn back time but I can take care of him… the way Oyakata-sama took care of my brother and I. I see him as my younger brother. I will do everything in my power to keep him alive.
🐍Iguro Obanai: The first time I saw him, he was very distant and uncomfortable around me. At first I thought he was very shy but when Itsuki told me about his background, I would give him space but I’d leave bandages for him whenever he needed new ones. I was the one who taught him how to write beautiful letters for Kanroji.
🐈Gyomei Himejima: Itsuki and I knew him longer than any other demon slayers, including Hashiras. We were never afraid of his size. While everyone sees him as the strongest, I see him as a kind man who loves kittens.
🌊Giyuu Tomioka: He’s just as hardworking as the rest of us. Just because someone doesn’t like talking or looks emotionless doesn’t mean people have to be rude to them. Honestly, it upsets me knowing that my fellow Hashiras don't like him. I admire and appreciate him for joining the Corps after everything that has happened.
🎇Uzui Tengen: He’s quite an interesting man. I am still quite shocked to find out he has not one but three wives considering we are Hashiras. However, he does give me some weird advice, I don’t know what they are for but he said that those tips will work out well when the day comes.
🍱Kanroji Mitsuri: We share many lunches with each other, sharing stories of our day, missions, anything. She’s always so kind to anyone in the corps. However, recently, romance started bringing up in our conversations. I can understand why she would mention Obanai but I don’t know why Rengoku was in the topic and she would always give me this look when I talk about him.
🌪Shinazugawa Sanemi: He can be hot-blooded sometimes but he means well, even though it’s deeply engraved in him. But when people take time and give him time, he might give you a chance and would not scream at you every single time.
⚖Kurobane Itsuki: There’s not a single day I worry about him. Even though he’s older and stronger than me, I need to protect him everyday. Even if he doesn’t need me, I will walk through hell for him. Many demon slayers see him as the Executioner, but in my eyes, he will always be my brother I love so much. The last family blood member I have left.
🔥Kyojuro Rengoku: I was there for his mother, taking care of her sometimes when I have time. During that time, I was able to meet her son. He was always so helpful, helping me take care of his mother. We already grew friends before he became a Hashira. Seeing him reminds me of a sunset. Whenever people see it, they just stop and admire the beauty of the sunset. Although, when we talked again as Hashiras, I started to feel something for him. I don’t care nor need him to reciprocate anything.
What the Hashira Thinks about Aiyaka:
Kocho Shinobu: I always felt genuinely happy with her. She’s always been there for me when I was a kid. I would always see her in the Butterfly mansion treating others or just be there to keep me company. I love her. She’s like an angel.
Tokito Muichiro: She’s like a White Crane. Always gentle and caring around me. Always wanting to protect others. She likes braiding my hair. She’s like a second mother to me. I try to not forget about her. She’s like an angel in the world of demons.
Iguro Obanai: She was careful when approaching me, not because of afraid of me but because she was worried about me. She always thinks about others before her. She helped me out a lot when writing letters to Kanroji. I really do admire and appreciate what she does for the corps.
Himejima Gyomei: She’s a complete angel in the corps. A true peacemaker in the Corps. We are all lucky to have someone like her on our side. If there was a time I saw her snap was one time and I would not want to relive that. She loves Rengoku.
Giyu Tomioka: I like her. She never tried to force me anything and she is always so kind and patient with me. Like an angel.
Uzui Tengen: The Kurobane siblings have a lot more flamboyance than me without even trying. She has a big chest and nice butt. I try to give her advice and tips but she always gives me confused looks. Who would’ve thought she had such an innocent mind. It wasn’t hard to see her feelings for Rengoku.
Kanroji Mitsuri: I absolutely love her! I always invite her for lunch with me and talk about many things. It’s adorable to see her flustered and blushy when we talk about Rengoku. She gives me tips with Iguro, it’s kind of her to do despite having no experience in romance. I love it when we go shopping with Rengoku and Iguro. Kinda feels like a double date!
Shinazugawa Sanemi: I like her. However, I told her sometimes not to be too kind to those who don't deserve it. (I like that she takes care of Genya)
Itsuki Kurobane: I constantly tell her to not give mercy, but she is too kind, too kind for this world. I would burn the whole world down just for her to be alive. I admire her more than anyone and I would kill anyone who dared to make her cry. I do sometimes keep an eye on Rengoku whenever he gets too close, but I know he means well. Our parents created us, but didn’t give us the love and attention we needed. So I’ll be the one doing the job. I would give anything, even my life just for her to be happy.
Kyojuro Rengoku: She is loved by all slayers of all ranks, no one speaks ill of her! Why would they when they find no reason to! I always admired and was grateful for her when she tried to help my mother. Even when we lost her, she was there to comfort Senjuro and I. Now that she is a Hashira, I am returning the favor by always being by her side and protecting her. I know as Hashiras we don’t have much time, and so, I try to find the perfect moment to ask her for marriage. Because I am in love with her and I need her by my side.
What Itsuki Thinks about the Hashira and Aiyaka:
🦋Kocho Shinobu: A two-faced individual, though she is able to fool people, it wasn’t for me. When no one is looking, I would send her some Ginger Tsukudani anonymously. Although, it doesn’t help her if I am a regular patient in the butterfly mansion.
☁Muichiro Tokito: Aiyaka and I were like him when we were around his age, maybe even younger. As in being powerful already for a young age. Knowing how much my sister and I went through, I would make sure to keep an eye on him whenever I can. Whenever he heads back to his estate around night, I would secretly make sure he went back safe.
🐍Obanai Iguro: I would see him sometimes when I came by to the Rengoku estate, we started talking and gradually, we got close as friends. Our hangouts would mostly be sparring and training. He is a good guy.
🐈Gyomei Himejima: If I ever want a formidable opponent when training, he’s the man I always ask. Of course, we would cause ruckus around the corps by accident but in the end, all those sparrings made us bond and grow stronger. I accompany him to pet kittens.
🌊Giyuu Tomioka: Whenever I am not paired with Aiyaka, the two of us would be together on missions. Those missions help us grow close as allies to friends. Although, if there’s one thing I didn’t agree with him was when he let Nezuko live.
🎇Uzui Tengen: If there’s one thing I don’t like about him, is that he does annoy me with his dirty and explicit jokes and tips. What ticks me off the most, he does it more to my sister since she has an innocent mind. Sometimes I wonder what he does to get three wives.
🍱Kanroji Mitsuri: I like her hair. She reminds me of my sister, both are kind and too sweet for the world. Her sweetness is a bit too much for me though. However, every time I approached her, Obanai would give me a stern look. I didn’t really care very much but once Gyomei told me about Obanai having feelings for her, I kept my distance around her. I don’t want him to think I am trying to steal her from him.
🌪Sanemi Shinazugawa: We’re like rivals. Whenever he had the chance, he would always want to spar and train with me. Trying to prove that he’s far more stronger than me. Although, our sparrings would always end up in a draw or a never-ending match. One time, our sparring shook the corps to the point Oyakata-sama would stop us in person and scold us.
🌸Kurobane Aiyaka: I constantly tell her to not give mercy, but she is too kind, too kind for this world. I would burn the whole world down just for her to be alive. I admire her more than anyone and I would kill anyone who dared to make her cry. I do sometimes keep an eye on Rengoku whenever he gets too close, but I know he means well. Our parents created us, but didn’t give us the love and attention we needed. So I’ll be the one doing the job. I would give anything, even my life just for her to be happy.
🔥Rengoku Kyojuro: He’s a literal beacon of positivity. Always sees the good in everyone. Although, I do find myself keeping an eye on him the most when I see him too close to my sister than he should. He’s one of the people I don’t mind sharing a meal with.
What the Hashira think about Itsuki
Kocho Shinobu: Many of the slayers tend to avoid him, calling him the Executioner behind his back. But despite that, he isn’t all that bad. He’s just an introvert is all. Sometimes I would catch him giving me meals through the window.
Tokito Muichiro: He’s like a Black Wolf. Intimidating but loyal. He would take care of me when Tsuru-nee (A nickname Muichiro gives to Aiyaka) is busy.
Iguro Obanai: I’ve never been so competitive around others until I met him. He does give me tips about my feelings for Kanroji. Overall, he’s a good rival and friend.
Himejima Gyomei: The only reason he hasn’t fallen into complete darkness is thanks to the Angel of the Corps (A nickname Gyomei gives to Aiyaka) . I am glad and relieved that he is on our side. Despite his ruthlessness, he can be a good man when he wants to.
Giyu Tomioka: I like him, he doesn’t mind his silence nor am I bothered by his brutality. We’re good friends.
Uzui Tengen: I tried to get him a lady of his own. Although, many women I present to him are terrified of him just from looking at him. I just don’t see why no one takes the chance to talk to him. He’s quite a good guy underneath all of that ruthlessness and chaoticness.
Kanroji Mitsuri: He can be intimidating at first but gradually, I find him cute and adorable despite him trying to be all tough and ruthless.
Shinazugawa Sanemi: I like him. He’s not all that scary.
Rengoku Kyojuro: He’s stronger and talented than me! The Wolf that Devours the Moon! He’s an incredible big brother to Aiyaka. I do hope one day he would give me permission to take Aiyaka as my wife.
Chapter 26: Flames of the Heart
Notes:
Ever wonder what happened with Aiyaka when Itsuki was on a mission with Tengen and the kids, well here it is.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The midday sun spilled golden light across the bustling district, where the chatter of merchants and the clatter of carts blended with the fragrance of grilled skewers and sweet bean buns.
Kyojuro walked at Aiyaka’s side, his stride full of restless energy, like a flame that couldn’t be contained. Yet, for once, his roaring voice was softer, his amber eyes gleaming not with battle-fury but with something gentler—brighter.
“You know,” he said, laughter bubbling in his tone, “when I imagined this day, I thought I’d be the one guiding you through the district. And yet—here I am, following your lead like a lost crow!”
Aiyaka chuckled softly, her eyes crinkling in that warm way that always soothed him. “And here I thought the great Flame Hashira was never lost.” She tilted her head, her crimson ribbon swaying against her dark hair. “But I suppose even fire needs direction sometimes.”
Kyojuro’s heart pounded—so loud he wondered if she could hear it. He wanted to tell her, It was you who gave me direction when my family was falling apart. You who became the steady light when my mother grew ill. But instead, his words came tumbling out with boyish honesty.
“You’ve always been my guide, Aiyaka. Long before this lunch. Long before the Corps.” His lips curved into a softer smile, unlike his usual booming grin. “You were there for my family when I couldn’t be strong enough. And now… I find myself cherishing every moment by your side.”
Her amber-gold eyes widened slightly, warmth blooming in her cheeks. She lowered her gaze, brushing a lock of black hair behind her ear to hide the faint flush. “Kyojuro… you say such things so boldly.”
He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear over the crowd. “It is the truth. And the truth burns brightest when spoken without fear.”
For a heartbeat, the world hushed between them. The market sounds dulled, leaving only the two of them—her calming sakura scent mixing with the iron tang that clung to her, a reminder of the life she led.
Aiyaka broke the silence with a gentle laugh, brushing her sleeve against his arm. “Then shall we sit, before your truth consumes us both? I think you’ll enjoy the sweet rice dumplings here.”
Kyojuro’s chest swelled, laughter bursting from him in that warm, thunderous way that made nearby children turn and smile. “Ha! If you recommend them, then they must be extraordinary!”
As they sat together at the stall, their shoulders brushed. His chopsticks trembled slightly in his hand—not from battle fatigue, but from the giddy realization that he wanted this always. Meals with her. Laughter with her. A lifetime with her.
And as Aiyaka offered him the first dumpling with her steady hands, her eyes glowing with soft amusement, Kyojuro thought: This is what it means to burn brightly… to love without restraint.
The two sat across from one another in the cozy bustle of the district stall, laughter still clinging to the air like the steam rising from their bowls. Aiyaka’s sleeve brushed against the edge of the table as she set her chopsticks down, her amber-gold eyes lowering, lashes trembling faintly as if bracing for something.
“So,” she began gently, her voice quiet amidst the chatter of merchants and clinking of dishes, “I know you’ve been recovering… since your battle with Akaza.”
Kyojuro’s smile softened, his eyes flickering like flame dimmed to embers. He gave a small nod, shoulders straight but not as proud as usual. “Yes…” His voice carried a weight beneath its usual brightness, as if he already knew where her thoughts would lead.
Aiyaka hesitated, her fingers brushing the rim of her tea cup. “You know… a lot of people said that if I hadn’t arrived in time at the train… you would have—” Her words faltered, swallowed before they could wound either of them. She drew a sharp breath, then bowed her head slightly, guilt pooling in her tone. “I’m sorry. I ruined the lunch, I—”
Before she could withdraw further, Kyojuro’s hand stretched across the table, warm and steady, covering hers. His grip was firm yet tender, the callouses of his sword hand brushing her smoother skin. She looked up, startled, to see his expression softened into something gentler than fire—like a sunrise easing into warmth.
“Go ahead,” he whispered, the timbre of his voice low and uncharacteristically intimate.
Aiyaka’s throat tightened. She stared at the dumpling between them, the steam curling like smoke in the afternoon light. “Sometimes I… have nightmares. Of what would’ve happened if I hadn’t come that day…” Her voice grew smaller, like a secret she hated to admit.
Kyojuro’s smile never wavered. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles against her palm, grounding her. His amber eyes glowed with certainty, not shaken by fear of what could have been. “Then I can count on the future generation to you and Itsuki.”
The words carried no doubt—only unwavering faith. He spoke of death without fear, and yet, his touch lingered on hers as if to say: But until then, I will live. With you.
Aiyaka’s breath hitched softly, her lashes trembling as her heart hammered. She had always known Kyojuro as a blazing spirit, a warrior who roared against despair. But in this moment, she saw the man beneath—the one who placed his trust, his hope, and perhaps even his love entirely in her hands.
The sun lingered high in the sky when they left the little restaurant, but neither seemed in a hurry to part ways. Kyojuro’s hand never left Aiyaka’s; his large, calloused fingers wrapped firmly yet tenderly around her smaller ones, as though letting go might mean losing something far greater than he could bear.
They wandered through the bustling streets of the district, laughter following them wherever they went. At a vendor’s stall, Aiyaka admired a delicate hair ribbon patterned with pale sakura blossoms. Before she could say a word, Kyojuro had already purchased it, pressing it into her hands with a grin so bright it rivaled the sunlight. “It suits you perfectly! Just as the cherry blossoms suit the spring breeze!” he declared, his voice booming with earnest joy, drawing smiles and blushes from the townsfolk around them.
Aiyaka’s soft laugh carried like bells in the air, and when she tied the ribbon into her dark hair, Kyojuro’s heart hammered as though he had witnessed something divine.
The hours slipped by effortlessly. They visited a quiet park where children played, and Aiyaka, with her natural grace, knelt to fix a boy’s bandaged knee. Kyojuro watched her with unwavering admiration—the way her warm eyes lit with gentle concern, the way her voice soothed without effort. He realized, not for the first time, that this was the woman who had comforted his family when his mother was ill, who had steadied him long before he carried the mantle of Flame Hashira.
Later, they sat beneath the shade of a broad tree, their shoulders pressed together, the summer air alive with cicadas. Aiyaka rested her head lightly against his shoulder, her hair brushing his haori, her sakura scent mixing faintly with the warmth of the sun. Kyojuro’s usual roaring energy softened into a quiet intensity. He did not speak; he simply held her hand, memorizing the weight and warmth of her beside him, branding it into memory.
When the day began to wane, they strolled along the lantern-lit streets. Merchants closed their shops, couples passed with whispers, and still—still—they held hands as though nothing else in the world mattered. Their bodies leaned close with every step, moving as though they were one.
And for the first time in years, Kyojuro felt a flicker of urgency beneath his joy. His heart thundered like a battle drum, not from fear, but from realization. Hashira lived on the edge of death. He had already come too close to losing everything on the Mugen Train.
He glanced at Aiyaka—her angelic expression lit by the glow of lanterns, her laughter like the purest balm to his soul. His chest tightened, fierce and tender all at once.
I cannot wait any longer, he thought, fire roaring quietly in his veins. Before fate steals her from me—I must act. I must tell her. I must make her mine.
Kyojuro’s grip on her hand tightened, not harshly but with a conviction that made Aiyaka glance up at him in surprise. He only smiled at her, radiant and unshakable, but behind that smile burned a man’s resolve.
Tonight had made it clear. He could not risk another year, another month, another day. Kyojuro Rengoku would not let the flames of his love for Aiyaka go unspoken.
By the time night had fallen, the lanterns along the road glowed softly, painting the streets in gold. Aiyaka’s voice broke the silence, gentle and melodic.
“Why don’t I accompany you back to your family’s estate?” she asked, her hand giving his a tender squeeze.
Kyojuro’s heart leapt, the warmth of her touch spreading through his chest like fire. His smile widened, almost boyish in its brightness. “I’d love that,” he said, but inside, his thoughts blazed with urgency.
I must do it now—if I hesitate, I’ll lose the chance.
The walk to the Rengoku estate was quiet, but not empty. Their hands never parted, their fingers tightening now and then as though unconsciously speaking what their lips could not. The night air was cool, laced with the faint scent of blossoms and earth, and every glance, every brush of shoulders was heavy with years of unspoken devotion.
When at last the gates of the Rengoku estate came into view, Aiyaka turned to him with her serene smile, her amber-gold eyes glowing under the moonlight. “Good night, Kyojuro.”
She made to release his hand, but his grip lingered—firm, unyielding. Her breath caught, eyes flicking back to him in quiet confusion. Kyojuro’s broad shoulders trembled with restraint, his usual confident grin tempered into something raw, vulnerable. His cheeks burned crimson, yet his gaze did not falter.
“Aiyaka,” he said, his voice deeper, steadier than she had ever heard. Then, with a rare hesitation, the words slipped free—bold yet tender. “Would you… like to stay for the night?”
Her eyes widened, her heart hammering against her ribs so loud it drowned out the cicadas. She had faced demons without fear, yet this—this simple question—made her feel powerless, exposed. And still, she could not look away from the sincerity burning in his eyes, the passion and reverence only for her.
Her lips parted, voice trembling like a secret carried by the wind. “Yes…”
The word was soft, fragile—and yet it sealed everything. The distance that had lingered between them for years vanished in that instant, replaced by a fire as undeniable as it was inevitable.
Kyojuro led her into the Rengoku estate, sliding the door open with deliberate care. The hallways were dark, the air tinged with faint incense from the family altar. He did not bother lighting the lanterns, and—for the first time—Aiyaka found herself not caring. Her instincts, usually sharp and unyielding, softened in his presence. Tonight, vigilance gave way to something else entirely.
They entered his room. The paper doors closed behind them with a quiet thud, sealing them into a world of stillness broken only by the sound of their breaths. Kyojuro struck a flint; warm candlelight bloomed, painting his face in flickering amber that mirrored the fire within his eyes.
He turned, rummaging briefly through his closet until his broad hands pulled free a folded yukata. The faint brush of fabric seemed unnaturally loud in the hush between them. He crossed the space, his usual fiery confidence tempered into a reverence reserved only for her.
“Here,” he whispered, his voice steady but softer than she’d ever heard, as though even words could shatter the fragile moment. He gestured toward the adjoining door that led to the washroom. “You can take a shower first. I’ll prepare the futons.”
The way he stood—upright yet almost hesitant—betrayed both his discipline and the storm he tried to contain.
Aiyaka accepted the yukata, her slender fingers brushing against his calloused palm. The simple contact was enough to make her pulse quicken. She gave a small nod, her voice quiet. “Right. Thank you.”
Their eyes lingered—hers glowing with a nervous warmth, his burning with a restrained intensity. For a heartbeat, neither moved, the air between them heavy with everything they hadn’t said for years.
Finally, she broke away, turning toward the shower room. The silken swish of her hair ribbon trailed after her like falling petals. Kyojuro watched her retreat, his hand still tingling where her touch had rested.
And for the first time in years of facing demons without fear, he felt danger coil in his chest—the danger of wanting her too much, too deeply.
Steam began to rise around Aiyaka as she stepped into the shower room, sliding the door closed behind her. The faint splash of water echoed in the quiet, mingling with the rhythmic thud of her heartbeat. She undid her crimson ribbon with trembling fingers, her long black hair spilling down her back in a silken wave tinged with violet at the ends. The uniform slipped from her shoulders, falling in a whisper to the floor, leaving her pale skin bare to the warmth of the steam.
The water cascaded over her, tracing the lines of scars she always tried to hide beneath grace. She tilted her head back, amber-gold eyes closing as she whispered inwardly, I don’t deserve this.
Her fingers pressed against her chest, as if to silence the ache within. Someone like Kyojuro… someone so pure, so full of light… How could he possibly give his heart to me? Her thoughts tangled like threads. I am a blade—tainted by blood, chained by failure. I’ve never known freedom. Never given myself the chance to love. I fear… if I let him in, I’ll only taint him too.
And yet… his smile haunted her even here, burning in her mind brighter than flame itself. His warmth. His laughter. His hand still tingled against hers, as though the touch had carved itself into her skin.
Meanwhile, in the dim room beyond, Kyojuro knelt on the tatami, hands moving with restless energy as he laid out futons with soldier-like precision. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the flickering candles though his mind was elsewhere—dangerously elsewhere. He poured tea into cups, his hands steady, but inside, his heart thundered like a battle drum.
He swallowed hard. The sound of water trickling from the other room was agony. His imagination betrayed him with flashes—her silhouette behind steam, the fall of her hair, the gentleness of her form. He gripped the edge of the tray until his knuckles whitened.
I must not… he thought fiercely, trying to cage the blaze within. She is not mine to claim so recklessly. She deserves respect. She deserves more than my hunger.
And yet, for the first time in his life, he wanted something with such searing intensity it frightened him. Not victory. Not honor. Not even survival. But her. To lay down his sword, his burdens, and bare himself in his entirety. To let her see the man beneath the fire.
The danger of battle he had mastered a thousand times over. But this? This longing, this aching vulnerability—this was a peril of another kind. And tonight, he could no longer run from it.
The sliding door creaked open, and a breath of steam curled into the room like a phantom. Kyojuro’s shoulders stiffened. He told himself, Keep yourself together, but when he turned, the words shattered in his chest.
Aiyaka stepped into the faint glow of the candles, her yukata loosely tied, damp strands of black hair clinging to her flushed cheeks and neck. Water still glistened along her collarbone, catching the light like dew. She looked at once otherworldly and unbearably human—shy, vulnerable in a way he had never seen her before.
Kyojuro’s throat went dry. His heart pounded so fiercely he feared she might hear it. She’s… she’s even more beautiful than before. How can that be possible?
Aiyaka’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve as she stepped further in. “S-Sorry if I… took so long,” she murmured, her amber-gold eyes lowered. Inside, she was scolding herself—Why am I acting like this? Why am I shy, as if I were some foolish girl?
He caught the tremor in her voice, the faint hesitation in her steps. And though part of him ached with the wild, reckless urge to close the distance, he forced himself to steady, to be the flame that warmed but did not burn.
“No need to apologize,” he said, his voice gentler than usual, a warmth threading through his steady tone. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the tatami where he had set out the futons and tea, his movements carefully composed to mask the storm in his chest. “Please… make yourself comfortable while I bathe.”
Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, the silence thick as embers crackling in a fire. She nodded, moving gracefully yet nervously across the floor. Her scent drifted past him—sakura blossoms laced faintly with iron—and it nearly unraveled his resolve.
As he turned toward the door, his fists clenched at his sides. It won’t be long now…
And that thought, both promise and peril, set his blood aflame.
Aiyaka lowered herself onto the tatami with a grace that belied the storm inside her. The flickering candlelight painted her pale skin in shades of gold and shadow, her long damp hair clinging to her back where the yukata had slipped slightly from her shoulder. She tucked the fabric close, as if to shield herself—not from the chill of the night air, but from the weight pressing on her chest.
Her fingers brushed against the warm porcelain of the teacup. She lifted it slowly, the faint scent of roasted leaves rising to meet the ever-present trace of sakura that lingered in her hair. She held it before her lips but did not drink. Instead, her gaze drifted past the shoji screen to the slice of night sky visible through the crack. Stars glittered faintly, distant and untouchable, just like the life she sometimes wished she had lived.
Her throat tightened. What am I doing here? What right do I have?
She set the cup down with trembling hands, the liquid within rippling gently at the motion. Her amber-gold eyes reflected the candlelight, yet their glow was dimmed with doubt.
I’ve never known freedom… never known the luxury of chasing happiness for myself. Every choice, every battle, every sacrifice was for others. I was forged in duty, in loss, in blood. How can I accept the warmth of someone like him? Someone who shines so brightly, so unyieldingly…
Her chest ached as the thought cut through her: I am tainted. By failure. By the lives I couldn’t save.
The room felt unbearably quiet, her own heartbeat drumming against her ribs. The soft murmur of water still running behind the other door was the only sound tethering her to the present. She imagined Kyojuro there, his strong hands preparing, his golden eyes steady, his warmth radiating even through the walls.
And the thought of him seeing her as she truly was—raw, uncertain, vulnerable—made her feel utterly exposed.
She pulled her knees close, wrapping her arms around them, her forehead lowering against the fabric of her yukata. “I don’t deserve him,” she whispered, so softly the words dissolved into the night. Yet even as she said it, her body betrayed her, trembling not with rejection, but with the desperate yearning to be held by him… just once, without duty, without walls, without fear.
She was too lost in her thoughts to notice the sliding door open again until his voice reached her, low and gentle.
“Aiyaka…”
Her body stiffened before she turned, startled by how quietly he had entered. She tried to hide it with a small smile, lowering her cup. “Ah, sorry. I was too lost in my thoughts.”
Kyojuro’s eyes softened, a warmth like firelight in the dark. “I see.” He lowered himself beside her, the brush of his shoulder against her sleeve sending a ripple through the stillness. “How is the tea?”
Aiyaka exhaled, some of her tension easing. “It’s good—really, actually.” Her smile bloomed faint and genuine, her amber eyes catching the glow of the candles.
For a fleeting heartbeat, Kyojuro forgot the taste of air. That smile—angelic, luminous—quenched the intrusive thoughts he had fought moments ago, settling the storm inside him. He smiled back, steady but reverent, as though he were looking at something too precious to touch.
They both lifted their eyes to the night sky through the crack in the shoji. The silence was not empty but weighted with all the words they hadn’t yet said.
Kyojuro broke it first, his voice quieter than usual, as though the stars themselves might overhear. “Does Itsuki know you’re with me tonight?”
Aiyaka’s lips curved, a whisper of playfulness softening her tone. “I haven’t seen him today.” She chuckled softly, lowering her gaze to her hands. “However, I’ve noticed he’s been opening up to someone lately.”
Kyojuro blinked, then his golden eyes widened, curiosity igniting them. “Oh? Really?” His laugh was low, genuine, tinged with boyish wonder. “Must be a special woman.”
Aiyaka’s laughter spilled out, quiet but melodic. “Shirakawa Chiori. Intelligence broker for the Demon Slayer Corps.”
Kyojuro grinned, his chest shaking with his laughter. “What a surprise!” He turned to her, his expression bright but tender. “Good for them!”
His voice carried his usual boldness, but his hand—resting loosely between them on the tatami—twitched slightly, as though fighting the urge to reach for hers.
Aiyaka hesitated, her voice soft but weighted with worry. “How are your injuries… since your battle with Akaza?”
Kyojuro’s golden eyes softened. His hand rose instinctively to press against his chest, over the scar hidden beneath his yukata. “They’re still here,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual, “but they no longer hurt.” A sheepish chuckle escaped him, though it faltered in the stillness. “Shinobu insists on regular appointments at the Butterfly Mansion, though. I suppose that’s better than nothing.”
Her lips curved faintly, relief softening her features. “That’s better than nothing,” she echoed, though her tone carried lingering worry. “But… what about your Hashira position?”
He exhaled slowly, and for a moment, his gaze turned distant. The ever-burning fire in his eyes dimmed just slightly, like embers settling. “That is true,” he murmured, “with my injuries, it will be hard for me to fight as I once did.”
When he looked back at her, however, his smile returned—gentle, steadfast, and achingly warm. “But there is nothing wrong in training the next generation. If my body can no longer burn as brightly in battle, then I will kindle the flames in others.”
Her amber-gold eyes glistened faintly, her heart tightening at his words. She smiled, though her throat felt tight. “You’re right… I suppose you’ll be training Tanjiro and his friends?”
Kyojuro laughed, the sound full and reassuring, though his hand twitched slightly against his knee. “They fought bravely against the Lower Moon on the train, even without me. They’ll go far.” His laughter faded into a quieter tone. “As for me…”
The brightness in his expression shifted into rare seriousness, his voice dropping. “I will remain Hashira, but I’ll accept fewer missions. Instead, I will devote myself to training young Kamado… and to training myself.”
Her breath caught, her chest tightening as she asked softly, almost afraid of the answer. “To get revenge on Akaza?”
His gaze didn’t waver. He nodded once, firmly, but when he smiled again, it wasn’t fierce—it was tender. “Exactly right.”
Slowly, deliberately, he reached across the tatami and rested his hand atop hers. His palm was broad and warm, his calluses brushing her soft skin. His voice lowered to something almost reverent. “And I would appreciate it… if you would help me train.”
Aiyaka froze for a moment, her heart fluttering painfully in her chest. She looked down at their joined hands, then leaned forward, resting her head gently on his shoulder. Her voice was quiet, threaded with vulnerability. “Of course. It’s my pleasure.”
The flicker of the candlelight caught the strands of her black-and-purple hair as it brushed against his jaw. Kyojuro inhaled softly, the scent of sakura and faint iron wrapping around him. His smile lingered, but his heart pounded wildly, as though threatening to break free from his chest.
He leaned against her, closing his eyes for a moment. For the first time since his battle with Akaza, he allowed himself to feel the weight of his own longing.
Aiyaka tilted her head slightly, her warm amber eyes narrowing in concern as she pressed her palm gently against his chest. Beneath her touch, his heartbeat thundered like a war drum. “Omochi… your heart,” she murmured softly, her voice tinged with worry. “Are you feeling okay?”
Kyojuro’s eyes widened, the warmth in them flickering brighter than the candlelight between them. Her innocent observation only made his chest pound harder, as though her hand had unlocked the truth he’d been holding back. His voice dropped low, hushed but steady, “My heart is pounding… for a good reason.”
Her brows knit softly, her expression tender yet unsure. She traced the rhythm with her fingertips, her touch featherlight. “Are you sure?” she whispered, her gaze searching his. “It’s still pounding so loudly…”
The sound of it filled the silence. Kyojuro swallowed hard, his breath quickening, his face flushed crimson. He leaned forward just slightly, his warmth closing the space between them. His words spilled out like embers from a fire, raw and unguarded. “It’s pounding… because of you.”
Aiyaka froze, her eyes widening. “M–me?” Her voice cracked as her own heartbeat thundered in her chest, matching his. She pressed her lips together, unsure if she wanted to draw back or lean closer.
Kyojuro’s fierce gaze softened into something far more dangerous—gentle devotion. His eyes lingered on her, as if she were the only flame he would ever chase. “Your heart is pounding too, little flame,” he whispered, his tone both reverent and daring.
Aiyaka felt her face heat instantly, her breath catching in her throat. The closeness, the quiet, his words—all of it stripped her defenses away. She turned her face aside, flustered, her silky black hair slipping forward like a curtain to shield her trembling lips. “I…” she stammered, unable to form the words.
Kyojuro didn’t press her. He simply smiled—soft, patient, but burning—and the silence between them deepened into something more perilous than battle: the possibility of crossing a line they could never step back from.
The silence between them stretched, heavy and fragile, broken only by the faint rustle of wind through the shoji. Aiyaka sat with her gaze lowered, the tea long forgotten at her side. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers trembling slightly though her face remained calm.
Kyojuro’s golden eyes lingered on her, burning with something he could no longer keep caged. His chest rose with a steady breath before he finally spoke, his voice lower than she had ever heard it, edged with rare vulnerability.
“Aiyaka… I have always appreciated you. From the very beginning, when my mother was sick… you and Itsuki were there. You stood by my family when I could not, when I was too young, too helpless. You gave us warmth when our home felt cold, and you gave my mother comfort in her final days. That kindness—” his voice broke slightly before he steadied it, “—is something I can never repay. Not to you. Not to Itsuki.”
Her breath caught, her eyes lifting slowly to meet his. The intensity in his gaze made her chest tighten.
He leaned closer, his hand curling into a fist on his knee as if to hold himself steady. “But the truth is… my feelings have grown far beyond gratitude. I have carried them in silence for years, thinking it best to protect you from the weight of my heart. Yet I am Hashira, and I know this life—” his voice hardened, fierce like his flame, “—is not guaranteed. Each battle may be my last. I cannot waste another moment holding back.”
Her lips parted, trembling. His voice softened, tender and reverent:
“Aiyaka… I want you to be my wife.”
Her amber-gold eyes widened, shimmering under the moonlight. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Then the tears came—quiet, unbidden, falling onto her pale hands as her shoulders trembled.
“Kyojuro…” Her voice cracked. “I… I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.” She pressed her hands against her chest, as if to hold in the ache. “I’ve never had the freedom to live, never had time to even think of love. My life has been duty, mistakes… failures. I am tainted by them. I—” Her words choked on a sob, her tears spilling freely.
The sight tore through him like no demon’s blade ever could. His heart ached with every drop of her pain, his throat tight with the urge to stop her self-condemnation.
“No.” His voice was sharp, desperate, breaking through her downward spiral.
Before she could say another word, he reached for her. His hands framed her face, warm and calloused, and he leaned in. Her protest was muffled instantly as his lips pressed against hers—firm, passionate, trembling with years of restrained devotion.
Her tears streaked between them, but he kissed them away, pouring every unspoken promise, every ounce of love, into that moment. The taste of salt and warmth, the pounding of their hearts—everything collided, dangerous and beautiful.
When he finally drew back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath unsteady, his voice rough with emotion. “You are not tainted. You are not undeserving. You are the flame that has guided me all this time. And I will not let you forget it.”
Aiyaka’s tears slid silently down her cheeks, her shoulders trembling as she tried to steady her breath. Her voice came out in broken hics, soft and pleading, as if her heart itself was unraveling.
“Why… why me, Kyojuro? Of all the women you could have chosen… why do you want me to be your wife?”
Her words pierced the air like blades, but the wound struck only him. Kyojuro’s chest ached at the sight of her weeping, her amber-gold eyes shimmering with doubt. His instinct was to reassure her with words, but he knew—words would never be enough.
He leaned closer, his gaze unwavering, his voice steady but burning with fierce honesty. “Aiyaka… no amount of words can prove it. But if you’ll allow me… I will show you.” His hand hovered near her cheek, trembling slightly for the first time she had ever seen. “Only with your consent.”
The meaning of his request was clear—dangerous in its intimacy, vulnerable in its intent. Her heart pounded wildly as her lips parted, her breath shaky. She understood exactly what he meant. And despite the fear, despite the storm in her chest, she nodded, whispering through her tears.
“Please… show me.”
For a moment, silence reigned—then Kyojuro closed the gap, his lips claiming hers in a desperate, fervent kiss. It wasn’t gentle—it was years of unspoken love, gratitude, and longing, poured into the press of his mouth against hers. The weight of his body followed, guiding her back onto the tatami as his hand braced beside her, careful even in his passion not to crush her beneath him.
Her soft gasp was muffled against his lips, her hands instinctively rising, trembling as they cupped the back of his neck. The heat of him seeped into her, his hair brushing against her cheek like a fiery halo. She had never known a touch could feel so overwhelming, so dangerous—and yet so safe.
Kyojuro pulled back just enough to look at her, his breath ragged, his golden eyes flickering like twin flames in the moonlight. “Aiyaka…” he whispered hoarsely, as if her name was the only anchor holding him to this world.
But she didn’t let him finish. With a small, choked cry, she pulled him back down, kissing him again—this time of her own will, her own desperation answering his. Her lips trembled but clung to his, pouring everything she couldn’t put into words.
His resolve nearly broke as her yukata shifted beneath his touch, his calloused hands brushing against the soft fabric as they wandered instinctively, reverently. His touch wasn’t rushed—it was searching, memorizing, cherishing. And though she trembled, her fingers tangled in his hair, her hold pulling him closer, as if she feared the night itself would steal him away.
The world outside no longer existed. Only the pounding of two hearts, the warmth of shared breath, and the dangerous, undeniable truth—that this night would change them forever.
Notes:
As you all can see, Kyojuro and Aiyaka finally let go of their undeniable feelings. This was not a smut since sometimes I think that love is more... wholesome than smut but obviously they make love but that's for you guys imagination *wink*
GO KYOJUROXAIYAKA ship!
Chapter 27: The Morning After
Notes:
This is what happens the morning after their lovemaking. And Itsuki was still in the Entertainment District Mission
Chapter Text
The Rengoku estate was still quiet, the faint haze of morning clinging to the air. Shinjuro dragged himself out of his futon with a groan, scratching the back of his head as he shuffled through the hall. His joints popped with every step.
When he entered the kitchen, he stopped. There stood Kyojuro in his robe, humming cheerfully as he poured hot water into the teapot. His hair was a fiery mess, sticking out in every direction even more than usual.
Kyojuro turned at the sound of footsteps, his golden eyes blazing with energy that seemed almost offensive this early in the morning. “Father! Good morning!”
Shinjuro yawned so wide his jaw cracked. “…Morning to you too,” he muttered, stumbling inside. He gave his son a squint. “It’s a little early, don’t you think?”
Kyojuro’s booming laugh filled the kitchen. “Not at all! The earlier I rise, the stronger I feel! It doesn’t hurt to get a fresh start to the day!”
Shinjuro grumbled under his breath but kept staring. Something about Kyojuro was… different. His son’s smile was wider, softer, as though he were carrying a secret that made his chest too full to contain. Then Shinjuro noticed faint scratches peeking out near his collarbone when the robe shifted.
Humming knowingly, Shinjuro shuffled closer and patted his son’s back. “Take care of each other.”
Kyojuro froze, teacup in hand. He knows…?
When he turned, his grin was smaller but warmer, his voice lower. “Of course we will. Thank you, Father.”
Shinjuro started for the hall, waving lazily over his shoulder. “Oh, and next time…” He gave a pointed glance back. “Keep it down in your room. Senjuro and I do try to sleep, you know.”
The teacup nearly slipped from Kyojuro’s hand. His entire face went scarlet, his usual flame-bright confidence extinguished in an instant. “Ah! R-right—my apologies, Father!”
Shinjuro let out a rough chuckle and disappeared down the corridor.
Left alone, Kyojuro pressed a hand over his face, groaning softly. Of all the things for Father to notice…
A few minutes later, Kyojuro slid his door open and stepped inside. The embarrassment melted from his features the moment his gaze landed on her.
Aiyaka was already awake, her long black hair damp from being brushed, tied neatly back with the crimson ribbon. Dressed in a light yukata, she moved gracefully as she tidied the tatami, folding it back into its place. When she looked up and saw him, her smile lit the room brighter than the morning sun.
“Ah, good morning, Omochi.”
The nickname made warmth bloom in his chest. He crossed the room in a few strides, his hands settling gently at her waist as he bent close. His voice softened, rich with affection. “Good morning to you too, Little Flame. Did you sleep well?”
Aiyaka’s hands found his chest, fingers brushing against the fabric of his robe. Her amber-gold eyes softened as she whispered, “I slept well… better than I have in a long time.” She let out a quiet chuckle. “Did you?”
Kyojuro’s smile curved into something tender. Instead of answering right away, he pressed his forehead to hers, letting their breaths mingle. “From this night on, I believe I will have nothing but the sweetest sleep.”
Her laughter was soft, fragile, like glass that could shatter with too much force. And yet, when he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, it felt like something unbreakable was beginning to take root between them.
Aiyaka smiled softly. “After breakfast, I have to go to the Master's mansion.”
Kyojuro nodded, his arms still around her waist, his voice warm and bright. “Of course. Duty calls!” Then, with a gentler tone, he added, “Why don’t you settle down at the dining table while I freshen up?”
She gave him a small bow of her head, her amber-gold eyes glowing. “Of course.”
As Aiyaka left his room, the quiet of the Rengoku estate surrounded her—wooden floors creaking faintly under her steps, paper doors breathing with the morning breeze. Entering the kitchen, she found a steaming cup of green tea with honey already waiting on the table. Her lips curved into a smile. “He remembered…”
Lifting the sleeves of her yukata, she began preparing breakfast, her movements graceful, sleeves trailing like petals as she chopped and stirred. She hummed softly, the sound blending with the crackle of the hearth.
Suddenly, a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around her from behind. Kyojuro’s chin came to rest on her shoulder, his voice dropping low. “You could have waited for me… so we could make breakfast together.”
Aiyaka chuckled, her voice like the faint rustle of leaves. “No need. You’ve already made the tea.”
Kyojuro didn’t let go, swaying gently with her as she worked. His breath brushed her ear as he teased, “You know, you have a poor way of covering up those marks.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she instinctively touched the side of her neck, whispering, “Is it obvious?”
His booming laugh softened to something tender. “If you keep your hair tied up, yes. Though…” his golden eyes gleamed with mischief, “…I suppose that’s my fault.”
Just then, soft footsteps padded into the kitchen. Senjuro, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, blinked blearily at the scene before him. “Aiyaka? I didn’t know you were here.” His voice cracked with grogginess, making it sound even more innocent.
At his voice, Kyojuro and Aiyaka immediately put a little space between them. Kyojuro barked a laugh, broad and a touch too quick, as he strode over to his younger brother. “Ah, Senjuro! I didn’t think you were already awake!”
Senjuro tilted his head, his soft reddish hair messy, suspicion warring with sleepiness in his gentle eyes. “You’re unusually loud this morning, Brother.”
Kyojuro scratched the back of his neck, still smiling too brightly. Meanwhile, Aiyaka simply turned back to the stove, her face still faintly pink, hiding her laugh in the sound of the pan sizzling.
Breakfast ended in warm chatter and the faint clinking of bowls. Aiyaka bowed her head politely, her haori trailing as she said her goodbyes to Shinjuro, Senjuro, and finally Kyojuro, whose golden eyes lingered on her until the sliding door closed behind her. The faint scent of sakura blossoms seemed to linger in the air even after she left.
As the quiet settled, Senjuro blinked and tilted his head. His eyes—gentle and sharp in their innocence—narrowed curiously at Kyojuro’s neck.
“Brother,” he said, pointing matter-of-factly, “is that… a mosquito bite?”
Kyojuro’s eyes went wide, the flames in them flickering with panic before he threw his head back in a booming laugh. “HAHAHAHA! Yes! Yes indeed, Senjuro! Quite the season for mosquitoes, don’t you think?”
Shinjuro’s gaze followed his younger son’s finger. His face froze, then he coughed gruffly and immediately raised his newspaper like a shield. The corner of his mouth twitched.
Senjuro only blinked again, head tilting further, entirely unconvinced. “Strange… I didn’t notice any mosquitoes this morning.”
Kyojuro’s laugh softened into something sheepish. He draped an arm around his little brother’s shoulders, steering him back into the estate with a broad smile stretched a little too wide. His voice dropped to a gentle rumble meant only for Senjuro.
“Senjuro… hypothetically… how would you feel about becoming an uncle someday?”
Senjuro stopped mid-step, blinking up at his brother with wide, innocent eyes. “An… uncle?”
Before the boy could process, the sharp whack of a newspaper struck the back of Kyojuro’s head. He stumbled forward with a grunt, golden hair swaying.
“Idiot son!” Shinjuro barked, though his ears burned red behind the paper.
Kyojuro rubbed the back of his head and laughed loudly again, undeterred. “HAHAHA! Of course, Father! A hypothetical question, nothing more!”
Senjuro looked between them, baffled. “Brother… you’re acting strange.”
Kyojuro only smiled wider, ruffling his younger brother’s hair. “Strange? Nay, I am simply… spirited! Now, come! Let’s resume our training after the dishes are cleared!”
Senjuro gave a small sigh, still confused but unable to resist smiling at his brother’s unshakable brightness.
Behind the paper, Shinjuro muttered, “Spirited fool…” but there was no hiding the faintest curve of a smirk.
The morning light filtered softly through the paper screens of Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s quarters, its warmth painting the room in muted gold. Aiyaka knelt gracefully at his side, adjusting the cushions beneath him with gentle care before helping him settle back against them.
“Good morning, Kagaya,” she greeted with her usual radiant smile, her voice as soft as spring air.
Kagaya’s pale face lit with quiet warmth, his ruined skin never dulling the brilliance of his eyes. “Good morning to you as well, Aya-chan.” His tone was affectionate, as though he were welcoming one of his own children.
“How are you feeling today?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her amber-gold eyes glowing with concern.
“I am doing well, thanks to you,” Kagaya replied, his voice steady and serene. Yet, his gaze lingered on her face, noting the subtle brightness in her expression, the way her lips seemed quicker to smile.
Aiyaka caught it immediately. “What is it?” she asked softly, curious.
Kagaya chuckled faintly, shaking his head. “Nothing troubling, I assure you. It’s simply… you look happier than I have seen you in quite some time. Tell me, did Muichiro regain his memories?”
Aiyaka’s eyes softened, her smile dimming to something wistful. “I wish… but not yet.” She brushed the thought aside with a small shake of her head. “You were right. I am happier… but for another reason.”
She hesitated, her slender fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve, her toes curling against the tatami as a shy laugh slipped from her lips. “I was planning to tell Itsuki first, but I don’t think he’s ready to hear it yet.”
Kagaya’s smile deepened with patient encouragement. “Then perhaps I may share in your joy. What is it that has brought such brightness to your heart, Aya-chan?”
Her cheeks warmed, her voice dropping to an embarrassed murmur. “Erm… well… I may—or may not—soon become someone’s wife.”
Silence filled the room for a heartbeat, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves outside. Kagaya did not falter; his smile remained as tender as ever, though his brow lifted slightly in amusement. “Pardon?”
Aiyaka covered her face, laughing shyly. “Ah—sorry, I said that strangely.” She took a deep breath, summoning her courage. “Kyojuro and I… we finally… revealed our feelings. We made love last night.”
Kagaya’s expression never wavered, his joy quiet but profound. “Ah… I see. So, after years of unspoken devotion, you two finally allowed your hearts to speak.”
Aiyaka’s head shot up, her eyes wide. “Y-You knew!?”
A gentle chuckle escaped Kagaya’s lips, warm and teasing in its softness. “Aya-chan… I would say every Hashira could see the bond between you and Kyojuro. Many of us often wondered when the day would come. Only Itsuki refused to acknowledge it.”
Her laughter spilled out, light and nervous. “That sounds like him.”
Kagaya’s gaze grew fond, almost paternal. “But tell me truthfully, Aya-chan. Are you happy?”
The question pierced her heart. Her eyes widened before softening with certainty. She pressed a hand to her chest, her voice trembling yet full of conviction. “Yes. I… I love him, Kagaya. I love him with all my heart.”
A silence fell—gentle, reverent—before Kagaya’s smile deepened, brighter than the morning sun filtering through the shoji. “Then you have my blessing. I have always supported you both, from the very beginning. To see you finally find this happiness… it fills me with joy greater than my own.”
Tears pricked Aiyaka’s eyes, but her smile widened, glowing. She bowed her head respectfully, her voice tender. “Thank you, Kagaya. Truly.”
Chapter 28: The Path to the Village
Notes:
We are now back to the present! It's time to go down the business!
Chapter Text
The quiet of the Butterfly Mansion’s infirmary was broken by the sharp, steady rasp of steel on whetstone. Itsuki sat cross-legged near the open shoji, his massive cleaver-like blade balanced across his lap, each stroke deliberate, the sound like iron grinding against bone.
In the next bed, Inosuke suddenly jolted upright, his boar’s head mask tumbling to the side. His wild, messy black hair flew around him as he blinked furiously. “TCHAAAH! WHAT’S THAT HORRIBLE NOISE?!” His voice cracked like a screeching beast.
Itsuki didn’t look up. “You finally woke up,” he said flatly, dragging the stone down the blade again with slow precision. Sparks caught in the morning light.
Inosuke’s red face scrunched up. “HUH?! THAT’S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY?! I’VE BEEN ASLEEP FOR—FOR—HOW LONG?!” He scrambled out of his futon like a wild animal, stomping barefoot across the tatami. “AND WHAT’S WITH THAT EAR-SHATTERING SHRIEKING SOUND?! YOU TRYIN’ TO DRIVE ME INSANE?!”
Itsuki’s crimson-ringed eyes lifted for the first time, unbothered, expression unreadable. “I sharpen my blade. You’re just weak to sound.”
“WHAT?! WHO’S WEAK?!” Inosuke puffed his chest out, veins popping in his neck. He stomped closer, pointing at Itsuki’s massive cleaver. “THAT THING DOESN’T EVEN LOOK LIKE A KATANA! THAT’S—THAT’S A MEAT-CUTTER! A DEMON-CLEAVER! A—A—A STUPID GIANT SLAB OF METAL!”
Itsuki paused only long enough to exhale through his nose. “And yet, it kills demons better than you do.”
Inosuke froze. His jaw dropped. Then he practically exploded. “WAAAAAARGHHHH! SAY THAT AGAIN, SCARFACE!” He lunged, claws out like a feral boar, before tripping over the edge of his futon and slamming face-first into the tatami with a loud thump.
Itsuki stared down at him, unimpressed, blade still balanced calmly on his knees. “Pathetic.” He dragged the whetstone down again, the rasp filling the silence. “Go back to sleep if you can’t handle it.”
From the floor, Inosuke’s muffled voice shrieked into the mat. “I’LL HANDLE YOU, IRON-FACE! NOBODY TELLS INOSUKE HASHIBIRA TO GO BACK TO SLEEP!”
Itsuki raised a brow, the faintest flicker of dry amusement crossing his usually cold face. “Then stay awake. You’re louder than my blade anyway.”
The whetstone rasp finally fell silent. Itsuki rose to his feet, the massive cleaver resting across his broad shoulder like it weighed nothing. His crimson-ringed eyes flicked toward the wild boar boy sprawled in tangled futons.
“You’re the first of your little pack to wake,” Itsuki said flatly, his voice as calm as a blade sliding through flesh. He walked toward Inosuke with heavy, deliberate steps, his cloak trailing like a wolf’s shadow. “For the next few days… I’ll train you.”
Inosuke blinked. Then his face lit up like a firework. He leapt to his feet, pounding a fist against his bare chest. “WOOOAAAH! THE WOLF HASHIRA PICKED ME! HAHAHA! OF COURSE HE DID!” He flexed both arms, muscles bulging. “HE SEES I’M STRONGER THAN ALL OF THEM! STRONGER THAN MONJIRO! STRONGER THAN ZENITSU! STRONGER THAN—”
“I didn’t say that,” Itsuki cut in, tone like ice.
“DOESN’T MATTER, I HEARD IT ANYWAY!” Inosuke barked, pointing dramatically at him. His eyes glimmered with feral excitement. “YOU WANNA TRAIN ME? FINE! BUT KNOW THIS—I DON’T BECOME ANYONE’S ‘OFFICIAL ANYTHING’!”
Itsuki tilted his head slightly, unimpressed. “Unofficial trainee. That’s all.”
“WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!” Inosuke roared, stomping so hard the floor creaked. “IS IT LIKE A PET? AM I YOUR PET NOW?!”
“…No,” Itsuki said evenly. His red eyes narrowed, almost glowing in the morning light. “It means I will break you down, and if you survive, you’ll be stronger.”
Inosuke froze for half a second. Then he broke into a wild, toothy grin. “BREAK ME?! HA! I’LL BREAK YOU FIRST!” He crouched low, chest puffed out like a beast challenging an alpha. “I ACCEPT YOUR CHALLENGE, SCARY WOLF MAN! FROM NOW ON—I’M YOUR TRAINEE, PET, WHATEVER! AND I’LL STILL BEAT YOU!”
Itsuki just stared, unreadable, before muttering, “Loud. But at least you won’t run.” He turned toward the door. “Training begins at dawn.”
“DAWN?!” Inosuke bolted after him, practically bouncing on his feet. “NO! LET’S START NOW! I’LL FIGHT YOU UNTIL THE SUN EXPLODES!”
Itsuki didn’t even look back. “Then you’ll die before breakfast.”
Inosuke blinked, then howled with laughter. “AHAHAHAHA! I LIKE YOU!”
The crunch of gravel followed Itsuki up the last steps of the long stone staircase, the faint scent of iron rain clinging to him like a second skin. Dawn had only just begun to bleed across the northern mountains, pale light catching the lacquered gates of the Kurobane estate. The wolf sigil seemed to glower down at him, while the blossoms carved beside it glimmered faintly in the new light — her symbol, not his.
Tengen’s voice still rang in his head, smug and mocking. “It’s not too late for you to start teaching a few brats of your own.”
Itsuki pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard through his teeth. “I can’t believe I let that damn Peacock get the better of me…” he muttered, dragging scarred fingers through his silver-streaked hair.
When he rounded the engawa toward Aiyaka’s side of the mansion, the tension in his shoulders slackened without his permission. She was crouched in her garden, sleeves trailing like pale wings as she pressed fresh soil around moon-flowers. A breeze carried the faint music of the crystal chimes and the perfume of blossoms — her world, delicate yet unyielding.
She glanced up, amber eyes glowing like embers in the morning haze. Her smile was gentle warmth in the chill mountain air.
“Welcome home,” she said softly. “Where were you? With Chiori-sama?”
Itsuki groaned low in his chest as he stepped onto the engawa, cloak trailing. “No. I’ll be with her tomorrow. She wants me to carry bags while she shops.” He lowered himself onto the wooden step, blade resting across his lap with a dull weight. “I don’t know which will be worse, the shopping… or her talking.”
Aiyaka’s laughter chimed like the koi pond at her side as she scattered feed to the cranes. “How wonderful.” She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “So then, where were you?”
Itsuki rubbed his jaw, as though the words tasted sour. “…Visiting an annoying boar.” His tone was flat, but his mouth twitched in irritation. “And I hate to admit it, but the Peacock convinced me to take the beast under my wing.”
Aiyaka blinked, then broke into bright laughter, covering her lips with delicate fingers. “Oh, what a surprise!” she teased, eyes dancing. “A wolf and a boar. You two aren’t so different.”
Itsuki rolled his eyes, stretching his scarred arm across his knee. “Those two animals don’t get along, you know.”
Still smiling, Aiyaka tossed another pinch of grain into the pond and winked. “Then make sure you go easy on him.”
Itsuki snorted, lips curling into a half-smirk that looked more like a threat. “Like hell I would.”
The next day, word reached Aiyaka that Tanjiro had finally recovered enough to move on his own. Relief bloomed across her features like sunlight breaking through morning mist. Without delay, she made her way to the Butterfly Mansion.
When she slid open the door to the dojo, the sight before her was heartwarming: Tanjiro, bright-eyed and determined despite the faint scars of exhaustion still lingering on his face, was practicing his rehabilitation exercises under the watchful eyes of Kiyo, Sumi, and Naho. Their cheerful encouragement echoed through the hall.
“Good day, everyone,” Aiyaka said softly, her warm voice carrying like a gentle breeze.
At once, all four faces lit up.
“Lady Aiyaka!” the girls chorused, their voices high and joyful. Even Tanjiro’s smile brightened, his eyes crinkling with boyish warmth.
Aiyaka stepped inside, kneeling gracefully. Instantly, the three little attendants swarmed her. Kiyo nestled into her lap, Sumi began weaving tiny braids into the silky tips of her hair, and Naho tugged playfully on her haori sleeve patterned with pale blossoms. Aiyaka only laughed quietly, her amber-gold eyes soft with affection, letting them cling as if they were her own little sisters.
Turning to Tanjiro, she lowered her head in apology. “I am sorry, Tanjiro. I wasn’t there for you and the others when you fought the Upper Rank Six.”
But Tanjiro immediately shook his head, raising his hand with that familiar, earnest smile. “Please, don’t apologize, Lady Aiyaka. You’ve already done so much for everyone. Besides—Mr. Itsuki was a huge help. And so was Lady Shirakawa.”
“I see,” she said with relief, her smile deepening. “Then I’m glad.”
Tanjiro turned his head toward the girls as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, Kiyo! While I was asleep… did a new sword come in for me? You know, to replace the one I chipped?”
The three attendants froze mid-motion, exchanging nervous glances. Naho scratched her cheek, sheepishly mumbling, “A… sword? Um, no. Sorry.”
Kiyo’s hands twisted together. “But—uh—you did get some letters. From Mr. Haganezuka…” Her voice faltered. “Do you… want to see them?”
They handed Tanjiro a small pile of letters. Each envelope was battered with furious brushstrokes, the ink so heavy it looked like it had been stabbed into the paper.
Tanjiro paled. “Oh no… this is bad.” His nervous laugh cracked as sweat slid down his temple.
Kiyo whimpered, “It is, isn’t it…?”
Aiyaka covered her lips politely, though her soft chuckle betrayed amusement. “That does sound like him.”
Just then, Sumi bustled over with a tray of snacks, setting them carefully on the tatami. “Two whole months have passed,” she sighed, “and still no sword.”
Tanjiro slumped, pouting like a scolded child. “I know I messed up, but I only chipped it this time! Last time, I snapped it in half! Isn’t that an improvement?”
The three girls exchanged blank stares of pity.
Aiyaka reached out, brushing her hand soothingly across Tanjiro’s arm. “Why don’t you go to the village yourself and talk to him? Face to face, I’m sure he’ll understand your sincerity.”
Tanjiro’s head tilted, his brows rising with dawning curiosity. “The… village?”
“The swordsmiths’ village,” she explained gently, her amber eyes glowing with encouragement. “The home of every craftsman who forges our blades.”
For a moment, Tanjiro was utterly still. Then his eyes widened in shock, and he gasped so loudly that even the chimes in the hall rattled.
“There’s a village?!”
The three girls sighed in perfect unison, exasperated and fond all at once.
Aiyaka rose gracefully, brushing the sleeves of her haori smooth as she smiled at Tanjiro. “Of course. I have to meet with some of my friends there as well.” Her amber eyes softened, gleaming like lantern light. “We can go together, if you’d like.”
Tanjiro’s whole face lit up, his eyes shining with the same earnest warmth that always carried through his words. “Okay!” he said brightly, the joy in his tone as genuine as his smile.
Their journey was quiet but carefully guided, with different Kakushi appearing and handing them off like precious parcels. Kasugai crows circled overhead, cawing sharply now and then, each turn and exchange ensuring the village’s location remained an unbroken secret. Aiyaka walked with her usual composed elegance, while Tanjiro’s steps were eager, almost bouncing despite the blindfold.
At last, the Kakushi halted. “You may remove them now.”
Tanjiro pulled the cloth from his eyes—and froze. His breath caught. Before him stretched a hidden world: rows of old-fashioned wooden buildings with curved roofs, smoke rising from countless forges, the rhythmic clang of hammers echoing through the mountain air. Lanterns swayed gently, and the faint scent of metal, fire, and something soothing drifted through the breeze.
“Woah…” Tanjiro whispered, his eyes wide as if he were seeing the stars for the first time. His voice brimmed with awe. “These buildings… they’re amazing!”
Beside him, Aiyaka chuckled softly, her hand rising to cover her lips. “Everyone says that their first time here.” Her gaze swept the village fondly. “Tell me, Tanjiro… what do you smell?”
His nose twitched, chest expanding with a deep inhale. His face suddenly brightened, almost glowing with excitement. “Ah! There’s steam… minerals… this scent—there must be a hot spring nearby!”
The female Kakushi blinked, momentarily startled, before nodding. “That’s correct. Quite impressive.” She smiled lightly under her mask. “You’re welcome to visit after your business here. But first—” she pointed down the bustling street, “turn left at the end and greet the chief. It’s tradition.”
“Right!” Tanjiro replied with vigor, clenching his fists with determination.
Aiyaka stepped back, her presence calm as flowing water. “Then I’ll see you later, Tanjiro.” She raised a hand in farewell, her crimson ribbon catching in the breeze.
Tanjiro’s smile widened, warm and grateful. “Yes, of course!” He watched her go, his heart full of respect and comfort at her presence—like watching the gentle glow of a lantern fade, knowing its light still lingers behind.
The hot spring steamed in soft curls of white mist, filling the air with a soothing warmth. The surface shimmered under the lanterns, faint ripples dancing lazily as cicadas hummed in the distance.
Mitsuri had already slipped into the water, her long pink-and-green hair fanning out like silk across the surface. Her cheeks glowed as she leaned back with a dreamy sigh.
From the entrance, a familiar voice called gently, “Ah, Mitsuba.”
Mitsuri’s head whipped around, and instantly her face lit up like the sunrise. “Aya-chan!” she squealed, her voice filled with pure delight. Her whole body wiggled in excitement, splashing water as if she couldn’t contain herself. “You came!”
Aiyaka chuckled softly, warmth glowing in her amber-gold eyes as she slipped free of her yukata with calm grace. Her crimson ribbon swayed before she set it aside, hair tumbling in silky dark waves with faint purple glints. Steam wrapped around her like a veil as she carefully stepped into the water.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said with her usual soothing tone, settling beside Mitsuri. The warmth immediately seeped into her skin, easing her muscles.
“Not at all!” Mitsuri beamed, scooting closer until their shoulders brushed. Her eyes sparkled, playful and eager. Then, with a squeaky burst, she leaned in and whispered like a conspirator, “So, tell me! Any progress with Rengoku?!”
Aiyaka’s cheeks flushed at once, pink blooming across her pale skin. She laughed softly, covering part of her face with her hand. “About that…”
Mitsuri gasped, clutching Aiyaka’s arm as if about to burst. “Eeeh?! Don’t tell me nothing happened yet! Aya-chan, you’re killing me!” Her voice cracked with a mix of teasing and dramatic despair, though her eyes sparkled with nothing but joy for her friend.
Aiyaka could only laugh, shaking her head, the steam hiding the deepest of her blushes.
Steam curled lazily in the air, wrapping the hot spring in a gentle haze. Lantern light flickered on the water, turning every ripple into soft gold. Mitsuri leaned in close, cheeks flushed from both the heat and her excitement, practically vibrating with curiosity.
“So—Aya-chan,” she whispered dramatically, eyes sparkling like a girl awaiting a secret. “What happened? Don’t tell me nothing happened, because I’ll just cry right here!”
Aiyaka’s lips curved into a nervous smile, her fingers brushing a stray lock of wet hair from her cheek. Her amber-gold eyes softened, glowing against the mist. “Well… a few nights ago… Kyojuro and I…” Her voice trailed, and she covered her mouth with delicate fingers, her blush deepening until even her ears turned pink.
Mitsuri gasped, leaning forward so quickly the water sloshed around them. “Eeeeh?! Don’t leave me hanging! What did you two do? Aya-chan, tell meeee!”
Her friend’s fluster only made Mitsuri’s curiosity grow. Finally, in the smallest, shyest voice, Aiyaka whispered, “We… made love.”
Mitsuri’s entire body froze. Then—
“Kyaaaaaaa!” She squealed so loud a couple of sparrows scattered from a nearby tree. She splashed the water in a burst of joy, hugging her own cheeks. “Aya-chan!! I knew it! You and Rengoku don’t waste a single second, huh?!” She giggled wildly, clapping her hands like a child given sweets.
Aiyaka’s laugh was soft, embarrassed yet fond, her face still flushed. “It… it was very special. He was so gentle. And…” She paused, lowering her eyes as warmth spread across her expression. “Soon… I will be his wife.”
Mitsuri gasped so loudly it almost echoed through the misty springs. She shot forward, wrapping Aiyaka in a tight, slippery hug, nearly knocking them both under the water. “Aya-chaaaaan!! Oh my goodness!! That’s the most romantic thing ever!” She squeezed tighter, tears glimmering in her eyes from pure happiness. “You’re going to be Mrs. Rengoku! I’m so, sooo happy for you!”
Aiyaka laughed softly again, hugging her back, her calm presence wrapping around Mitsuri like the warmth of the spring itself. “Thank you, Mitsuba.”
Mitsuri sniffled, then broke into a grin so wide it almost glowed. “Ahhh! I need to help you plan everything! Dresses, flowers, food—oh, Aya-chan, it’s going to be so beautiful!”
The two of them sat there giggling, splashing lightly, their bond shimmering as brightly as the lanterns reflected in the water.
Steam drifted lazily over the hot springs, blurring the lantern light into soft halos. Mitsuri leaned back against the warm stones, her rosy hair floating in the water like a flower in bloom. With a dreamy sigh, she tilted her head toward Aiyaka, cheeks already pink from both heat and anticipation.
“So, Aya-chan…” Mitsuri’s voice grew sing-song, almost conspiratorial. “Any progress with Muichiro?”
At the mention of his name, Aiyaka’s amber-gold eyes softened, reflecting the glitter of the night sky above. She let out a small, wistful breath, her fingertips tracing idle ripples across the surface of the water. “Unfortunately… no.” Her tone dropped to a whisper. “I’ve tried many times, but nothing seems to help him regain his memories.”
Mitsuri immediately puffed out her cheeks in a pout, then whined with dramatic flair. “Ehh?! Aya-chan, why don’t you just tell him yourself?!” She shifted closer in the spring, splashing slightly as she leaned against Aiyaka’s shoulder. “It hurts my heart to see you and Muichiro like this! You used to braid his hair all the time…”
Aiyaka chuckled softly, her expression tinged with both fondness and sadness. “I know. But he needs to remember on his own. If I tell him, it won’t stay. It’ll only slip away again.”
Mitsuri made a tiny squeak of protest, then wrapped both arms around Aiyaka, cuddling her with an almost childlike insistence. Her damp hair brushed against Aiyaka’s cheek as she whined, “But you deserve to be happy!”
Aiyaka returned the embrace with quiet warmth, her calm presence soothing Mitsuri’s dramatics. “The good news,” she murmured, her smile blooming like a spring flower, “is that I’ve heard he’ll be in the Swordsmiths’ village for a few days.”
Mitsuri’s eyes sparkled instantly. She straightened in the water, splashing in her excitement. “Really?! That’s amazing! Oh, Aya-chan, that means three Hashira together in one village!” She clasped her hands to her chest like it was the most romantic idea in the world.
Aiyaka chuckled, watching her friend glow with excitement, then tilted her head playfully. “And what about you, Mitsuba? How are things with Obanai?”
Mitsuri’s cheeks bloomed an even brighter pink than her hair tips. She fidgeted with the water nervously, eyes darting away. “W-well… we’ve had lunch together more than usual…”
Aiyaka’s smile widened, warm and encouraging. She lifted her thumb in a playful gesture. “That’s the spirit! Every step is precious.”
Mitsuri squealed softly, burying her face against Aiyaka’s shoulder again, caught between embarrassment and giddy delight. “Aya-chaaaan, you always know what to say!”
Chapter 29: The Angel's Dance
Chapter Text
The evening air in the Swordsmiths’ Village carried the faint scent of iron and woodsmoke, lanterns casting a golden glow across the streets. Inside the little restaurant, laughter and warmth filled the table where Tanjiro, Nezuko, Aiyaka, and Mitsuri sat together.
“Wow, that’s impressive!” Tanjiro exclaimed, eyes wide as he watched Mitsuri polish off another towering plate of food.
Mitsuri blushed but giggled, waving her hands quickly. “You think so? I really only nibbled, to be honest!” she chirped, though her cheeks puffed happily with another bite.
Tanjiro’s smile brightened, his tone full of earnest admiration. “I need to eat more too, so I can get stronger!”
Across from them, Aiyaka set down her tea cup with her usual gentle grace, amber eyes glowing softly in the lantern light. “By the way, Tanjiro,” she asked warmly, “did you enjoy the hot springs?”
Tanjiro nodded eagerly. “Yes! It was really relaxing.” His voice lowered slightly as if remembering something curious. “Also… I met a guy named Genya Shinazugawa.”
Mitsuri blinked, chopsticks pausing midair. “Wait—did you say Shinazugawa?” Her bright eyes widened in surprise. “That would make him Sanemi’s younger brother. But… Sanemi always said he didn’t have a younger brother.” She frowned, placing a hand to her cheek, voice dripping with empathy. “Ohh, maybe they’re on bad terms. How heartbreaking.”
Tanjiro’s brows knit together, worry flashing across his features. “You really think so? I wonder what happened between them…”
Before the mood could sink, Nezuko popped her head out from under the table with a curious squeak. She crawled forward on her hands, kimono sleeves dragging across the tatami until she nestled herself right against Aiyaka.
Aiyaka’s face softened instantly. She reached down, gently poking Nezuko’s side until the girl giggled, her muffled laugh bubbling through the bamboo muzzle. “Ah, Nezuko. It’s so good to see you,” Aiyaka said, her voice a melody of calm affection.
Tanjiro’s expression melted into relief, a warm smile tugging at his lips as he watched his sister happily settle onto Aiyaka’s lap.
“I have four siblings in my family,” Mitsuri added cheerfully, swaying slightly where she sat. “We all get along really well. So it’s hard for me to imagine the Shinazugawa brothers not being close.”
She trailed off, her eyes glinting as a thought struck her. Looking at Aiyaka with bright curiosity, Mitsuri leaned in. “What about you, Aya-chan? Have you and your brother ever been on bad terms before?”
Tanjiro perked up, surprised. “Wait—you have a brother too, Lady Aiyaka?” His expression lit with innocent curiosity. “Who is he?”
Aiyaka’s smile curved softly, her hand still stroking Nezuko’s hair as she replied, “You’ve already met him. It’s Itsuki—the Abyss Hashira.”
For a heartbeat, Tanjiro only blinked politely… then the realization hit him like a stone. “HUH!?” he burst out, practically leaping from his cushion.
Mitsuri doubled over with laughter, clapping her hands together. “I know, right? I was shocked too when I first met them years ago! Aya-chan and Kuro-kun are siblings—it blew my mind!”
Tanjiro scrambled, bowing his head in apology, cheeks pink. “M-my apologies, Lady Aiyaka—it’s just… you two are complete opposites!”
Aiyaka chuckled softly, her tone calm and forgiving, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “There’s no need to worry, Tanjiro. It’s quite alright.”
Tanjiro sighed in relief, though a small crease lingered between his brows. “Speaking of… Genya hasn’t shown up yet for lunch. I was hoping we could at least talk.”
Mitsuri tilted her head, her curls bouncing. Her voice softened with concern. “I don’t think he’s coming at all. The villagers said he never eats meals with anyone. He probably brought his own.”
Tanjiro’s eyes dimmed with worry. “But what if he didn’t?”
Aiyaka, who had Nezuko nestled on her lap, stroked the girl’s hair with tender fingers. Her calm voice flowed like a spring breeze. “Then let’s bring him something. Rice balls, perhaps.”
Both Tanjiro and Mitsuri brightened at once.
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Tanjiro said eagerly.
“I’ll come too!” Mitsuri beamed, clapping her hands together.
Soon after, they walked through the lantern-lit village. Aiyaka carried Nezuko on her back, her sakura-scented hair trailing like dark silk ribbons in the night breeze. Tanjiro balanced a tray of rice balls and tea, careful not to spill, while Mitsuri hummed cheerfully beside them.
On the way, Tanjiro glanced at Mitsuri curiously. “Miss Kanroji, why did you join the Demon Slayer Corps?”
Mitsuri froze for half a heartbeat, then gave a squeaky laugh, cheeks pink. “Eh? M-me? Oh, Aya-chan, don’t make me say it—!” She covered her face before peeking out through her fingers. “Fine, fine! I joined to find a man I could spend forever with!” Her voice rose in a playful wail.
Tanjiro nearly tripped over his own sandals. “W-what!?”
Mitsuri giggled, her green-pink braids bouncing. “It’s true! Any girl would want someone stronger, right? Someone who can protect her?”
Aiyaka chuckled, warmth glimmering in her golden eyes. “You’re braver than most to admit it so openly, Mitsuri.”
When they reached Genya’s quarters, the room was empty, shadows stretching where he should have been. Aiyaka’s voice was soft but firm. “It seems he isn’t here.”
Before Tanjiro could respond, a Kakushi approached Mitsuri. “Lady Kanroji, your blade is nearly ready. The smiths request your presence.”
“Oh dear, looks like I have to go.” Mitsuri gave a regretful smile.
Tanjiro stepped forward quickly. “We could come with you—”
But she shook her head, curls swaying. “That’s kind, but I’ll likely leave before dawn. Don’t worry.” She flashed her trademark dazzling smile. “I’ll see you both soon!”
Aiyaka waved as Mitsuri departed, the air suddenly quieter without her cheerful presence. Turning to Tanjiro, she spoke softly, her amber-gold eyes gentle but resolute. “That was kind of you, Tanjiro. But remember—whether or not we meet again, give everything you have. Don’t hold back.”
Tanjiro blinked, startled by the gravity in her tone. His chest tightened. She’s right… none of us know when we’ll see each other again.
Aiyaka placed her hand on Tanjiro’s head, her touch steady, almost motherly, while Nezuko tugged gently on her haori. “Never forget—you and your friends fought an Upper Rank and lived. What you faced in the Entertainment District was worth ten years of training. You’ve already grown far stronger than you realize.”
Her hand shifted to Nezuko’s hair, smoothing it with a tenderness that made the girl hum softly. Then she rose, the lantern light catching the soft pattern of her haori. For a heartbeat, she seemed almost otherworldly—graceful, luminous, untouchable.
“As long as I draw breath,” she said, smiling like a promise, “I won’t let anything happen to you two.”
Tanjiro and Nezuko both felt their throats tighten, hearts warmed and heavy all at once by her pure conviction.
Aiyaka turned with a final wave, her ribbon swaying behind her. “Goodnight.”
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast from the village, Tanjiro and Nezuko set out. The cool air still carried faint traces of steam and minerals; his nose picked up the lingering scent of the hot springs, threaded with the iron tang of his still-mending wounds.
Just as he adjusted Nezuko’s box on his back, faint voices drifted through the trees. Tanjiro paused, curiosity stirring. Moving closer, he peeked around a cedar trunk.
There—Aiyaka stood in the clearing, her pale haori catching the light like falling blossoms. Beside her was another Hashira, a boy with mist-gray eyes that seemed half lost in a dream. Behind them loomed a massive doll, taller than two men stacked together.
Tanjiro’s eyes widened. That’s… the Mist Hashira, Muichiro Tokito.
He inhaled deeply, and a pang pressed against his chest. Aiyaka’s scent, usually as calming as sakura on the wind, was tinged faintly with sorrow. Why do I sense so much sadness in Lady Aiyaka… even though she’s smiling?
“Are you sure you don’t want to rest?” Aiyaka’s voice was as gentle as running water, though a note of concern threaded through it. “You just fought with the Yoriichi Type Zero doll.”
Yoriichi… Type Zero? Tanjiro’s thoughts stirred with questions.
Muichiro, unfazed, spoke in that airy, distant tone that made his words feel detached. “No. Now shoo. I need to train.”
Tanjiro frowned, his jaw tightening. That’s not a nice way to speak…
Aiyaka exhaled softly, not angered, but patient, as though accustomed to his bluntness. “I told you… if you struggled against Yoriichi Type Zero, you can’t possibly manage this one.”
“I wasn’t asking,” Muichiro replied, his gaze still fixed on the doll, voice as empty as drifting clouds.
Tanjiro followed his eyes. The doll towered, an uncanny presence. Its form was crafted with wide, flowing sleeves and layered plates that shifted with eerie precision, like a warrior frozen mid-movement. Raven-black lacquer gleamed across its surface, streaked with silver like slashes of moonlight. Its glass orbs glowed a faint violet, staring through the clearing with a haunting, unblinking calm. On its back, a sigil of a crescent moon and feathers seemed to shimmer faintly, as though it breathed with its own quiet menace.
Tanjiro’s breath caught. This isn’t just a doll… it feels alive.
The training ground was hushed, the morning mist curling low across the earth. Aiyaka stepped back to give Muichiro space, her sleeves fluttering like wings. The doll towered, eerie and still, before its joints gave a grinding twist.
“Begin,” Muichiro said simply, drawing his blade in one fluid motion. His expression was unreadable, eyes distant, as if the world itself were secondary to his focus.
The doll moved first. Its long, plated arms cut through the air with a speed that cracked like thunder. For an instant it seemed to strike from the left—then split, an afterimage darting right, the two movements blurring together.
Tanjiro’s jaw tightened. “Wha—! It’s… it’s moving in two directions at once!”
Muichiro pivoted, blade singing as it sliced through empty air. Sparks of frustration flickered behind his otherwise glassy eyes. The doll’s afterimage vanished, and the real strike nearly clipped his shoulder. He slipped back just in time, breath steady, yet his brow furrowed.
“It’s designed to confuse,” Aiyaka explained softly from the edge, her voice calm but firm, as though teaching a child. “It projects illusions with its speed. If you chase one… you’ll always miss the other.”
Muichiro’s lips pressed thin. “Tch. Annoying.” He darted forward again, his Mist Breathing forms swirling like fog around the doll. His blade cut and cut—yet each strike only carved shadows. The doll’s head blurred, splitting into three phantom shapes at once. Muichiro slashed the center, but the true head was already tilting aside, the strike harmless.
Tanjiro’s eyes followed desperately. His keen nose picked up Muichiro’s faint irritation—like sharp steel hidden beneath drifting mist. He’s not calm… he’s frustrated. He hates being unable to land a blow.
The doll retaliated, its plated arms snapping forward with bone-crushing force. Muichiro twisted, his sleeve fluttering as the strike whooshed past his ear. Even so, a shallow graze marked his cheek. A droplet of blood trailed down pale skin.
Tanjiro flinched. So fast! Even he can’t—!
Muichiro didn’t react to the wound, eyes still distant but sharpened now with focus. He drew a deep breath, mist curling around his feet as he reset his stance. “Fine. If one strike isn’t enough… I’ll overwhelm it.”
But the doll blurred again, afterimages rippling like water. For every slash Muichiro threw, three illusions met him. For every step he took, its phantom shadows shifted just out of reach.
Aiyaka’s amber-gold eyes softened as she watched, her hands clasped gently in front of her. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t scold—just spoke in her serene, steady tone. “Muichiro… don’t chase the illusions. Breathe. Feel for the moment the real one cuts the wind.”
Her words drifted through the mist like a guiding light. Muichiro’s lashes lowered slightly. His grip tightened. For a brief heartbeat, his breathing steadied, controlled…
The doll struck again, arms splitting into mirrored afterimages. This time, Muichiro’s gaze sharpened. His blade flashed not at the clearest target—but at the faintest flicker where the wind bent unnaturally. Steel met steel with a shriek, sparks scattering in the morning fog.
For the first time, the doll staggered back.
Tanjiro’s eyes widened. His heart leapt. “He… he did it!”
Aiyaka’s smile was soft, proud but calm. “Yes. You're starting to see through the mist.”
The mist still clung faintly to the training grounds, carrying the metallic tang of Muichiro’s cut cheek and the faint sweetness of Aiyaka’s sakura scent. She stepped toward him, smile gentle, voice calm as always.
“You did well, Muichiro,” she said warmly, her amber eyes glowing like firelight. “If you want, we can have some snacks and then train again—”
Muichiro’s eyes slid to her, distant, flat as a lake with no reflection. His tone cut sharper than any blade.
“I haven’t got the chance to tell you this, but ever since you came to the village, you’ve been really annoying me. Always clinging onto me. Treating me like a child.”
The words hung heavy, sinking deep.
Aiyaka’s steps faltered, her lashes lowering just for a heartbeat. The corners of her smile trembled, but she smoothed them quickly, as if the crack never existed.
“…Right. I am sorry. You’re a Hashira now. But—”
Muichiro scoffed, sheathing his blade with a careless flick. “No buts.” His voice was cold, detached. “Stop following me. You’re annoying.”
He turned his back without hesitation, pale figure swallowed by the morning haze.
Aiyaka stood frozen, her hand lingering just slightly outstretched, as though she’d wanted to reach for him but lost the courage. Her amber-gold eyes softened with something unspoken. She drew in a slow breath, then let it out, her voice no louder than a sigh.
“…Failed again.”
Tanjiro, hidden by the tree, felt the sting pierce deeper than any wound. His nose caught it—the faint, bittersweet ache woven into her scent of blossoms and blood. His chest tightened, his fists curling at his sides.
Again? he thought, heart sinking. How many times has she tried… and how many times has he pushed her away?
The quiet morning seemed to ache with her sadness, though her back remained straight, her expression still gentle, refusing to show the pain that Tanjiro could feel all too clearly.
Tanjiro took a step forward, ready to comfort her—only to freeze as Aiyaka slipped her hands into her sleeves. When they emerged, she held two curved blades that gleamed in the morning light. Pearl-white steel with faint crimson veins shimmered like living flame, the engraved petals on their guards catching the glow.
Tanjiro gasped under his breath, heart thudding.
“Her weapons… Is she—going to fight it?” His eyes widened. “Come to think of it… I’ve never seen Lady Aiyaka fight before.”
The doll stirred, its massive black-lacquered frame creaking as gears whirred. Its violet glass eyes glowed like embers in the mist, afterimages flickering each time it moved its jointed arms.
Aiyaka exhaled softly, expression calm, almost serene. She stepped forward with fluid grace, her haori sleeves trailing like white wings behind her.
The doll struck first. Its arm blurred, splitting into three overlapping afterimages.
Tanjiro’s breath caught. “Fast—!”
But Aiyaka’s body bent as though she had already known. Her hair shimmered with faint purple as she tilted her head by mere centimeters, the blade brushing so close it stirred the scent of sakura from her skin. In the same breath, her left blade flashed—a curved arc so smooth it looked painted across the air—deflecting a second strike with a crystalline chime.
She danced. That was the only word Tanjiro could find.
The doll’s massive arms crashed down like falling trees, its afterimages weaving a net of death. Yet Aiyaka wove between them, each step light, precise, her blades carving pale arcs of light. Where Itsuki fought like a storm and Rengoku blazed like fire, Aiyaka moved like a flowing river, each motion inevitable, unhurried, devastating in its certainty.
Her blades whirled together in a twin-winged sweep, catching the doll’s descending strike. The force rattled the ground, kicking up dust. Her knees bent, muscles taut beneath her graceful frame, yet her expression never broke from that serene calm—amber eyes glowing like gentle lanterns. With a twist, she redirected the force, letting it slide past her as if the doll itself had stumbled.
Tanjiro’s chest tightened, breath shaky. She’s… she’s not just strong. This is on another level. Even Rengoku’s blazing ferocity, Tengen’s sound-based precision, Itsuki’s brutal force—none of it compares.
The doll lashed faster, blurring into four afterimages, its wide sleeves snapping like wings of shadow.
Aiyaka did not flinch. She pivoted on her heel, her twin blades cutting twin arcs that gleamed pearl and crimson, striking down each afterimage in turn. Steel met lacquer with a cascade of sparks. Then, with one last pivot, she flowed low beneath its sweeping arm, her haori trailing like a sakura petal on wind.
She rose behind it, blades crossing in an elegant flourish that halted just shy of the doll’s glowing core. The training ground fell still. The only sound was the doll’s whirring gears slowing, then stopping.
Tanjiro stood frozen, heart pounding, throat dry.
This isn’t just battle. She fights like… like an angel descended into war. No wonder everyone looks to her. She’s far beyond what I thought possible.
Aiyaka sheathed her blades with a soft click. She turned, and though her cheeks were faintly flushed from exertion, her smile was still calm and warm—as though she hadn’t just danced with a demon god’s shadow and won.
(Previous comment deleted.)
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 1 Thu 28 Aug 2025 10:55PM UTC
Comment Actions
(Previous comment deleted.)
(Previous comment deleted.)
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 1 Sat 30 Aug 2025 03:15AM UTC
Comment Actions
(Previous comment deleted.)
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Sep 2025 10:42PM UTC
Comment Actions
(Previous comment deleted.)
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 1 Fri 29 Aug 2025 03:44AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 4 Thu 28 Aug 2025 12:46AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 4 Thu 28 Aug 2025 02:51AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 6 Sat 30 Aug 2025 03:36AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 6 Sun 31 Aug 2025 02:24AM UTC
Comment Actions
(Previous comment deleted.)
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 9 Sat 30 Aug 2025 02:58AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 9 Sat 30 Aug 2025 04:17AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 9 Sat 30 Aug 2025 04:18AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 10 Sat 30 Aug 2025 05:50PM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 10 Sat 30 Aug 2025 08:26PM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 12 Mon 01 Sep 2025 08:19AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 12 Mon 01 Sep 2025 04:19PM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 14 Tue 02 Sep 2025 02:24AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 14 Tue 02 Sep 2025 02:26AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 14 Tue 02 Sep 2025 03:24AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 14 Tue 02 Sep 2025 04:45AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 14 Tue 02 Sep 2025 04:49AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 14 Tue 02 Sep 2025 05:03AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 14 Tue 02 Sep 2025 05:59AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 14 Tue 02 Sep 2025 06:00AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 16 Tue 02 Sep 2025 09:35PM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 16 Wed 03 Sep 2025 12:33AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 17 Wed 03 Sep 2025 04:20AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 17 Wed 03 Sep 2025 04:21AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 18 Wed 03 Sep 2025 05:48PM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 18 Wed 03 Sep 2025 09:16PM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 20 Thu 04 Sep 2025 01:05AM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 20 Thu 04 Sep 2025 01:09AM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 22 Thu 04 Sep 2025 09:13PM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 22 Thu 04 Sep 2025 09:43PM UTC
Comment Actions
VictoriaSkyDancer on Chapter 24 Thu 04 Sep 2025 09:30PM UTC
Comment Actions
Aneko_Kenna on Chapter 24 Thu 04 Sep 2025 09:44PM UTC
Comment Actions