Demon Slayer : Heir to the Moon

The sun was climbing when we stepped out of the theater.

Or rather, when Rengoku stepped out.

I was being carried.

Not by choice, but because the moment we exited, a group from the Demon Slayer Corps' support division swarmed me like hornets.

"Young man! You're bleeding from the leg."

"His breathing's shallow."

"He might be concussed!"

One of them pulled a stretcher out of nowhere like it was a magic trick. I didn't resist. After everything that happened, my body felt like an old futon dragged through a thunderstorm.

I let them lift me.

Rengoku walked beside me, arms crossed, eyes bright as ever. The damage from the battle barely showed on him. He looked like he'd just returned from a light jog.

I turned my head toward him.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

He glanced down. "Of course."

"That card… when it trapped you. What was it like?"

Rengoku paused.

Then—he chuckled, low and thoughtful. "Like being stuck inside a dream I didn't choose. Everything was… slow. Quiet. I could hear you fighting, but like from underwater. I couldn't move or speak. I was just... suspended. A prisoner in a trick. But I could feel your spirit."

He looked at me, smiling.

"You were burning bright the whole time. That helped."

I blinked.

"Was it scary?"

"No," he said. "Strange. I don't scare easily."

"…Right."

He clapped a hand on the side of the stretcher, startling one of the support men.

"You fought well, Tsukihara. You've got potential. But don't fight alone if you can help it."

"I didn't plan to," I muttered. "I just… kind of ended up that way."

He laughed.

Then his tone softened.

"Set your heart ablaze, Ryo. Always. Even when no one's watching."

Those were his parting words.

He saluted the support squad and turned down another road—toward another mission, another battle. Just like that, he was gone.

And I was being wheeled to the Butterfly Mansion.

The journey passed in a blur of herbs, bandages, and quiet forests. When we arrived, I was greeted by the smell of fresh flowers and medicine.

The Butterfly Mansion was peaceful. Clean wooden floors, the faint rustle of paper doors, and the distant giggles of girls in uniform. A few attendants greeted us with polite bows and curious eyes.

They tucked me into a futon in one of the side rooms.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Until it wasn't.

Something thumped outside my window.

Then a muffled yell.

"Gah!! WHERE AM I?!"

The door burst open.

A shirtless boy in a boar mask stood in the doorway, fists clenched like a brawler on stage.

"HEY! YOU! NEW GUY!" he pointed at me. "You strong?"

"…Somewhat."

"GOOD! THEN FIGHT ME!"

Before I could say anything, two girls came running in.

"Hinoooosuke!" they whined in unison. "Stop bothering the patients!"

"He's not a patient, he's a warrior!" Inosuke declared.

"I'm definitely a patient," I replied flatly.

"You got beat up, didn't you? You look like a fish that got stepped on."

"…Thanks."

They dragged him away by the ears, kicking and thrashing like a toddler.

I stared after them in silence.

And then—another boy peeked through the door.

Blond, trembling, eyes wide with panic.

"Did—did that monster tortured you?" he asked me.

"I've had worse."

The blond kid stepped in cautiously. Looked me up and down. Then his expression changed.

He squinted.

"Wait."

"What."

"You… you're kind of handsome, aren't you?"

I blinked.

"Uh."

"Oh no," he whispered.

I tilted my head. "What?"

"You're the cool, mysterious type. Girls love that. I'm doomed."

"…Are you okay?"

He stepped closer.

"Listen. I'm Zenitsu. Just—just a heads up. If you ever see a girl named Nezuko, don't talk to her. Or smile at her. Or exist near her. Or breathe near her."

"I don't know who that is."

"GOOD!"

He bowed quickly, then vanished down the hallway like a cockroach when the light turns on.

I laid back.

Blinked at the ceiling.

This mansion was chaotic.

I closed my eyes, let myself relax…

…and then opened them again when I felt someone's presence.

Soft footsteps.

I sat up slightly.

A girl in a lavender butterfly-patterned haori stepped into the room. Calm. Graceful. Eyes like purple glass.

I froze.

She was—

Pretty.

Really pretty.

I felt my face warm up.

Then I mentally slapped myself. No.

Yuki.

Yuki, Yuki, Yuki.

Taken. Committed. Loyal.

I coughed into my fist.

"Uh… hello."

"Hello," she said warmly. "I'm Kocho Shinobu, the head of this mansion. I heard you were injured during a mission."

Her tone was kind, but precise. The sort of voice that didn't leave room for casual nonsense.

I bowed from my futon. "Thank you for allowing me to recover here."

"You're very polite," she noted. "Not like the last few boys that came through here."

A quiet laugh escaped her lips.

I cleared my throat.

She stepped closer to check my leg.

"You took a string slice, didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She gently undid the bandage.

I tensed. Not from pain—but embarrassment.

This close, she smelled like lavender and something clean and cool. My face heated again.

I scolded myself in silence.

Yuki would probably kill me.

"You'll heal quickly," Shinobu said. "But stay off it for a few more days. Understood?"

"Yes."

She stood.

Smiled faintly.

I sank into my futon, face smoldering.

This place was dangerous.

And just when I thought I could finally rest—

Another knock.

A soft one.

I sat up carefully.

The door slid open again.

A nurse peeked in this time—probably checking if I was still alive.

"Oh good, you're awake," she said, holding a tray of food. "I brought you something to eat."

She placed the tray by my side and gave me a friendly smile. "Please try to finish it. The kitchen staff said you didn't eat anything yesterday either."

"I was unconscious," I muttered.

She giggled. "Excuses."

I looked at the tray. Steamed rice, pickled vegetables, grilled fish, and miso soup. Simple, clean, warm.

The kind of food that made you feel like maybe life wasn't so bad.

"Thank you," I said.

She bowed and stepped out.

Silence returned.

I stared at the food for a long moment.

The fish looked great.

Maybe I should eat.

So I did.

It was warm. Tasty. Well made—balanced flavors, careful seasoning, not a single grain of rice undercooked.

I hadn't expected to finish it all, but I did. Somehow, my body knew it needed it.

Would've been a shame to waste food someone put that much care into.

I leaned back. Let out a quiet sigh.

Then closed my eyes.

Just for a bit.

But sleep didn't last long.

Because a few minutes later—it sounded like a battlefield outside.

Shouting. Crashing. Screams. Laughter?

The whole house shook like a war had started.

I blinked at the ceiling.

What now?

...Probably that boar-headed man again.

To Be Continued.