Sky

When the curtain finally dropped and the spotlights went out, the illusion vanished. Breathing heavily, you walked down the stairs backstage. Your legs hummed from hours of dancing in high heels, and an unceasing ringing echoed in your ears. But physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the tension that bound your nervous system.

The stage was the only place where you felt safe because an invisible boundary lay between you and the rest of the world there. But the moment you found yourself backstage, among the technical staff, managers, and stagehands, a familiar, sticky knot of panic rose in your throat.

Every time a large man among the technicians walked too close, your breathing faltered. Your shoulders instinctively tightened, and your fingers clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms until your knuckles turned white. In your memory, like a worn-out reel of film, memories surfaced of the day that split your life into "before" and "after" forever.

It happened six months ago. Your former bodyguard—a man the agency trusted with your life, whose duty was to protect you from crazy fans and stalkers—turned out to be the main threat himself. You remembered the heaviness of his hands, the smell of alcohol on his breath, the locked dressing room door, and that paralyzing, animal terror when you realized no one was coming to help. You managed to break free by hitting him with a heavy bottle of hairspray and running into the corridor. The scandal was swept under the rug, the man was put behind bars, but the crack in your psyche turned into a gaping chasm. Ever since, the presence of men in enclosed spaces caused you uncontrollable panic attacks. You stopped sleeping, flinched at every rustle, and refused to leave the house unless strict contract requirements demanded it.

That was when your agency, realizing the full gravity of the situation (and unwilling to lose their main asset, who wasn't even burdened by a dating ban), took unprecedented measures. They terminated the contract with the regular security firm and turned to the elite.

That was how the "Hashira" Security Agency appeared in your life.

They were top-class professionals. They cost astronomical sums, but their reputation was flawless. However, your manager's primary condition was singular: your personal, inseparable bodyguard—the person who would be with you in the dressing rooms, in the car, and at home—had to be a woman.

And that woman was Kocho Kanae.

"You did wonderfully, [Y/N]-san," a soft, melodic voice rang out, pulling you from the abyss of dark memories.

You raised your eyes. Kanae stood before you. She wore a strict, impeccably tailored black suit, a white shirt, and a tie. Her long, jet-black hair fell freely over her shoulders, pinned at the sides with delicate butterfly-shaped hairclips. There was a strange, almost hypnotic grace to her presence. She moved silently, like a shadow, yet radiated such a powerful aura of calm and safety that your tense muscles involuntarily relaxed.

Kanae handed you a bottle of water and a fresh towel. There was neither harshness nor fuss in her movements. She stopped at precisely the distance that was comfortable for you, without violating your personal space.

"Thank you, Kanae," you smiled faintly, accepting the water. Your fingers brushed against hers by chance, and a pleasant, soothing shiver ran through your body. "I'm so tired. I just want to go home."

"The car is already waiting at the back entrance. The guys cleared the perimeter, there are no fans there. We can leave as soon as you're ready," Kanae smiled softly in response, her purple eyes glowing with genuine care.

You nodded, throwing an oversized jacket over your shoulders. Beside Kocho Kanae, the monsters of your past didn't seem quite so terrifying.

Leaving a concert hall was always a complex operation. But ever since the Hashira guarded you, everything had changed. Your agency hired an entire team to ensure your public safety, and they worked like a perfectly oiled machine.

When the doors opened, you saw them. Uzui Tengen, a tall, muscular man with striking silver hair, stood by the exit, drawing the press's attention with his flamboyant appearance and charisma, acting as a brilliant diversion. Rengoku Kyojuro and Himejima Gyomei formed an impenetrable human wall that not even the most aggressive fan could break through. Sanemi Shinazugawa and Obanai Iguro scanned the crowd with prickly, piercing gazes, cutting off any suspicious movements. And Tomioka Giyu controlled the escape routes.

At first, their presence terrified you. They were large, strong men who radiated danger. Your trauma made you shrink into a ball every time Sanemi growled loudly at annoying paparazzi, or when Tengen turned too sharply in your direction.

But here, Kanae came to the rescue once again.

She became more than just your bodyguard; she became your bridge to healing. Kanae was the eldest in the Kocho family, and her maternal, empathetic instinct was incredibly strong. She understood your fear without words.

"Sanemi-kun, please speak a little quieter, you're scaring [Y/N]-san," Kanae would gently yet authoritatively remark as you walked toward the car. And to your immense surprise, the stern, scarred Shinazugawa would instantly fall silent, guiltily lowering his head and stepping back a couple of paces to give you more space.

"They look scary," Kanae once told you as you sat in the armored van while Rengoku drove. "Kanae-san just whispered to me, but trust me, [Y/N]-san, every single one of them has a heart of gold. They are here so you can sing and smile without looking over your shoulder. They would never harm you. I vouch for each of them with my life."

Gradually, day by day, Kanae taught you how to trust again. She showed you that male strength could be directed toward protection rather than destruction. She asked Rengoku to serve you tea when you were in the dressing room so you would get used to his loud yet kind voice. She allowed Tengen to tell you his wild stories about his wives so you would see him not as a threat, but as an amusing, slightly eccentric friend. The Hashira, instructed by Kanae about your condition, behaved toward you as gently as if you were made of the thinnest glass.

Yet, despite all the progress in overcoming your fear of men, your heart chose an entirely different path. It reached out to the one who had become your main sanctuary—to the woman with eyes the color of evening twilight.

Your relationship had long since crossed the boundaries of a professional contract. Within the walls of your luxury apartment, free of fans, cameras, and other bodyguards, Kanae stayed with you. Officially, she was just supposed to stand watch in the living room or guest room. But loneliness frightened you no less than the crowd.

It started with small things. After grueling, hours-long choreography rehearsals, when your body ached and your nervous system was exhausted to the limit, you sat on the living room sofa, hugging your knees. Kanae would bring you hot tea and sit beside you, at a respectful distance, ready to listen to your worries at any moment.

On one such evening, the silence in the apartment felt especially heavy. You looked at Kanae, at her relaxed posture, at how the floor lamp's light played in her hair. An immense, unbearable need for tactile contact, for human warmth of which you had been deprived due to your fear, suddenly washed over you.

Slowly, hesitatingly, you reached out your hand. Your fingers trembled as you crossed the distance between you and timidly, barely touching, placed your palm over hers resting on the sofa's armrest.

Kanae froze. She shifted her gaze to your hand, then to your face. Tears of exhaustion and silent pleading welled in your eyes. You expected her to pull away, to remind you of subordination. But instead, Kanae smoothly turned her palm over and interlocked her fingers with yours. Her hand was warm, slightly rough from constant hand-to-hand combat training, but so dependable.

"Kanae..." your voice broke into a whisper. "I'm so tired. Can you... can you stroke my head? Please."

It was the plea of a small, frightened girl hiding behind the mask of an untouchable pop idol.

Kanae’s smile grew so tender it made your heart ache. "Of course, sweetie," she answered quietly. For the first time, she dropped the formal "-san" suffix.

She moved closer. You instinctively leaned in, resting your forehead against her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her perfume—the light fragrance of blooming wisteria. Kanae’s free hand descended onto your hair. She began to slowly, rhythmically stroke your head, running strands through her fingers. Every movement of hers was filled with such boundless, healing care that all your fears, complexes, and anxieties dissolved like sugar in hot water. You closed your eyes, feeling tension leave your body, giving way to a sweet, warming feeling of infatuation.

Ever since that evening, it became your secret tradition. Every time the doors of your apartment closed, erasing the boundaries between idol and bodyguard, you sought her hand. You held her hand when you watched movies. You asked her to stroke your hair when you couldn't sleep. And Kanae never refused. Her touches became your personal brand of therapy, and her smile your most precious treasure.

Yet neither of you dared to speak aloud what had long lingered in the air. Kanae was held back by her professional duty and fear of crossing your newly formed personal boundaries. And you were held back by your own complexes and insecurities.

Fortunately, the Hashira Security Agency employed not only stern fighters, but also incredibly perceptive people.

They saw everything. Any professional bodyguard can read body language. And the Hashira, possessing phenomenal observational skills, doubly so. They saw how your gaze always searched for Kanae in a crowd. They noticed how Kanae grew tense and ready to kill anyone who looked at you sideways, even though she continued to smile outwardly. They saw you blush when your shoulders accidentally brushed.

"Those two are going to drive me crazy with their indecision," Uzui Tengen rolled his eyes, sitting in the security agency's break room. "It's completely un-flamboyant! Kanae circles around her like a bee around a flower, but is afraid to land. And our precious client looks at Kanae as if she's a goddess descended from heaven."

"Kanae-san is simply very responsible," Rengoku noted, crossing his arms over his chest. "She believes her feelings might harm the client! That's noble, but fundamentally wrong!"

"If they keep this up, I'll go over and bang their heads together myself," Sanemi growled, polishing his knife. "It's irritating."

Kanae’s younger sister, Shinobu, who also worked at the agency, sighed heavily. "Onee-san is too delicate. And [Y/N]-san is too traumatized to take the first step. They need a catalyst. A strong emotional push that will make them forget the rules."

Tengen’s eyes gleamed predatory. He snapped his fingers, adorned with massive rings. "Leave it to me! I have the most brilliant, most extravagant plan in the history of the security business! Tomorrow is [Y/N]'s day off, and the agency approved a group outing to the city. We'll set everything up."

The next day, the weather in Tokyo was ideal. The management of your agency agreed to a rare outing: you were allowed to visit a large upscale shopping mall on the condition that the Hashira accompanied you in civilian clothes, dispersed around the perimeter. There were no dating bans in your contract—your image was built on talent and sincerity, not the illusion of accessibility to fans.

You put on simple yet stylish clothes, hiding your face behind dark glasses and a cap, and for the first time in a long while, felt like an ordinary girl.

Shinobu and Mitsuri Kanroji (who worked alongside Obanai) took on the role of your girlfriends.

"[Y/N]-chan! Look at this dress! It's simply made for you!" Mitsuri eagerly dragged you into an upscale boutique, waving a hanger with a pale pink sundress. "You'll look so cute in it!"

Shinobu, walking beside you, smiled cunningly. "Agreed. I'm sure someone won't be able to take their eyes off you if you wear it on your next... evening hangout."

You flushed a deep crimson, understanding Shinobu's hint, but let yourself be dragged into the fitting room. It was fun. You laughed, tried on outfits, and discussed fashion with the girls. For the first time in many months, you felt so alive and carefree. The male Hashira kept a respectful distance, monitoring the boutique's entrances and escalators, ensuring your complete safety.

And Kanae... Kanae stood by the window, watching you laugh, and her heart filled with absolute, boundless happiness. Seeing you smile, free from panic attacks, was the greatest reward for her.

While you and Mitsuri were choosing shoes, Tengen quietly approached the rest of the guys and Shinobu. "Listen up. Right now, we're heading out to the open terrace with fountains. We're going to smoothly blend into the crowd and 'lose' them from sight, creating the illusion that they're left alone. I've already checked the perimeter, it's safe. And then my trump card enters the game."

He gestured toward a tall, stunningly beautiful, and very confident-looking woman standing near a coffee shop nearby.

"I paid her a tidy sum," the Sound Pillar smirked smugly. "She's a professional actress. Her task is to approach Kanae when they're alone and start flirting very, very aggressively. Let's see how our precious pop star reacts to competition. Jealousy is the best stimulant for courage!"

"That is outrageous and extremely unprofessional," Tomioka Giyu frowned.

"It's genius," Shinobu retorted, her eyes sparkling gleefully. "Onee-san will never realize it's a setup, and [Y/N]-san will finally take the initiative. Let's move."

The outing shifted to the open, sun-drenched terrace of the shopping mall. A massive fountain beat in the middle of the square. The Hashira, as if on cue, silently dispersed, leaving you and Kanae right in the center, alone.

You walked slowly along the fountain's edge. You took off your cap, exposing your face to the light breeze. In your hands was pistachio ice cream that Kanae had bought you a few minutes ago.

"Are you having fun?" Kanae asked, walking slightly behind, her gaze caressing your profile.

"Very," you turned to her with a radiant smile. "Thank you for organizing this. I haven't felt... normal in so long."

Kanae laughed softly, adjusting a strand that had come loose from your hairstyle. "You are normal, [Y/N]. You're wonderful. And I'm glad you're smiling."

You looked into each other's eyes, and the world around seemed to cease existing. The air between you grew thick, electrified. Kanae took a step closer, her breathing faltering. You leaned forward as well, feeling your heart beat at a frantic rhythm.

"Excuse me!" a sudden, loud, and very confident female voice rang out.

The spell shattered. You both startled and turned around.

Standing before you was the very woman Tengen had hired. Tall, in a form-fitting red dress, with brightly painted lips and a predatory look. She completely ignored you (thoroughly disguised by dark glasses) and focused all her attention on Kanae.

"I just couldn't walk past," the woman coquettishly flipped her hair back, stepping uncomfortably close to Kanae. Her voice oozed honey and blatant flirtation. "I was sitting at a café and watching you. You look stunning. You have such incredible posture and those butterflies in your hair... simply charming."

Kanae, always impeccably polite but completely unaccustomed to such pressure from strangers, was slightly taken aback. Her bodyguard instincts kicked in for a second, but she saw no threat in the woman. "Thank you," Kanae smiled politely, taking half a step back to maintain distance. "You're very kind."

But the woman wasn't backing down. She stepped forward, her hand with a flawless manicure reaching out and casually touching the lapel of Kanae's jacket. "I'm a photographer. And I'd love to work with you. But I must admit, my interest isn't purely professional," the woman smiled invitingly, lowering her voice. "Maybe we could grab coffee? Right now? Or would you leave me your phone number? I promise, it won't be boring."

You froze. The ice cream in your hand began to melt, dripping onto the asphalt. Your complexes, which had slept all day, suddenly struck you in the gut. This woman was tall. She was incredibly confident, uninhibited, and bold. She was the exact opposite of you—a small, broken girl who feared her own shadow and needed constant protection. Why should Kanae choose you when there were such bright, strong women around?

Kanae, noticing you tense up and pale, instantly lost all interest in politeness. Her smile turned cold and professional.

"Pardon me, but I must refuse," Kanae's voice turned hard as steel. She softly yet firmly removed the woman's hand from her jacket. "I am currently at work. And even if I weren't, I am not interested in making acquaintances. Have a good day."

Yet the hired actress was working for her fee two hundred percent. "Oh, come on," she laughed invitingly, taking another step and nearly pressing against Kanae. "What work on such a lovely day? Your friend won't mind if I steal you for half an hour, right? Come on, give me your number. I know how to be very persistent."

The woman reached out to take Kanae's hand.

And right then, something snapped inside you.

The fear of being rejected, the fear of not being good enough, suddenly receded before a powerful, scorching, primitive wave of jealousy and possessiveness. This was your Kanae. The very same Kanae who stroked your hair. The very same Kanae who chased away your nightmares.

Before the bodyguard could push the annoying stranger away, you took a sharp step forward.

You tossed the unfinished ice cream into the nearest trash can, and your small yet strong hand grabbed Kanae's wrist in a death grip. You squeezed her fingers, interlocking them with yours, and pulled Kocho toward you with force, making her stand almost flush against you.

The actress froze in surprise. Kanae widened her eyes in shock, looking down at you.

You didn't take off your glasses, but your chin was stubbornly lifted. You stood straight, taut like a string, staring at the tall woman before you. Your voice, usually so soft and timid, now rang out loud, clear, and with undeniable authority honed by years of performing before tens of thousands of crowds.

"She already told you she's not interested," you said coldly and harshly. Your hand squeezed Kanae's palm even tighter. "And it's not about work. It's about the fact that she is with me. And I really don't like when someone tries to flirt with my person right in front of me. So I'll ask you to step away."

Tengen, watching the scene through binoculars from the second-floor balcony, silently screamed with delight, triumphantly thrusting his fist into the air. Shinobu smiled contentedly.

Kanae, hearing your words, felt her heart skip a beat and then race at a crazy rhythm. You, her small, frightened client, had just publicly staked claims on her. A wave of absolute, burning adoration washed over Kocho completely. All professional barriers collapsed in a single second.

Kanae hesitated no longer. With her free hand, she grabbed your waist, pulling you against her authoritatively and tenderly. She looked at the stranger with her signature piercing gaze, which now lacked a single drop of politeness.

"You heard my girlfriend," Kanae's voice was like velvet wrapped around a steel blade. Her smile turned predatory. "She really dislikes pushy people. And I really dislike when anything upsets my girlfriend. I strongly recommend you leave before I call mall security."

Realizing her mission was over-fulfilled (and slightly frightened by Kanae's aura), the actress raised her hands placatingly. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were together. Have a nice life," she spun around on her heels and quickly vanished into the crowd.

You were left alone. Kanae still held your waist firmly, and you still gripped her hand. Your breathing was fast, your chest rising heavily. The adrenaline that had made you act began to recede, replaced by fear of what you had just done. You called her your girlfriend. And she played along to get rid of the stranger.

You slowly let go of her hand and tried to step back, lowering your head. "Sorry..." you muttered, burning with shame. "I shouldn't have done that. It was unprofessional. I just... she was pressing you so hard, and I was afraid that..."

Yet Kanae wouldn't let you pull away. She kept her hold on your waist. "It's alright, [Y/N]," her voice was remarkably raspy. "You did the right thing. Let's go. It's time to head home."

The rest of the way to the car and the entire drive to your penthouse passed in a deafening, ringing silence. The Hashira escorting you exchanged understanding smiles but uttered not a word.

When the front door of your apartment closed, cutting you off from the outside world, the silence became unbearable. You took off your jacket and shoes, feeling as though you had just run a marathon. Your thoughts were in complete chaos. She called you her girlfriend. But that was just a game to deflect attention, right? As a bodyguard, she had to play along.

Kanae stopped in the hallway, checking security systems out of habit, though her thoughts were far from work.

"I'll draw a bath and make tea," Kanae said routinely, without looking at you.

Yet you couldn't take it anymore. This uncertainty, the gap between what happened at the square and this cold politeness now, was killing you. Your old fears mixed with new emotions, creating an explosive cocktail.

You spun around. Your eyes, stripped of protective glasses, were full of tears and despair. "No," you said firmly.

You walked up to Kanae, grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her along. Kanae gasped in surprise but obediently followed you.

You led her down the hallway, past the living room, straight to the massive oak door of your bedroom. This was your absolute sanctuary. A place where you had never let a single person enter since that horrible incident with your former bodyguard. Even cleaning staff entered only under your strict supervision. Your bedroom was the fortress of your fear.

You flung the door open and dragged Kanae inside. Then you slammed the door, turned the lock, and leaned your back against it, cutting off retreat for both of you.

The room was plunged in semi-darkness. A wide bed, heavy curtains, not a single unnecessary item. Kanae froze in the middle of the room, stunned by your actions. She knew what this step meant for you. You had let her into your most vulnerable space.

"[Y/N]..." she began quietly, taking a step toward you.

"Why did you say that?" your voice broke, tears rolling down your cheeks. You could no longer hold up the mask of a successful, strong star. You were just a broken girl who desperately wanted love. "Why did you play along out there at the square? Why did you call me your girlfriend?"

"I wasn't playing along..." Kanae tried to say, but you interrupted her, words pouring out of you in a torrent of pain and complexes.

"You saw her! You saw that woman! She's tall, she's bold, she's beautiful! She doesn't have panic attacks when someone gets too close!" you hugged yourself, sliding down the door to the floor. "And me? Look at me, Kanae. I don't even measure up to idol standards. I'm too short, too fragile. Everyone has always looked down on me. That bastard... my past guard... he looked down on me too. He thought that because I was small, I was weak. That meant he could do whatever he wanted with me, and I couldn't fight back."

You sobbed, choking on the pain you had carried inside for months. "I hate my height! I hate my weakness! I'm constantly terrified! Why should you bother with a coward like me when there are women who can offer you a normal life instead of a babysitter job for a hysterical mess?!"

The words hung in the air like a heavy, leaden weight. Your trauma, your deepest complexes lay bared before her.

Kanae didn't hesitate from afar. She quickly crossed the room, dropped to her knees right in front of you on the soft carpet, and resolutely yet incredibly tenderly framed your face with both hands. She forced you to lift your head and look into her eyes.

In her purple eyes, there was neither pity nor professional detachment. They blazed with an ocean of love, so deep and all-consuming that your tears momentarily stopped.

"Stop," Kanae's voice was stern yet soaked in such tenderness that everything inside you trembled. "Never, do you hear me, [Y/N], never speak of yourself like that again. You aren't weak. You survived what would have broken most people, and you continue to step onto the stage, bringing light to millions. You are the strongest, bravest woman I have ever met."

She began covering your face with light, weightless kisses—kissing your tear-stained eyes, your cheeks, your forehead. "I don't need tall, confident strangers. I don't need anyone except you. Your height, your fragility—these aren't your flaws. They're what make you perfect in my eyes. When I look at you, I don't see a victim. I see my queen, for whom I am ready to burn this entire world if anyone dares to hurt you."

You gasped raggedly, your hands timidly resting on her shoulders. "Kanae..."

"Out there by the fountain... that wasn't a game, [Y/N]," Kanae pulled back by a millimeter to look straight into your soul. Her voice trembled with overwhelming emotion. "When you took my hand and called me yours... it was the happiest moment of my life. I love you. I've been in love with you since the very first day I saw you backstage when you were trembling with fear yet still went out to meet the fans with a smile. I love your hair, your voice, the way you ask me to stroke your head. I love all of you, entirely, with all your fears and scars."

Tears poured from your eyes anew, but this time they were tears of absolute, cleansing grace. The massive, heavy wall of your complexes crumbled under the weight of her sincerity. She didn't consider you a burden. She considered you her miracle.

You hesitated no longer. You leaned forward, wrapped both arms around her neck, and pressed your lips to hers.

Kanae responded instantly. It was a kiss blending salty tears, desperate tenderness, and passion held back for months. She wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you so close that not a single millimeter of free space remained between you. Her lips were soft yet incredibly persistent. She kissed you with such care as though you were made of the finest porcelain, yet with such passion as though she wanted to dissolve into you completely.

You answered her, feeling your fingers bury themselves in her long dark hair. All fear, all pain of the past vanished, burning away in the fire of that kiss. In Kocho Kanae's embrace, there was no room for monsters. Here, there was only safety, warmth, and boundless love.

When you pulled apart, breathing heavily, Kanae pressed her forehead against yours. Her chest heaved, and her lips wore that very sincere, loving smile meant exclusively for you.

"Does this mean I can officially call you my girlfriend not just in front of annoying actresses hired by Tengen?" Kanae whispered with a mischievous, happy note.

You froze for a second, processing her words. Your eyes widened. "Wait... hired by Tengen? So it was a setup?!"

Kanae laughed softly, melodically, kissing the tip of your nose. "Oh, darling, the Hashira can be very dangerous matchmakers. But I don't regret anything. If not for this brilliant, as Uzui would say, plan, I probably wouldn't have dared to break professional ethics for a long time."

You gasped indignantly, but immediately burst into laughter, burying your face in her shoulder.

"I'm firing all of them," you muttered through laughter, feeling utterly happy.

"Just not me," Kanae whispered, holding you tighter. "My contract with you is now lifelong. And it is non-cancellable."

There, Shinobu was waiting for you.

You had been married for many years, and every day spent together felt like a fairy tale brought to life. Shinobu Kochou—a brilliant doctor, co-owner of a prestigious private clinic, a woman with an incredibly sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. Yet with you, she shed her prickly armor. At home, she was simply your loving wife, brewing chamomile tea for you after grueling practices, massaging your tired muscles, and falling asleep with her nose pressed against your neck. Your life was as happy as it could possibly be in this bustling, unpredictable world.

Yet other people's success always breeds envy.

It was the day of the National Championship finals. You were the main favorite, ready to claim yet another gold. Stepping out of the hotel, you got into the company car provided by your sponsors. The driver gently pulled away. You closed your eyes, mentally running through the elements of your free skate, picturing Shinobu watching you from the stands, proudly clutching a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

You didn't know that overnight, someone whose heart had been poisoned by jealousy and malice had crept into the parking lot. The brake lines had been severed with surgical, villainous precision.

The disaster struck on the steep descent of the overpass. In a panic, the driver slammed his foot down on the brake pedal, but the car only gathered speed, turning into an uncontrollable metal projectile. The screech of tires, the driver's scream, the deafening crunch of tearing metal, and the sound of shattering glass—all of it merged into a single symphony of terror. At full speed, the car smashed through the barrier and crashed into a concrete bridge pier. The world instantly plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness for you.

You were rushed to the nearest major medical center—the Kochou sisters' clinic.

As the blood-soaked stretcher was wheeled into the emergency department, Shinobu was just finishing her rounds. Catching sight of your pale, battered face, she dropped her tablet. Her heart skipped a beat, and the world around her ceased to exist.

"Y/N..." she breathed, rushing toward you and pushing the orderlies aside. Her hands, always so confident and steady, were shaking.

"Doctor Kochou, step back! She has a severe traumatic brain injury, multiple fractures, we're losing her!" the emergency doctor shouted.

Shinobu knew the protocol. She knew she couldn't operate on her own spouse. It violated all medical ethics and clouded the judgment. But surrendering your life into someone else's hands was physically unbearable. Only thanks to Kanae's iron grip—her older sister, who literally dragged Shinobu away from the operating room—did the Insect Hashira keep from breaking down in hysterics right there in the hallway. The surgery lasted ten hours. Ten hours of hell during which Shinobu sat on the floor of the staff room, clutching her wedding ring in her hand and silently begging all the gods in the universe not to take you away from her.

You survived. Yet you slipped into a deep, medically induced coma.

Three endless, agonizing months passed. Every day, Shinobu sat by your bed. She changed your IV drips herself, checked the monitor readings herself. She talked to you, read books to you, told you how much she missed your laughter and how much she hated the silence in their empty home.

As a doctor, Shinobu fully understood the risks. The head injury had been catastrophic. The probability that you would wake up with severe cognitive impairments was frighteningly high.

Then, one rainy autumn morning, your eyelashes fluttered.

Shinobu, dozing in the chair beside the bed, instantly woke up at the change in the heart monitor's rhythm. She bolted upright, her eyes wide with hope.

You slowly opened your eyes. The light in the room stabbed at your retina. You winced, groaning softly. Your head was splitting, and your body felt foreign, heavy, filled with lead.

"Y/N... darling, can you hear me?" Shinobu's voice trembled with tears. She leaned over you, her violet eyes shining with such boundless, desperate love that it could have melted any glacier. She reached out to take your hand, to press it against her lips.

Yet you weakly pulled your hand away. Your gaze, sliding across her face, was empty. There was no recognition in it, no warmth. Only the primal, deep fear of a person waking up in the unknown.

"Who... who are you?" your voice was hoarse, breaking. You scanned the white walls of the room, the beeping monitors, and then looked back at her. Panic began to engulf you. "Where am I? And... who am I? I don't remember. I don't remember anything!"

Shinobu's hand hung suspended in the air. Her heart, having just soared to the heavens from the joy of your awakening, plunged and shattered into pieces.

Amnesia.

The worst-case scenario of all possibilities had become reality. You remembered neither your brilliant career, nor your parents, nor the years you had spent together. To you, Shinobu Kochou, the love of your life, was simply an unfamiliar woman in a white coat.

Shinobu's brilliant medical mind instantly suppressed the hysterics of a loving wife. She knew that abrupt, aggressive memory recovery—trying to forcibly make you remember facts from your past life when your brain was still so vulnerable—could lead to irreversible psychological trauma. Pressure would only cause you greater pain, triggering rejection and paranoia. She had to protect you. Even if it meant tearing her own soul to shreds.

Shinobu slowly lowered her hand. She straightened up, taking a deep breath, hiding all her agony behind a professional, gentle smile.

"Hush, please, don't worry," her voice became even, soothing, devoid of the intimate tenderness it held a second ago. "You're in a hospital. You were in a serious car accident and spent a few months in a coma. My name is Doctor Kochou Shinobu. I'm your attending physician. You're safe."

You looked at her, breathing heavily, trying to grasp onto any thought in your empty head.

"Doctor Kochou..." you whispered, tasting the name. It felt strangely familiar, yet slipped away like sand through your fingers. "I... I don't remember anything. There's just white noise in my head."

"That's normal after an injury like that," Shinobu gently adjusted the blanket, taking care not to brush against your skin so she wouldn't break down crying. "We're going to restore your memory gradually. Step by step. Trust me."

The long and difficult rehabilitation process began. Your body, accustomed to the colossal physical demands of a figure skater, had grown weak. You were learning to walk again, to hold a spoon again, to live again. And all this time, Doctor Kochou was right there.

She came to see you every day. Strict, professional, always in a flawlessly white coat with her butterfly hairpin in her hair. She didn't tell you that you were married. She told you your name was Y/N, that you were a former athlete, but she kept the details of your personal life concealed, citing that you needed time for your brain to start generating memories on its own.

Kanae, the head physician of the clinic and Shinobu's older sister, watched this scene with a heavy heart. She saw how Shinobu locked herself in her office in the evenings and wept from powerlessness, unable to embrace her own wife. Kanae several times made a move to tell you the truth, but Shinobu strictly forbade it.

Yet soon, Kanae began to notice something remarkable.

It happened on the day of your very first attempt to walk down the corridor without crutches. Your legs buckled, and you would have fallen if Shinobu hadn't caught you. In a panic, you clutched at her coat, breathing heavily, frustrated by your own weakness.

Unable to bear it, Shinobu lost her composure for a second. Her face twisted with pain for you, tears welled in her eyes, and her hands shook. She had always hated her own helplessness, and now, seeing your suffering, she was ready to snap.

And that was when Kanae saw it.

You, remembering nothing about yourself, suddenly lifted your gaze to Shinobu. Your eyes, previously filled with panic and disappointment, instantly changed. They gained that very same deep, warm, almost maternal serenity that had always been your trademark. You didn't know who this woman in front of you was, but your instinct, your soul, which loved her more than life, worked faster than your mind.

Softly, almost weightlessly, you placed your trembling palm over the hand Shinobu had wrapped around your waist.

"Doctor Kochou... it's alright," your voice was quiet, even, and incredibly calm. You looked straight into her eyes, and that gaze conveyed such absolute, unconditional support that Shinobu instantly froze. "Don't worry. I'll manage. You're a great doctor. I'm going to be fine."

Kanae, standing in the doorway of the room, covered her mouth with her hand, smiling happily through her tears. She recognized that look. With that exact look, you had always calmed the fiery, prickly Shinobu whenever she came home exhausted and angry at the whole world. You might have forgotten your name, you might have forgotten your medals and your home, but you hadn't forgotten how to love her. Your soul remembered Shinobu.

Kanae quietly stepped back into the corridor. She understood everything. She didn't need to interfere. Love, erased from memory, was already planting new roots. All she could do was watch this story write itself anew.

Weeks went by. You began noticing strange things about yourself.

Every time Doctor Kochou entered the room, your heart performed a joyful somersault. The scent of her perfume—a mix of lavender and wisteria—gave you goosebumps, warming a thick, sweet feeling of nostalgia deep in your chest. You felt as though you knew every curve of her face. When she frowned while studying your chart, you felt an unbearable urge to reach out and smooth away the wrinkle between her eyebrows. When she smiled her polite, professional smile, something inside you screamed that the smile was fake, that you knew her real, genuine smile.

You were falling in love with your attending physician. Falling deeply, hopelessly, and desperately.

You felt comfortable sitting in silence with her. You liked listening to her voice. You caught yourself awaiting her morning rounds with such eagerness as if your life depended on it.

Yet one day, while Shinobu was checking your blood pressure, your eyes dropped to her left hand. A simple yet elegant white gold band gleamed faintly on her ring finger.

Your heart plummeted into an abyss.

She is married.

The thought struck you harder than the physical pain of your fractures. That day, you grew unusually quiet. You turned toward the window when she tried to speak to you, asking to be left alone under the pretext of fatigue. Your soul was tearing apart from guilt and helplessness. How could you fall in love with a married person? How could you be so selfish? Doctor Kochou must have a wonderful family, someone waiting for her at home while she spent time with you. You stood no chance. You were just a broken patient with no past.

Shinobu was not blind. She possessed incredible perceptiveness and saw perfectly how your behavior had shifted. She noticed how your gaze, full of dawning tenderness, suddenly slammed into her ring and then dimmed, replaced by cold detachment.

Her brilliant mind quickly added two and two together. You had fallen in love with her all over again. But your nobility prevented you from breaking up a "foreign" marriage.

Shinobu could have told you everything right then and there. She could have fetched the documents, shown photographs. But she saw how you suffered from the lack of an identity. She wanted you to fall in love with her not because it was written on a marriage certificate, but because your heart chose her all over again. She decided not just to tell you the truth. She decided to make you walk the exact same path you had walked years ago.

She was going to make you fall in love with her all over again, ignoring all the rules.

Her tactics shifted. Professional distance was cast aside. Doctor Kochou transformed into a woman persistently yet gracefully pursuing your attention.

One evening, long after official visiting hours had ended, the door to your room opened. Shinobu entered not in a white coat, but in an elegant casual dress. In her hands, she held two paper cups and a paper bag.

"Doctor Kochou?" you raised yourself up on the pillows in surprise. "Did something happen with my test results?"

"Drop the formalities, Y/N, we aren't on rounds right now," she smiled softly, sitting down in the chair by the bed and handing you one of the cups. "I figured hospital food must have driven you out of your mind by now. This is hot chocolate with double marshmallows and a hint of cinnamon. And fresh ginger cookies from the bakery around the corner."

You froze, taking the cup into your hands. The aroma of hot chocolate hit your nose, and a vivid flash of lightning crossed your mind: snow, ice, laced-up skates, and someone's warm hands handing you the exact same cup.

"How on earth... do you know that I like this exact kind of chocolate?" your voice trembled.

"Just a guess," Shinobu slyly narrowed her eyes, taking a sip from her own cup. "Your medical chart says you're a figure skater. And all skaters love hot chocolate after the ice. Don't they?"

You couldn't help a smile. "I suppose so. Thank you... Shinobu."

The next day, she brought you a book. It was an old, tattered volume of poetry. "I found this in the clinic library. Thought you might be bored," she said, leaving the book on the bedside table.

When you opened it, you realized you knew every single line by heart. It was the very same book Shinobu used to read aloud to you when you were sick many years ago. With every poem you read, flowers blossomed in your soul.

Shinobu began breaking clinic rules for your sake. She came at night when you couldn't sleep due to phantom pains. She no longer sat in the chair. She sat on the edge of your bed, took your hand in hers, and quietly, soothingly told funny stories about Kanae and the other doctors.

One day, when you were strong enough to get around in a wheelchair, Shinobu secretly wheeled you out into the hospital garden.

It was late spring. The garden was planted with wisteria trees that were now in full bloom, dropping purple petals onto the pathways. The air was saturated with a sweet, intoxicating scent.

Shinobu stopped the wheelchair beneath the largest tree. She walked around the chair and stood in front of you. Moonlight fell across her face, making her look like an ethereal creature.

"Pretty, isn't it?" she asked quietly, catching a falling petal.

"Very," you weren't looking at the flowers. You were looking at her.

At that moment, you forgot about her ring. You forgot about the amnesia. You forgot about decorum. Your heart was screaming so loudly that you could no longer hold it back.

"Shinobu..." you reached forward and gently took her hand. The very same hand where the wedding ring gleamed. Your fingers shook, yet you didn't let go. "I know I have no right. I know that you're... that you're married. And I know I'm just a broken person with no past. But I can't pretend anymore."

Shinobu held her breath. Her eyes widened.

"I've fallen in love with you," your voice was full of despair and absolute sincerity. Tears welled in your eyes. "Ever since the day I woke up. Every look you give me, every smile... I feel like I've known you my whole life. I don't want to ruin your family. I just wanted you to know. Forgive me."

You lowered your head, expecting her to pull her hand away. Expecting her to say it was unprofessional, a mistake.

Instead, you heard a quiet, silvery laugh.

In shock, you raised your head. Shinobu was laughing. It wasn't a cruel or mocking laugh. It was the laugh of someone from whose shoulders an enormous, unbearable mountain had just fallen. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her face radiated such absolute happiness that it took your breath away.

She dropped to her knees right there on the path strewn with wisteria petals, coming face-to-face with you.

"Oh, my foolish, noble Y/N," she whispered, her voice trembling with overwhelming emotion. She cupped your face in both hands, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks with her thumbs. "You aren't ruining my family."

"But... your ring..." you looked at her left hand uncomprehendingly.

"My ring?" Shinobu smiled through her tears. She raised her left hand, showcasing the thin white gold band. "Yes, I am married. To the most stubborn, most talented, and most wonderful person in the world. A person who loves hot chocolate with cinnamon, who knows old poetry by heart, and who calms me down with a single glance when I'm ready to explode with anger."

Your brain raced to piece the puzzle together. Your eyes widened.

Shinobu unbuttoned the top buttons of her coat and reached for her neck. She pulled out a thin silver chain that had been hidden under her clothes the entire time.

A ring hung from the chain. Completely identical to the one on her ring finger.

"When they brought you to the ICU after the crash, the orderlies had to take it off your hand because of the swelling," Shinobu whispered, lifting the chain over her head. "I've worn it right against my heart this entire time. Waiting for you to be ready to wear it again."

She placed the chain with the ring into your trembling palm. The metal was warm from her skin.

"You... we..." you couldn't string two words together. The shock was colossal, yet alongside it came a feeling of relief so profound as though the missing piece of your soul had finally clicked into its rightful place.

"Yes, my love. We are married," Shinobu held back no longer. She pressed her forehead against yours, her breath mingling with yours. "You are my wife. I didn't tell you because I was afraid of scaring you. Afraid you would hate me for pushing. I wanted you to choose me all over again. Without hints."

Tears poured from your eyes in a torrent. You looked down at the ring in your hand, and then at the woman kneeling before you. Phantom memories, fragments of feelings, scents, and touches suddenly made sense. The void in your head hadn't filled with facts, but your heart... your heart had known all along.

You dropped the chain, threw both arms around Shinobu's neck, and pulled her toward you.

Your lips met hers in a desperate, deep kiss. It was no longer the kiss of a patient and a doctor. It was the kiss of two people who had found each other in the dark, fighting through amnesia, fear, and pain. You kissed her as if trying to breathe into her all the love you couldn't express in words. Shinobu answered you with matching passion, her hands tangling in your hair, holding you tight as if terrified you would vanish again.

She tasted like tears, chamomile tea, and the promise of eternity.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, Shinobu gently stroked your cheek.

"I still don't remember our wedding day," you whispered, burying your nose in her palm, feeling like the happiest woman in the universe. "I don't remember how we met."

"That doesn't matter," Shinobu smiled, her violet eyes shining in the moonlight. She picked up the ring from the chain and slowly, reverently slid it onto the ring finger of your left hand. It fit perfectly. "We have our whole lives ahead of us to make new memories. We can go on our first date a thousand times over. I will make you fall in love with me every single day if I have to."

You looked down at your hand, where the ring now gleamed, and then up at Shinobu. "You won't have to try hard. My heart will always choose you. Even if I forget everything else in the world, I'll remember how much I love you."

Your story in the Demon Slayer Corps was inextricably linked to two sisters whose names meant lightness and beauty: Kanae and Shinobu. You grew up together. Back when you were still awkward teenagers, you shared the same training, the same secrets, and the same dreams. Kanae was your best friend—a person with whom you could sit in absolute silence for hours without feeling the slightest bit of awkwardness. You both possessed that rare, gentle aura of peace that acted on those around you like a cool compress on a burning wound.

Yet, while you and Kanae shared an absolute, quiet understanding, things were entirely different with her younger sister, Shinobu. Shinobu was a spark. Fiery, sharp, and possessing an incredibly prickly personality, she would flare up at the slightest provocation. And, by some cruel irony of fate, this was precisely what attracted you to her the most. You started dating back in your teenage years, when those first, clumsy feelings were just beginning to blossom. Shinobu was madly in love with you, to the point of a blush coloring her cheeks and a catching breath. And you… you were head over heels in love with her, but you expressed it in a rather specific way. You utterly adored teasing her.

"Shinobu," you would say with an entirely serious, impassioned face while she tried to concentrate on sharpening her blade. "Today I saw you trying to reach the jar on the top shelf in the kitchen. If you'd like, I can ask Oyakata-sama to issue you a special little stool. So you can actually be seen from behind the table."

Shinobu's face would instantly be covered in red patches of fury.

"Y/N! I will kill you! I swear, I'll add a paralytic to your tea!" she would shout, rushing at you with her fists, while you only chuckled quietly, easily dodging her blows, and finally just caught her in a tight embrace, pressing her against your chest until she stopped resisting, burying her burning face in your shoulder.

Next to you, her prickles vanished. Your calm nature quenched her anger, turning it into warmth. It was the perfect equilibrium.

And then the world collapsed.

Kanae's death tore your reality into bloody fragments. When her broken body was brought back, it felt as though sunlight had left the Butterfly Estate forever. Your own heart was shattered to pieces, the bitterness of loss suffocating you and preventing you from even drawing a breath. But you could not allow yourself to break. Not when Shinobu was screaming from unbearable pain, tearing her vocal cords, begging her sister to open her eyes. You locked your own tears deep inside, becoming a stone wall for Shinobu. You did not leave her side for a single step. You held her when she shook from hysterics, you fed her with a spoon when she refused to eat, you whispered words of love to her for hours until she drifted off into a heavy, exhausting sleep. You surrounded her with such dense, unconditional love that you kept her from finally going mad.

Yet fate, apparently, decided that a single tragedy was not enough for the Kochou sisters.

Exactly one month after Kanae’s death, you were sent on a mission. It was supposed to be a routine territory-clearing assignment in the north. Shinobu did not want to let you go, her tenacious fingers clutching the fabric of your haori until the very last moment. But the duty of a Demon Slayer waited for no one. A random swordsman from the lower ranks was assigned as your partner.

The demon turned out to be an ambush. It was a mutant with incredible physical strength, hiding in mountain caves. The battle was brutal. Your partner panicked, making a critical error that exposed your flank. You managed to push him out of the line of attack, but you couldn't dodge in time yourself.

The blow was of such monstrous power that your body was thrown back a dozen meters. The world exploded with a blinding flash of pain as your head smashed with a sickening crunch into a pile of sharp, rocky stones. The last thing you felt was the taste of your own blood on your lips and the scent of damp earth. And then absolute, pitch-black darkness set in.

You were delivered to the Butterfly Estate by Kakushi. Your skull was fractured, your breathing barely detectable. Shinobu, who was only just beginning to recover from the loss of her sister, met the stretcher in the corridor. They say her scream that day was more terrifying than on the day of Kanae's death. She operated on you herself; her hands, covered in your blood, worked medical miracles. She saved your body. But your mind had left this world.

The diagnosis sounded like a death sentence: a deep coma.

A year passed. Then a second, a third…

Four long years passed as the Butterfly Estate lived without your voice. Everything changed during that time.

Shinobu, unable to bear the double loss, buried her true self. She put on Kanae's haori, plastered her soft, ever-present smile onto her face, and hid her anger so deeply that it turned into a freezing, lethal poison. She became the Insect Hashira. She became frighteningly polite, flawless, and completely hollow inside.

Yet this emptiness had one single sanctuary. Your hospital room.

Your room became a shrine for Shinobu. When the fake smile became too heavy, when the muscles in her face cramped from the pretense, and when her fury toward demons threatened to break free and burn her to ash, she would come to you. She would slide the shoji door shut behind her, and the mask would fall.

Shinobu would sit on the chair by your bed, take your limp, emaciated hand in hers, and simply breathe. Even while unconscious, your body radiated that very same aura of absolute peace that had always saved her.

"Hello, my love," Shinobu would whisper in the silence of the room, running her fingers through your hair, which the estate helper girls regularly washed and brushed. "Today at the Hashira Meeting, Tomioka-san acted like an idiot again. You would have loved the way I teased him…"

Sometimes she would simply remain silent, resting her forehead against the edge of your bed, allowing tears to silently roll down her cheeks.

"Please, wake up," she would beg on nights like those, squeezing your hand so tightly as if trying to transfer her life force to you. "I need you. I'm not coping, Y/N. I'm so tired of pretending. Please, come back to me."

Yet you remained motionless, like Sleeping Beauty trapped in an endless winter while the rest of the world moved forward.

Awakening was nothing like a flash of light. It felt like a long, agonizing ascent from the bottom of a dark, viscous ocean. First came the smells—sterility, alcohol, and a faint hint of wisteria. Then came touch—the hardness of the mattress beneath your back, the heaviness of your own body, which felt as though it had been made of lead.

And finally, your hearing returned.

The sounds were muffled, as if you were underwater. Someone's loud, unintelligible shouts echoed in your aching head. With enormous effort, overcoming weakness, you tried to pry open your heavy eyelids. The light stabbed your eyes, making you wince, but on the second attempt, your vision slowly began to focus.

You expected to see the wooden ceiling of the infirmary. Perhaps the anxious face of Kanae or the tearful eyes of a young Shinobu.

Instead, the very first thing you saw, once your gaze finally sharpened… was a bare-chested, muscular guy with a wild boar's head who was literally crawling across the ceiling directly above your bed, clinging to the wooden beams like a giant, abnormal spider.

"THE CORPSE BLINKED!" the boar roared in an unnatural, rough voice, pointing a finger at you from the ceiling. "I TOLD YOU SHE WAS MOVING! HEY, CORPSE! IF YOU'VE RISEN FROM THE DEAD, FIGHT THE GREAT INOSUKE-SAMA! I WILL BATTLE THE ZOMBIE!"

Your brain, having not functioned for four years, tried to process this information. The loading process crashed completely.

"What the… hell?" raced through your mind. "Where am I? Am I dead? And why are talking pigs crawling on the ceilings in hell? What on earth is going on here?!"

You tried to open your mouth to ask at least one of these logical questions, but only a pathetic, raspy squeak escaped your parched throat.

The door to the room slammed wide open. A girl with two ponytails flew into the room—you barely recognized Aoi, as she had grown up and matured immensely.

"Inosuke! How many times have I told you not to bother patients, especially in the room—" Aoi trailed off mid-word. Her strict gaze shifted from the idiot on the ceiling to you.

Upon seeing your open eyes, filled with primordial bewilderment, Aoi froze like a pillar of salt. The towels she was holding dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Her eyes widened to impossible proportions, her lips trembling.

"Y/N-san…?" she breathed out in a voice blending horror, hope, and absolute shock. "Oh gods… OH GODS! NAHO! SUMI! CALL THE DOCTOR! Y/N-SAN HAS WOKEN UP!"

Absolute, uncontrollable chaos erupted. Inosuke jumped down from the ceiling with a crash, continuing to roar something about a duel with a zombie until Aoi shoved him out by the scruff of his neck, crying her eyes out the entire time. Three butterfly girls—Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho—ran into the room. They had grown up too. Seeing your open eyes, they burst into tears right on the spot, hugging one another.

You lay in the middle of this bedlam, feeling as though you had woken up in a parallel universe where logic had ceased to exist. Your body refused to obey you; your muscles had atrophied to the point where you couldn't even lift a hand.

Aoi, quickly pulling herself together and wiping away her tears, rushed over to you. She brought water, carefully moistening your parched lips.

"Don't try to speak, Y/N-san. You've been unconscious for a very, very long time."

"Sh-Shinobu…? K-Kanae…?" those were the very first words you forced out with immense difficulty. Your voice sounded like the squeak of a rusted door hinge.

Aoi's face faltered, pain flashing in her eyes. She gently stroked your hand. "Shinobu-sama is currently away on a long mission; she will be back in a few days… And as for the rest… we'll talk later. You need to regain your strength."

The weeks that followed turned into a kaleidoscope of information, rehabilitation, and excessive overprotection. Aoi cared for you personally. You were transferred to a wheelchair since your legs, which hadn't walked in four years, refused to support your body weight. When Aoi wheeled you out onto the veranda for the very first time, you couldn't believe your eyes. The wisteria tree in the courtyard, which you remembered as quite young, was now huge and sprawling.

Aoi brought you up to speed. She told you about the four years of your sleep. About how Shinobu became the Insect Hashira. About the new demon slayers. You listened, your heart bleeding at the thought of what your beloved had had to endure in complete solitude.

Before long, new faces appeared in your life. Tanjiro Kamado, a boy with a scar on his forehead and an aura as warm and pure as the morning sun, took it upon himself to become your primary support system.

It was simultaneously touching and unbearably ridiculous.

"Y/N-san! Today you were able to lift a spoon all by yourself! This is just an incredible success! You're so strong!" Tanjiro cried out sincerely, with tears in his eyes, standing before your wheelchair while you labored to bring porridge to your mouth with a trembling hand.

The butterfly girls immediately chimed in: "Hurray! Y/N-san lifted a spoon! Such a good job!"

You, being a calm person with a good sense of humor, looked at this circus of encouragement with a light, tired smile.

"Guys… I am over twenty years old. I'm just eating porridge. You're celebrating as if I just killed an Upper Rank," you said hoarsely, but with obvious irony.

"NO! EATING PORRIDGE IS ALSO A GREAT FEAT!" Inosuke burst in, barging onto the veranda. "I CAN EAT TEN BOWLS! FIGHT ME IN A PORRIDGE-EATING DUEL, ZOMBIE WOMAN!"

You merely rolled your eyes, feeling your heart fill with warmth despite the weakness and pain in your atrophied muscles. They hadn't known you before your coma, yet they treated you like family. And still, every second of every day, you waited for only one person.

The month-long mission had turned out to be absolute hell for the Insect Hashira. The demon nest in the south was massive, and battles waged almost without interruption. Shinobu returned to the Butterfly Estate on autopilot. Her uniform was torn, blood had dried on her cheek, and her muscles ached from lactic acid and exhaustion.

The fake smile she had worn nonstop throughout the entire month now felt like an unbearable weight. Her face was pale, her eyes drained of life. All she wanted was to reach your room, fall to her knees by your bed, bury her face in the blanket beside your motionless hand, and allow herself to be weak for at least ten minutes. To feel your soothing presence, which always chased away her nightmares.

She pushed open the estate's front doors. It was unusually quiet. Ignoring the commotion in the other wings, she headed straight for the medical block.

Shinobu slid open the shoji door of your room. "I'm home, my love…" she whispered quietly, tiredly, lifting her gaze.

The words stuck in her throat.

The bed was made up perfectly. No IV drips. No smell of medicine. It was empty.

Shinobu's heart skipped a beat, then plunged into a wild, panicked gallop. Air instantly vanished from her lungs. Her eyes widened in primal terror.

"Where is she? Why is the bed empty?! Is she… is she dead? While I was gone, she passed away?!"

Panic, black and suffocating, engulfed the Insect Hashira completely. Forgetting her exhaustion, she spun around and sprinted down the corridors, her breathing breaking into a rasp.

"AOI!" she screamed so loudly that the windowpanes rattled. "AOI, WHERE IS SHE?! WHAT HAPPENED TO Y/N?!"

Aoi ran out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and upon seeing Shinobu's terrified, distorted face, she understood everything. The younger girl's face lit up with a broad, radiant smile as tears of joy, which she had held back for the past three weeks, burst from her eyes.

"Shinobu-sama!" Aoi rushed toward her, catching her shaking hands. "She's not in the room! She's out in the courtyard!"

Shinobu didn't wait to hear any more. She broke away and ran toward the exit leading to the inner courtyard, her heart hammering somewhere in her throat, deafening her.

She burst onto the sunlit veranda and froze in her tracks.

Beneath the huge, sprawling tree in the courtyard, sitting on a spread blanket, was you. You had been specially seated with your back propped against the thick trunk so you wouldn't topple over, as your back muscles were still too weak. On your lap, curled into a ball, little Naho was sleeping peacefully. Sumi sat nearby, holding an open picture book and reading it aloud, while Kiyo carefully fed you slices of a sliced apple.

You looked thin, pale, with deep shadows under your eyes, but your face was alive. Your chest rose and fell evenly, and the most familiar, peaceful half-smile played on your lips.

Shinobu stopped breathing. Her sword fell from her weakened fingers with a clatter and struck the wooden floor of the veranda. Her medical bag slipped from her shoulder. The sound of dropping weapon made you slowly turn your head.

Your gazes met.

For a split second, your post-coma fogged brain didn't recognize the woman standing on the veranda. You remembered Shinobu as a teenager—with shorter hair, a different uniform, and a bright, fiery expression. Standing before you now was a young woman. Her hair was pinned into a strict bun, and resting on her shoulders was the familiar haori with the butterfly pattern… Kanae's haori. But most importantly—her face. An unnatural, eerie, hollow smile was frozen on it, trembling and cracking at the seams right now, revealing an abyss of pain and shock.

Yet it took only a moment for your soul to recognize her. Her eyes—the color of those piercing violet eyes—had remained unchanged.

"Shinobu."

The butterfly girls, spotting the Hashira, instantly fell silent. Naho woke up, and realizing the situation, Sumi and Kiyo quickly but carefully helped her up, all three of them silently retreating into the house, leaving the two of you alone.

Shinobu took an uncertain, staggering step. Then another. Her legs buckled, and she covered the final meters almost running, collapsing to her knees right on the grass in front of you. She was terrified to touch you, terrified that this was merely another cruel illusion, a hallucination born of exhaustion that would vanish the moment she reached out.

"Y/N…?" her voice was thinner than a squeak, breaking on the very first letter. Her fake smile was still convulsively plastered across her face, creating a terrifying contrast with the tears streaming from her eyes.

You looked at her. Your heart clenched with pain at the sight of what the death of her sister and your absence had turned her into. But you were yourself. Despite your four-year slumber, your nature hadn't changed. And the best way to bring your Shinobu back was to do what you did best.

You swallowed, clearing your parched throat, and raising one eyebrow, you rasped, but with obvious mockery:

"Oh. You know, I slept for four years, but even so, I didn't expect you to become… even shorter. Are you shrinking out of spite?"

Shinobu froze. Her wide, tear-filled eyes stared at you.

"And what is this outfit?" you slowly, with difficulty, raised a trembling hand and weakly poked a finger at the fabric of her haori. "Did you just steal Kanae's clothes because the children's department didn't have your size? And that smile… Gods, Shinobu, you look like a creepy porcelain doll from those scary fairy tales we read as kids. Stop smiling like that, I'm terrified you're going to bite my face off."

The silence that fell over the garden was deafening.

And then the mask that Kochou Shinobu had worn for four long, agonizing years shattered to pieces. The cracking was almost physically tangible.

Her fake smile distorted, her lips trembled, and her brows arched pitifully. She emitted a sound resembling the cry of a wounded animal and collapsed forward. She buried her face in your lap, clutching at the fabric of your hospital haori with such desperate strength as if trying to sew herself to you.

And she sobbed. These weren't quiet, aesthetic tears. This was a real, ugly, primal hysterics. She howled, suffocating, her shoulders shaking convulsively. All of it poured out in those tears: the pain of Kanae's death, the four-year nightmare of solitude, the fear of losing you, the burden of the Hashira title, and the poison eating away at her soul.

With immense effort, overcoming the weakness in your muscles, you lowered both hands onto her back. Your palms rested softly on her shoulder blades, and your fingers buried themselves in her dark hair, pulling out the butterfly hairpin and letting the strands spill freely.

"I'm here," you whispered quietly, infinitely tenderly, stroking her trembling back. Your voice no longer dripped with sarcasm; it was that very same warm, soothing ocean she had missed so much. "I'm here, my butterfly. I'm not going anywhere ever again. I'm sorry for making you wait so long. Cry. Let it all out."

Shinobu pressed against you so tightly as if she wanted to sink into your bones, her sobs echoing across the inner courtyard, but for the first time in four years, these were tears not of absolute despair, but of incredible, healing relief.

From that day on, Shinobu took your rehabilitation under her absolute, dictatorial control.

No Aoi, no Tanjiro. The Insect Hashira personally curated your diet, forcing you to eat nourishing soups with a spoon. When you tried to protest that you could feed yourself, she would silently smile her "creepy doll smile" (as you continued to call it) and menacingly hold the spoon up to your face until you gave in. She personally gave you painful massages on your atrophied leg muscles, ignoring your hisses and curses, and made you do exercises until you dropped from exhaustion.

Her strictness was saturated with such manic care that you couldn't stay angry at her.

Yet during the long evenings when the two of you were alone, you began to notice the darkness that still lived inside her. Shinobu slipped up. She told you about the Upper Rank Two. About Kanae's killer. And, most frighteningly, she told you with bone-chilling calmness about her plan. About the massive doses of wisteria poison she was taking to become a living bomb. About her readiness to be eaten by a demon for the sake of revenge.

You listened to her, sitting in your wheelchair, your face growing more and more like stone.

When she finished, expecting your approval or sympathy, you did something she never expected. With incredible effort, leaning on the armrests, you forced yourself to stand. Your legs trembled, your knees buckled, but you stood. Shinobu rushed toward you in a panic to support you.

You grabbed her by the shoulders, looking straight into her eyes. Your gaze was as hard as steel.

"Do you think Kanae would have wanted this?" your voice was low, saturated with hidden fury. "Do you think she sacrificed her life so her younger sister could willingly feed herself to a monster?"

"Y/N, you don't understand, I'm not strong enough to cut off his head…" Shinobu tried to object, looking away, but you shook her.

"I didn't sleep for four years just to wake up and go pick out a coffin for you, Kochou!" you snapped her last name sharply for the first time. "Revenge that costs you your life is not a victory. It is surrender. You're a genius doctor, you're a Hashira! Find another way. Create a poison that can be injected, make a weapon, find allies! But if you die…" your voice cracked, fury giving way to despair, "if you die, you will kill me too. Because I won't survive this world without you."

Shinobu stared at you with wide-open eyes. Your words punched through that thick wall of fatalism she had built around herself. She had grown accustomed to thinking her life had no value, that she was merely an instrument of revenge. But watching you stand on trembling legs, risking a fall just to beat some common sense into her, she realized she had a reason to live. For you.

Slowly, she sank to her knees before you, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face in your lap.

"I… I'll try," she whispered, and that whisper held surrender. "I'll find another way. I promise you."

That promise changed everything.

Another year passed. Your iron will and Shinobu's genius did their work—you fully recovered. You took up the blade once more, though your movements became more economical and fluid, stripped of youthful recklessness. Shinobu, abandoning her suicide plan, threw herself into developing toxins with doubled intensity, joining forces with Tamayo and Yushiro.

The war against demons reached its bloody climax. The battle inside the Infinity Castle claimed many lives, but thanks to changed tactics, poisons that could be delivered without self-sacrifice, and the support of Inosuke and Kanao, the Upper Rank Two fell. Shinobu survived. Battered, poisoned by her own overwork, but alive.

When Muzan was finally defeated and the sun rose over the torn battlefield, you found her among the ruins. You simply collapsed into each other's arms, smeared in blood and dust, unable even to cry from exhaustion. It was the end of the nightmare.

And a few months later, when the Corps was officially disbanded and wounds began to heal, the day arrived that washed away all bad memories.

Spring at the Butterfly Estate was exceptionally bright. The wisteria tree beneath which you had reunited after your coma was in full bloom.

You were sitting on that very same veranda. Shinobu no longer wore the mask. Her smile was genuine, soft, and slightly shy. She nervously twisted the hem of her civilian kimono.

"Y/N," she called out, not looking at you. "You always loved teasing me. You laughed at my height, at my seriousness."

"And I'll keep doing it for the rest of my days," you chuckled, taking a sip of tea. "It's my primary mission in life."

Shinobu raised her head, her violet eyes shining with that exact spark for which you had fallen in love with her so many years ago. She pulled a small velvet box from her sleeve and handed it to you.

"Then, I suppose, you'll have to do it officially. As my wife," a rich blush colored her cheeks, but her voice did not waver. "Marry me, Y/N. Let's live the life the demons stole from us. A normal, boring, happy life."

You looked at the simple, elegant ring inside the box. The icy lump that had so frequently lodged in your throat during the years of war finally melted away. You smiled warmly, setting your cup on the floor, and leaning forward, you gently kissed her lips.

"I do," you whispered, taking the ring. "But if you think our life is going to be boring, you're deeply mistaken, Kochou. I haven't even made fun of your snoring in your sleep yet."

Kimetsu High School was famous nationwide for its volleyball program. Both the men's and women's teams, known in sports circles as "Hashira" — the Pillars — were absolute favorites in any tournament. These weren't just teams; they were true families bonded by blood, sweat, and thousands of hours of grueling training.

On the women's side of the court, a real show was unfolding.

"Mitsuri, go!" a ringing voice echoed under the gym's vaulted ceiling.

The ball, receiving a perfect spin, soared into the air in an impeccable, high arc. Beneath the net, Kanroji Mitsuri sprang up like a spring. Her pink-and-green braids whipped through the air, and her arm—possessing incredible, almost frightening strength for a girl of her build—came down on the ball. BAM! The sound of the impact was like a cannon shot. The ball slammed into the opposite side of the court with such speed that the blockers didn't even have time to blink, let alone raise their hands. Mitsuri was their undisputed ace, an irresistible force tearing through any defense.

Yet this crushing spike would have been impossible without the person directing that power.

Kocho Kanae, captain and setter of the women's team, landed softly on the parquet. Her movements were devoid of any harshness, resembling the smooth, hypnotic flight of a butterfly. Kanae was the brain and heart of the team. Her long dark hair, decorated with butterfly hairpins, was slightly ruffled, but a soft, calming smile shone on her face. She possessed a talent for reading the court in a fraction of a second, her fingers touching the ball as softly as if it were crystal, while still delivering sets with mathematical precision, directing them straight into the attacker's hand.

"Great receive, Shinobu!" Kanae praised, turning to her younger sister.

Shinobu, playing the libero position, merely nodded slightly, wiping sweat from her forehead. If Kanae was an elegant butterfly, Shinobu was a stinging wasp. The petite girl compensated for her lack of physical strength with incredible, phenomenal speed and reflexes. Not a single ball touched the floor on her side of the court; she hurled herself after the most hopeless balls, saving them with impossible dives.

And watching all this magnificence from the sidelines with a clipboard in hand was you.

You were the manager of the Hashira women's team. And, as everyone at the school (as well as rival schools) unanimously agreed, you were the most beautiful, organized, and indispensable manager in the prefecture's history. You wore a neat Kimetsu school sports jacket, your hair was tied back in a convenient ponytail, and a whistle and stopwatch hung around your neck. Your eyes carefully tracked every movement of the players, your fingers rapidly taking notes on the statistics sheet, recording successful attack percentages and reception errors. Beside you stood perfectly lined-up sports drink bottles, lovingly mixed to individual proportions for each girl, and a stack of snow-white, fresh towels.

Yet your eyes most often, almost unconsciously, returned to one specific figure on the court. To Kanae.

When Kanae turned around and caught your gaze, her smile grew even warmer, even brighter. She winked at you, and you felt a blush bloom on your cheeks, your heart beginning to beat in the rhythm of a volleyball. You were together. The most beautiful, most discussed, yet most mysterious couple at Kimetsu Academy.

Your story began long before you put on your high school uniforms. Back in middle school, Kanae was already a local sports star. She shone on the court, attracting the attention of all scouts. You, on the other hand, were a quiet, somewhat shy, but incredibly responsible student who adored volleyball but lacked the physical attributes to play. That was why you chose the path of a manager.

You remembered that day as if it were yesterday. You were trying to drag a huge basket filled to the brim with heavy balls to the storage room. Your arms were trembling, your fingers had turned white from the strain, and the basket threatened to slip out of your grasp at any second. Suddenly, the weight vanished. You looked up and saw Kanae. Her face was lightly covered in sweat after practice, but her breathing remained steady. She easily grabbed the edge of the basket with one hand, smiling at you in a way that took your breath away.

"Let me help. Such fragile hands were made to write brilliant strategies, not lug heavy things," her voice was soft, rippling like a spring stream.

From that day on, everything changed. Kanae began seeking out your company. She stayed after practice to help you pack the net or mop the floor. You started walking home together, lingering for a long time by the local bakery, buying melon buns and talking about everything under the sun. You learned that behind the image of the perfect athlete hid an incredibly kind, caring, and sometimes surprisingly naive girl. And Kanaë learned that beneath your shyness lay a sharp mind, an amazing sense of humor, and boundless loyalty.

You fell in love with each other as naturally as spring arrives. No drama, no extra words. It was a mutual, quiet attraction.

You officially became a couple during your first year of high school. It happened after a crushing team defeat in a qualifying tournament. Kanae blamed herself for her sets not being precise enough. She sat on the bench in an empty gym, hiding her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling slightly. You walked over, sat beside her, and simply hugged her, pressing her head to your shoulder.

"Your sets are perfect, Kanaë," you whispered, burying your fingers in her dark hair. "You are the best thing in this team. And the best thing in my life. Please, don't cry. I will always be here to support you."

Kanae lifted her tear-filled eyes, looking at you with such awe and adoration that words became unnecessary. She leaned forward and timidly, incredibly gently, covered your lips with hers. The taste of salty tears mixed with the sweetness of your first kiss. From that moment on, you were inseparable. You were the most peaceful, vanilla, and protected couple in school.

Protected because you had the best, albeit most terrifying, security system in Japan.

The whole school knew of your incredible, almost comical naivety. Neither you nor Kanae ever noticed when people tried to flirt with you. Your brains simply weren't tuned to that frequency.

If some cute guy from a parallel class walked up to you, leaned against the wall, flexed his muscles, and said, "Hey, gorgeous. Want to go look at the stars together sometime this evening?", you, with the sincere enthusiasm of a manager, would reply, "Oh, are you into astronomy? The space club meets on Thursdays in the physics room! I can give you the schedule!" The guy would walk away completely confused, while you genuinely rejoiced at helping the school club find a new member.

Kanae was no better. When love letters sprayed with cologne and asking to meet behind the school were slipped into her locker, she treated them like challenge letters for a training match from other teams. She would show up to the meeting spot in full athletic gear, volleyball tucked under her arm, ready to crush the "rival" on the court, leaving the poor suitors in a state of profound shock.

This total blindness to everyone else's romantic intentions could have been a problem were it not for your friends. The Hashira men's volleyball team took on the voluntary duties of your personal bodyguards. They considered Kanae their sister and you the most precious treasure of their club.

The moment anyone suspicious approached you or Kanae with romantic intentions, the air around them instantly grew heavy and threatening.

Usually, Uzui Tengen and Shinazugawa Sanemi appeared first. Sanemi, the men's team ace with terrifying scars on his face, would simply stand behind the hapless Romeo, crack his knuckles, and pin him with a glare that made his blood run cold. Tengen, the brilliant captain, towered over the guy, crossing muscular arms over his chest, and stated something like, "Your attempts to hit on our manager are totally unbrilliant. One more step, and I'll brilliantly spike a ball right into your face at the next practice."

If that wasn't enough, Iguro Obanai joined in. He would materialize silently out of nowhere, his heterochromatic eyes radiating pure, unadulterated menace, with his mascot—a realistic toy snake, Kaburamaru, which he used for intimidation—resting on his shoulders. And Rengoku Kyojuro would simply step in close, smiling his wide, dazzling smile, which nonetheless radiated such a powerful, terrifying aura of fiery determination that the boys fled in terror before even finishing their sentences.

You and Kanae never understood why people ran away so fast the moment your friends walked over to say hello.

"Oh, Sanemi-kun, Tengen-kun, you've scared off all the students with your loud entrance again," Kanaë would gently scold them, handing them water bottles. "That young man never got around to telling me about his serving tactics."

Sanemi would merely snort and turn away, while Tengen smirked smugly, "Don't worry, Kanaë! His tactics were totally boring and didn't deserve your attention! We're just protecting the aesthetics of our club!"

You lived in your ideal, protected bubble of love and volleyball. Until that very day when the bubble almost popped at the biggest arena in the country.

The Spring High National Tournament, known as Haruko, was the pinnacle of high school volleyball. The Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium hummed like a disturbed beehive. Thousands of spectators in the stands, dozens of TV cameras, cheering squad drumbeats, and deafening fan shouts merged into a single, continuous roar. The air here was thick, saturated with the scent of adrenaline, warming ointments, and excitement. The floor creaked with hundreds of pairs of the best volleyball sneakers from all over Japan.

For you, as a manager, this day was a true test of endurance. You rushed through the corridors and halls of the arena like wind-up toys. Your hands were full of heavy folders with tournament brackets, player medical charts, spare knee pads, and practice court schedules. You had to register both teams—men's and women's—check spelling in the rosters, coordinate warm-up times, and make sure everyone had enough water and ice in case of injuries.

You stopped by the official table in the arena's main corridor, trying to sort a stack of documents that threatened to spill onto the floor any second. Your breathing was slightly ragged, sweat beaded on your forehead, but you were completely focused on the task. You didn't even notice the admiring glances players from other teams shot your way. In your strict yet form-fitting Kimetsu sports jacket, with a light flush on your cheeks from running around, you looked breathtakingly attractive.

Somewhere in the warm-up gym, Kanae was currently stretching, preparing her long, graceful legs for upcoming jumps. She was wrapping her fingers with athletic tape to protect her joints during sets. Her eyes constantly searched the crowd for you, and when she didn't find your figure, a slight shadow of worry crossed her usually serene face.

The Hashira men's team was also warming up nearby. Sanemi was furiously slamming balls into the parquet, checking the net, and Rengoku was loudly cheering on the team. They were too absorbed in preparing for their opening match against Shishio High School—a team known for aggressive, nearly rough players.

None of them saw a predator approach you.

You were just trying to staple two sheets of Shinobu's statistics when a massive shadow fell over your table, blocking the ceiling lights.

You looked up. Standing before you was a guy towering over you like a mountain. He was at least one hundred and ninety centimeters tall. He wore the black-and-red uniform of Shishio High. He had broad shoulders, a predatory squint in his dark eyes, and a confident, almost arrogant smirk that caused most girls to either faint or run away. He was their team's ace, a player known for his rough style and bad reputation off the court.

He leaned one muscular arm against the table right next to your documents, bending down so close you caught the sharp scent of his cologne.

"Hey, gorgeous," his voice was low, with a husky tone he clearly considered seductive. He slid a greasy, appraising look down your figure. "You're from Kimetsu, right? Manager? Isn't the work a bit too heavy for a fragile, cute doll like you?"

Owing to your absolute, impenetrable naivety, you completely missed the subtext of his words. Your brain registered it as sincere concern for your well-being from a fellow sports colleague.

"Hello!" you smiled brightly, adjusting your name badge. "Oh, no, not at all! This is wonderful work. My team is very strong, and helping them is a great honor for me. You're from Shishio, right? You have a match against our men's team soon! Wishing you good luck and a fair game!"

The guy paused for a second. He was used to girls either blushing and giggling or acting aloof. Your radiant, completely innocent business politeness threw him off, only stoking his competitive drive. He took it as a challenge.

"We won't need luck, we're gonna smash your guys into the floor anyway," he smirked smugly, leaning in closer. His hand slowly reached toward your face, as if intending to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "You know, I've always felt sorry for beauties like you wasting time taking care of losers. How about after the tournament I show you how real winners unwind? Give me your Line, I'll text you the address."

You frowned slightly, pulling away from his hand, still oblivious to the fact that he was blatantly hitting on you.

"I'm afraid you're underestimating our guys, they've practiced very hard," your tone grew slightly more professional and stern. "And as for contact info, if your team wants to organize joint training camps after Nationals, you should speak with our coach. I can give you our club's official email address."

The guy clicked his tongue in annoyance. His patience was wearing thin. He wasn't used to rejections, even veiled ones. "Stop playing dumb. You know exactly what I mean," his voice grew harsher, and the hand leaning on the table shifted, blocking your path to retreat. He loomed over you, invading your personal space, trying to physically dominate you. "I'm talking about you and me. Alone. Without your volleyball idiots."

You finally began to feel uncomfortable. His behavior crossed the boundaries of politeness. You pressed your document folder to your chest like a shield. "Excuse me, but I am very busy. I need to deliver these rosters. Please let me pass."

"And if I don't want to?" he grinned, reaching out to grab your wrist.

At that moment, the Hashira men's team, walking out of the locker room, noticed the scene. Sanemi's eyes instantly bloodshot. Tengen clicked his teeth, and Obanai placed a hand on his shoulder as if preparing to unleash his snake. In sync, like a pack of enraged wolves, they stepped toward you. They were ready to tear this arrogant jerk to pieces, throwing away tournament rules and possible disqualification. No one dared touch their manager.

But they were too late. Someone else was faster.

The air around suddenly turned icy. The noise of the massive arena seemed to hush, muffled by some invisible, overwhelming force. The temperature dropped several degrees.

Between you and the looming guy, a figure glided forward smoothly, absolutely silently.

It was Kanae.

She didn't run. She didn't shout. She simply materialized out of nowhere, moving with a frightening, deadly grace.

Her long, elegant hand, wrapped in white athletic tape, landed on the guy's forearm. At first glance, the touch seemed as light as a butterfly's wingbeat. But Kanae's fingers—the fingers of a setter, daily pushing a heavy ball thousands of times with incredible precision and strength—clamped down on his muscle with such inhuman, steel-like tightness that the guy let out a soft, stifled squeak of sharp pain, instinctively jerking his arm away from you.

Kanae smoothly pushed you behind her back, shielding you with her body. Her left hand rested on your waist, pulling you tightly against her in a possessive, absolutely unquestionable gesture of protection.

You blinked in surprise, looking at your girlfriend's back. You had never seen her move so fast and sharply outside of a volleyball court.

The guy from Shishio, rubbing his aching forearm, glared angrily at Kanae. "Hey! What the hell are you doing, psycho?! That hurts! I was just talking to your manager!"

Kanae lifted her face to him.

And at that moment, everyone watching the scene—the stunned Hashira boys, Shinobu approaching from the other side, and players from other teams—felt a sticky, primal chill of horror run down their spines.

Usually, Kanae's face radiated warmth, kindness, and softness. Her eyes were always smiling. But not now.

A smile still played on her lips. But it was a smile that breathed absolute, bottomless darkness. Kanae's eyes were half-closed, but looking through her eyelashes at the guy wasn't a human. It was something ancient, territorial, and deadly dangerous looking back at him. Her aura was so heavy, oppressive, and terrifying that even Sanemi, used to aggression, involuntarily swallowed, feeling a shiver.

"Pardon me," Kanae's voice was quiet, polite, and melodic. But every letter in it was forged from arctic ice. It was a tone allowing neither objections nor dialogue. It was a sentence. "You seem to be lost."

The guy swallowed. All his arrogance began to evaporate under that inhuman gaze. He instinctively took a step back, feeling his self-preservation instinct screaming at him to run. "I... I just wanted to get acquainted..."

Kanae opened her eyes completely. The purple abyss swallowed him.

"She. Is. Very. Busy," Kanae articulated every word. Her hand on your waist squeezed slightly tighter. "And, more importantly, she is mine. My manager. My girlfriend. My world. If I see you within arm's reach of her ever again, if I hear even by the corner of my ear that you are breathing in her direction... I will make sure your hands can never touch a volleyball again. I will snap every single one of your fingers with the exact same ease I use to serve a ball. Do you understand me?"

It wasn't an empty threat. It was a statement of fact.

The guy's face paled, turning an earthy shade. He looked at her taped fingers, remembered the pain of her grip, then looked into her empty, dark eyes and realized she wasn't joking. She truly could and would do it. Without saying another word, he spun on shaking legs and practically bolted down the corridor, trying to vanish from sight as quickly as possible.

As soon as he vanished, Kanae's heavy, terrifying aura dissolved without a trace, as if it had never been. The air grew light again.

She turned to you. The darkness in her eyes instantly vanished, replaced by familiar, sincere love and warmth. She took your face in both hands, gently and tenderly stroking your cheeks with her thumbs.

"Y/N, sunshine, are you okay? Did he frighten you?" her voice trickled like a spring stream again. She looked worried and incredibly caring.

You, caught in your usual blissfully naive state, merely blinked uncomprehendingly. "Oh, Kanae, I'm completely fine! It's just that this young man was a bit strange. First he asked about the schedule, and then suddenly turned pale and ran off. Do you think maybe he remembered he forgot to turn off his iron at home before the tournament? Or maybe his stomach acted up from nervousness? Poor thing."

Shinobu, standing nearby, covered her face with her palm and groaned softly at your impenetrable naivety. The boys from the men's team, still in shock that their angelic Kanaë had just radiated serial-killer aura, exchanged glances with open mouths.

Kanae laughed softly and melodically, kissing your forehead. "Yes, sweetheart. He probably just remembered very important business. Don't mind it. Come on, we're heading out for warm-ups soon, I need your help with the bottles."

"Of course!" you nodded happily, picking up your folders.

As you packed the rosters into your bag, Kanae turned away for a second. She walked over to the Hashira men's team, who were still clustered together, looking at her with awestruck terror.

When she reached them, her soft smile shifted slightly. The corners of her lips crept up into a predatory, sinister grin, and a shadow of that same darkness flickered back into her purple eyes.

She looked at Sanemi, Tengen, and Rengoku.

"Boys," Kanae whispered so quietly only they could hear. Her voice was sweet, yet radiated frost. "Your first match today is against Shishio High. That guy who just ran off... he's their middle blocker. He plays with number seven."

She paused, her eyes narrowing.

"I want you to crush them. Grind them into the parquet. I want the score to be 25–0. I don't want that number seven to score a single pathetic point, put up a single block, or run a single successful attack. Destroy him morally and physically on the court. Do you understand me?"

Sanemi, whose face twisted into a maniacal, cruel grin of anticipation, cracked his neck loudly. "You can count on it, Kanae. I'm going to spike that ball right into his stupid face so hard he forgets his own name."

Tengen grinned complacently, crossing his arms. "We'll hand him the unbrilliantly most humiliating defeat in Nationals history. He'll regret ever being born."

Rengoku Kyojuro smiled his signature, dazzling smile, but a ruthless inquisitor's fire burned in his eyes. "With the greatest of pleasure, Kocho! We will defend our manager's honor on the battlefield! No mercy!"

Kanae nodded with satisfaction, her sinister aura evaporating once more. "Thank you, boys. You're the best."

She spun around, transforming back into an angel, ran back to you, softly took your hand, intertwining your fingers, and together you headed toward your court.

The Kimetsu High men's team match against Shishio went down in Haruko tournament history as the most brutal, one-sided beating. The Hashira played like demon-possessed men. They didn't just win; they methodically, ruthlessly broke the opponent's spirit.

Number seven took the brunt of it. Every time he tried to jump for a block, Sanemi hammered through his hands with such force the guy was literally thrown backward. Tengen set "dead roofs" (solo blocks) on him, slamming the ball right beneath his feet. Obanai, utilizing his unpredictable, slithering attacks, forced him to collapse onto the parquet over and over, unable to react in time. Number seven was pale, breathing heavily, and looked as though he wished the ground would swallow him whole right then and there. The score truly was a blowout.

And on the neighboring court, where the women's team played, everything was calm and wonderful.

Kanae, in her element, delivered one ideal, elegant set after another. Her movements were light and graceful. Winning another point off Mitsuri's powerful spike, Kanaë turned toward the bench.

She found you with her gaze. You stood there, stopwatch around your neck, smiling happily, logging the newly earned point in the scorebook. Your eyes shone with pride for your team.

Kanae smiled back at you, brought her fingers to her lips, and blew you a kiss right during the match, causing the stands to erupt in roaring cheers and your cheeks to burst into a bright blush.

But your "quirk" was of an entirely different, completely unique kind. In the medicine of a distant future, this phenomenon would be termed "cute aggression." It is a paradoxical glitch in brain function where a person, faced with something unbearably, overwhelmingly adorable, experiences such a colossal surge of positive emotions that the nervous system simply cannot cope with the overload. To avoid "burning out" from the sugar rush, the brain decides to compensate for this sweet explosion by releasing pure, uncontrollable aggression. The desire to squeeze, crush, bite, and snarl—all of this was merely a crooked mirror of your enormous, overflowing tenderness.

Normally, you were the epitome of calm and reason. You could cold-bloodedly chop off a demon's head without batting an eye, and you could meditate for hours under an icy waterfall maintaining a stone-cold expression. But the moment you saw something charming—the moment your gaze lingered on someone cute for just a fraction of a second longer than the allowed three seconds... your internal fuse would burn straight to hell.

Restraining yourself in the Demon Slayer Corps was quite a task because, to your misfortune, you were surrounded by people whose cuteness occasionally bordered on the illegal.

Take Mitsuri Kanroji, for example. The Love Hashira was a walking generator of cotton candy and pink petals. When Mitsuri cheerfully ran up to you holding a box of fresh sakura mochi, her huge green eyes shining with such pure, sincere joy, your breath instantly caught in your throat.

"Y/N-chan! Look what I brought! I made them myself, try them quickly!" Mitsuri chirped, her pink-and-green braids bouncing funnily in time with her steps.

At that moment, your jaw clenched so hard that the grinding of your teeth could be heard at the other end of the courtyard. Your hands, hidden in the pockets of your uniform, curled into fists until your knuckles turned white. Your brain literally screamed: She is so cute, I want to tear her cheeks off!

"Mitsuri..." your voice came out low, raspy, through tightly clenched teeth, as if you were holding a growling beast inside. "If you... right now... don't stop looking at me like that..."

"Huh? What is it, Y/N-chan? Don't you like them?" Mitsuri tilted her head sideways in bewilderment, making her a hundred times cuter.

Your self-control cracked. You yanked your hands out of your pockets, grabbed the Love Hashira by both cheeks, and pulled them outward with force, snarling through your teeth: "You are so unbearably good that I'm about to physically throw up from cuteness! I swear, I'm going to bite your ear off someday, Kanroji!"

Mitsuri, used to your strange expressions of affection, merely mumbled unintelligibly through her stretched cheeks and laughed happily, knowing that your harsh tone hid boundless affection.

With the "Kamaboko squad," the situation was no better. Tanjiro Kamado, with his aura of absolute, sacred purity, was a walking catastrophe for your psyche. When that boy smiled with his radiant, pure smile, thanking you for some minor thing, you felt that familiar, dangerous pressure building up in your chest.

"Y/N-san, thank you so much for helping with the training! You're so kind!" Tanjiro said, bowing.

You looked at him for exactly three seconds. On the fourth, your face twisted into a grimace of ferocious threat. You made a sharp lunge, grabbed Tanjiro's face with both hands, and began mercilessly kneading his cheeks as if it were bread dough.

"Kamado," you hissed, while your whole body shivered minutely from the restrained desire to squeeze him even harder. "Your aura is so pure that I want to shatter your ribs in a hug. If you smile at me that brightly one more time, I'll rip your heart out and eat it from an excess of feelings. Do you understand me?!"

Tanjiro, whose cheeks were already burning red from your harsh pinches, merely nodded stoically, groaning in pain: "Y-yes, Y/N-san... I u-understand..."

Even the eternally screaming Zenitsu in his sleep, when his face became childishly serene, triggered your urges to grab his hair and shake him until he lost consciousness—simply because he looked too defenseless. You tried to avoid the younger slayers, realizing that your methods of expressing affection could leave psychological (and physical) bruises on them.

If you somehow managed to keep yourself within the bounds of decency with other slayers, limiting yourself to harsh pinches and fierce whispers, your brakes failed with serious glitches on the grounds of the Butterfly Mansion.

The little helper girls—Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho—were a test of your willpower. When the trio ran around with clean towels, their identical ponytails and big round eyes acted on you like a red flag to a bull. You couldn't pass by without catching at least one of them, trapping her in a tight, almost bear-hug grip, and growling into the crown of her head: "I'm going to pickle all of you in a jar right now and look at you forever, you little unbearable lumps!" The girls usually squeaked, but they quickly got used to it, realizing that you would never truly hurt them.

But with Aoi Kanzaki and Kanao Tsuyuri, your level of audacity multiplied exponentially.

Aoi was always strict, eternally dissatisfied with something, and constantly yelling at patients. Her attempts to seem adult and stern were so adorable that your brain refused to take her seriously.

One day, Aoi was scolding Inosuke because he had stolen food from the kitchen again. Her face flushed, her hands were propped on her hips, and her voice rang with indignation. You stood nearby, leaning against the wall, and watched her silently. Your eyes narrowed. That same paradoxical aggression began to boil inside.

You slowly, almost silently detached yourself from the wall and walked up behind Aoi. Looming over her, you leaned down sharply so that your face was a couple of centimeters from her ear.

"Aoi," you said in an utterly flat, soul-chilling serial killer voice.

The girl flinched and spun around sharply, nearly dropping the tray of medical supplies she was holding. "Y/N-san?! What are you..."

"I'm going to bite your face right now," you interrupted her, staring at her with a fixed, predatory gaze. You bared your teeth slightly, as if truly preparing to sink them into her nose or cheek.

Aoi's eyes widened with primordial terror. Her stern mask vanished instantly, giving way to panic. "Wh-what?! What for?! I didn't do anything!" She backed away, pressing the tray to her chest like a shield.

"Because you're standing here, getting angry, wrinkling your little nose, and trying to look fierce, while actually you look like a fluffed-up sparrow," you took a step forward, your hands twitching slightly toward her, fingers curling. "It's outrageous. My psyche can't handle this. I swear, Kanzaki, one more outraged squeak from you, and I'll genuinely bite your cheek as a joke so you'll stop being so cute."

Aoi squeaked, spun on her heels, and bolted down the corridor with such speed that the wind stirred her hair. You remained standing in place, breathing heavily and trying to calm the trembling in your hands caused by an overdose of cuteness.

With Kanao, everything was different. The Tsuguko of the Insect Hashira was quiet, silent, and practically devoid of emotion. Her large, empty purple eyes and eternal faint half-smile worked like hypnosis on you.

When you caught Kanao sitting on the veranda mindlessly tossing her coin, you uttered no threats. You simply walked right up to her, sat down next to her, and stared at her in silence. Kanao shifted her empty, questioning gaze onto you. You looked at each other in total silence. A second. Two. Three.

And then your self-control snapped with a crack.

With a loud, aggressive exhale, you threw both hands up, grabbed Kanao by the cheeks, and squeezed them together with force, turning her neat, refined little face into a funny fish mug. Kanao's lips puckered into a pout, and her eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Why are you so small? Why are you so perfect and quiet?" you hissed, violently shaking her head from side to side while the girl submissively endured your execution. "Your silence drives me insane! I want to flatten your face into a pancake! Look at you, you're not even fighting back, and that makes me want to crush you even harder!"

Kanao only mumbled unintelligibly through her compressed cheeks, her hands resting limply on her knees. She knew that this act of outright physical assault masked your strange, distorted form of care. You could knead her face for a minute or two before letting go with a heavy sigh, leaving red marks from your fingers on her pale skin, and walking away, muttering curses about how hard it is to live in a world full of adorable children.

But all of this—Mitsuri, Tanjiro, Aoi, Kanao—was merely a light warmup. Merely a pale shadow of the storm that unfolded inside you at the sight of one specific person.

Shinobu Kocho. The Insect Hashira. Mistress of the Butterfly Mansion.

To most slayers, Shinobu was a terrifying figure. Her eternal smile, hiding lethal poison and deep-seated fury, made many keep their distance from her. Her sharp tongue and habit of passively-aggressively threatening people scared them to death. But to you... oh, to you, she was a walking, breathing, absolute trigger of cute aggression.

In Shinobu, everything came together: her miniature height, which prevented her from even chopping off a demon's head; her graceful, almost weightless movements resembling the fluttering of a butterfly; her huge eyes resembling two deep amethysts; her gradient hair; even her fake, venomous smile seemed unbearably charming to you.

With Shinobu, you didn't even try to hold back. It was physically impossible. Near her, your brakes simply failed.

It was an ordinary, unremarkable day. The two of you sat in her laboratory. Shinobu was neatly sorting dried herbs while talking to you about a new wisteria-based poison formula she was developing. Her voice was even and melodic, her hands fluttering over the table.

You sat across from her, propping your chin on your hand, listening. For the first time five minutes, at least.

And then your gaze caught on how funnily she wrinkled her nose when she couldn't immediately separate the intertwined roots. How a lock of her black-and-purple-tinted hair fell onto her pale cheek. How her lips moved, uttering complex medical terms.

Your brain stopped processing information. Shinobu's words turned into white noise. That scorching, unbearable feeling began to swell in your chest. Blood rushed to your face, teeth instinctively clenched so hard your jaw creaked.

Shinobu, noticing you had stopped answering, looked up at you. "Y/N-san? Are you listening to me?" She tilted her head sideways, her eyes blinking questioningly.

That tiny detail—the head tilt—was the final straw. The trigger. The detonator.

The air in the laboratory shifted instantly. Your body began to vibrate literally. You straightened up in your chair, your hands resting on the table trembled minutely, fingers curling as if preparing to close around someone's throat. Your gaze became so wild, crazy, and aggressive that any Upper Rank demon would have preferred to flee upon seeing you like this.

"T/N?" Shinobu's smile faltered slightly, a note of tension slipping into her voice. She knew that look of yours. Oh, she knew very well what was about to start.

And a torrent of words poured out of you. A fast, furious, uncontrolled waterfall of threats uttered on the verge of a hysterical growl.

"Shinobu Kocho, I swear by all the gods of this earth, I am going to destroy you right now!" you hissed, jumping to your feet and looming over the table. Your hands trembled from colossal tension, hanging in the air a few centimeters from her shoulders, as if you were physically stopping yourself from grabbing her. "You're sitting right here! Wrinkling your damn perfect nose! Your eyes look like two stupid, huge, unbearably gorgeous amethysts! Why are you so small?! Why are you so fragile?! You're shaking me up!"

Shinobu, used to your fits, still instinctively pressed back into the back of her chair. Your aggression looked frighteningly real if one didn't listen to the meaning of the words.

"Y/N-san, please calm down..." she tried to say, maintaining her smile, though a bead of sweat appeared on her forehead.

"I WON'T CALM DOWN!" you growled, walking around the table and looming right over her. Your whole body vibrated like a taut string. "I look at you, and I want to squeeze you so hard your ribs crack and you pop in my hands like an overripe plum! Your smile pisses me off with its cuteness! I want to take you, roll you up into a little ball, stuff you in my pocket, and never show you to anyone! You're just... you..."

Words ran out as emotions overwhelmed the speech apparatus. You emitted a low, frustrated growl. No longer able to restrain your physical need, you leaned sharply toward her face. Shinobu held her breath, expecting a blow or a bear hug.

Instead, you sank your teeth into her cheek.

It wasn't a real, painful bite. You simply closed your teeth on her soft skin, slightly, almost gently nipping her, and immediately pulled away with a groan, burying your forehead in her shoulder.

"I want to bite your face off so you'll stop being so perfect," you muttered thickly and powerlessly into the fabric of her haori, still trembling minutely from an excess of feelings. "You're driving me crazy, Shinobu. I hate you for how adorable you are."

Silence reigned in the laboratory for a few seconds. And then the room was filled with the quiet, sincere, silvery laughter of the Insect Hashira.

Shinobu, who a second ago was preparing to be crushed by your aggressive embraces, was now laughing, softly stroking your hair. She wasn't frightened by your terrifying threats at all. She knew that behind that maniacal growl, behind the trembling hands and the desire to "crush her until she pops," lay a love so huge, clumsy, and all-consuming that you simply didn't know how to express it otherwise.

"You are completely out of your mind, Y/N," Shinobu purred, rubbing her slightly reddened cheek where the marks of your teeth remained. "I promise not to wrinkle my nose next time I'm sorting herbs. I don't want to lose my face."

"Won't help," you grumbled without raising your head from her shoulder. "You even breathe in a way that makes me want to strangle you out of tenderness."

If you could give free rein to your instincts (and teeth) within the Butterfly Mansion, you had to switch to extreme self-control mode outside of it. And the most terrifying trial for your nervous system was always the Hashira Meetings.

Master Ubuyashiki's residence. Perfectly laid gravel, blooming wisteria, the serious faces of the Corps' strongest swordsmen. The atmosphere demanded absolute concentration, respect, and subordination.

You stood in the ranks of the Hashira, trying to breathe evenly and rhythmically. Everything went well until Shinobu stood next to you.

She was in her full uniform, the butterfly haori fluttering softly in the wind. Her hair was neatly pinned up. She looked strict, collected, and professional. But to your cute-aggression-broken brain, this was tantamount to torture. Strict Shinobu was even cuter than relaxed Shinobu.

Oyakata-sama began his speech. His quiet, soothing voice carried over the garden. You tried to listen to him, you swear you did. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement.

Shinobu, standing to your left, shifted slightly from foot to foot, and the wind stirred a lock of her hair, revealing the pale, graceful line of her neck. She raised her chin slightly, listening attentively to the Master.

A chemical alarm siren went off inside you.

Your breath caught. Your hands, folded at your sides, instantly clenched into fists so hard your nails dug into your palms until they bled. Your jaw snapped shut, neck muscles tightening to the limit. Sweat beaded on your forehead.

Don't look at her. Don't look at her. Oyakata-sama is speaking. You can't just pounce on her right now and start screaming about how you want to crush her little bones. Don't you dare. Get a grip on yourself, your internal voice screamed in panic.

But your body demanded a release of energy. Vibration, that same minute, uncontrollable tremor, gripped you from head to toe. You looked like you were trying to hold back a volcanic eruption inside yourself.

Sanemi Shinazugawa, standing on the other side of you, glanced sideways. Noticing your shaking, tension-distorted face covered in sweat, he frowned. "Hey," he hissed barely audibly. "Why are you shaking? Smell a demon or having a seizure?"

You didn't even look at him. Your eyes were glued to Shinobu's profile. If you didn't do something, you were simply going to explode.

Unable to restrain yourself any longer, you threw your hand out to the side sharply, like a snake. Your index finger poked Shinobu right in the cheek with maniacal cruelty. Poke! It was a strong, aggressive, painful jab.

Shinobu flinched imperceptibly, her smile faltering for a second. She didn't turn her head to avoid showing disrespect to Oyakata-sama, but you saw her back tense up.

This didn't calm your brain down. You moved your hand lower, found a spot on her side unprotected by the haori fabric, and pinched her with a death grip. You pinched her so hard, pouring all that aggressive tenderness raging inside into it.

Shinobu hissed quietly, barely audibly through clenched teeth. She slowly, very slowly slanted her purple eyes toward you. Her gaze held a clear promise to add a dose of laxative or paralytic to your evening tea.

You looked back at her. Your face was still twitching, your teeth bared in a fierce, eerie grimace, and your eyes burned with the madness of a person fighting the urge to bite her nose off right in front of the Corps Master.

Sanemi, observing this silent, aggressive scene of violence against the Insect Hashira's side, merely twirled his finger at his temple and looked away. Sick in the head, both of them women, he thought.

You spent the rest of the meeting periodically aggressively poking Shinobu in the shoulder, side, and thigh, leaving her tiny bruises that were your only salvation from disrupting the meeting with your screams about her unbearable cuteness.

Evening of the same day. The Butterfly Mansion plunged into darkness and silence. The patients were asleep, and the helper girls had long since gone to their rooms.

You sat on the edge of the veranda, looking at the moon. Your body felt exhausted after a whole day of fighting your own emotions.

Quiet, soft footsteps heralded Shinobu's appearance. She stepped onto the veranda dressed in a light night yukata. Her hair was loose, flowing freely over her shoulders in a dark waterfall. Like this, she seemed even smaller, even more vulnerable, and... even more unbearable.

You tensed up immediately, instinctively pressing against the wall and looking away. "Don't come closer, Shinobu. I'm on edge today. I'm not responsible for myself."

But Shinobu ignored your warning. She walked right up and sat down next to you, her shoulder almost touching yours. She smelled of freshness and lavender.

"You bruised my side during the meeting," she said softly, with a note of playful reproach. "Tomioka-san looked at us like we'd lost our minds."

"I told you I was sick," you growled, still refusing to look at her, clutching the hem of your haori. "You should stay away from me. My brain can't handle it. I'm dangerous. Today I pinched you. Tomorrow I won't hold back and I'll break your spine in a hug just because you yawned cutely. It's not normal, Shinobu. It's an unhealthy reaction."

Shinobu sighed quietly. She turned to you, her hand resting gently on your tense, trembling palm. "Y/N. Look at me."

It was the worst idea in the world. But you couldn't refuse her. You turned your head slowly. Moonlight fell on her face, illuminating her huge, deep eyes, which lacked their usual venomous falsehood right now. Only softness, sincerity, and some incredible, naked vulnerability.

She smiled gently. The truest, warmest, and purest smile she was capable of.

"Why are you running from this?" Shinobu asked quietly, her voice like velvet. "Do you think your threats scare me? Your scary faces and clenched fists?"

A nuclear bomb went off inside you.

Your cute aggression, multiplied by deep, long-hidden romantic feelings, shattered all remaining barriers. Your eyes darkened, your breathing became fast and intermittent. Tremors seized your body with such force that the veranda boards shook.

"RUN!" you hissed desperately, jumping to your feet.

But Shinobu stood up too, blocking your path. She looked at you with defiance and absolute trust.

Your self-control collapsed entirely.

With a low, growling sound that would have suited a wild beast better, you lunged at her. Your hands, previously clenched into fists, flew open and wrapped around her fragile body. You pressed her against the veranda wall, looming over top. Your fingers dug into the fabric of her yukata, crumpling it.

"Are you mocking me?!" your voice was fast, loud, and full of mad aggression. Words flew out of your mouth like bullets. "You're standing here, shining your eyes, letting your damn hair down! You look like an angel descended from heaven, and it pisses me off to the point of teeth-grinding! I want to tear you to pieces! I want to eat you alive! I want to sink my teeth into your neck and not let go until you dissolve inside me! You're an unbearable, stunning, perfect woman!"

Shinobu was pinned to the wall, your chest heaving heavily, pressing against hers. She felt your colossal strength, felt every muscle in your body trembling with the desire to squeeze her tighter. But in your eyes, filled with wild, aggressive fire, she saw only one thing.

Love.

"Then do it," Shinobu whispered, a blush flooding her cheeks and her lips parting. "Bite me, Y/N."

Her words were the final straw. You growled, tilted your head sharply, and truly sank your teeth into the curve of her neck. It wasn't a light nip like in the laboratory. It was a greedy, possessive, aggressive bite that made Shinobu gasp loudly, arching her back and digging her fingers into your shoulders.

Yet even in this act of "violence," there wasn't an ounce of real cruelty. Your teeth didn't break the skin to draw blood; they merely left a bright, red mark on the pale canvas of her body. You bit her, breathed her in, your hands tightly gripping her waist as if trying to snap her in half, but actually just holding her as close as physics possibly allowed.

Pulling away from her neck, you breathed heavily right onto her lips. Your face was still distorted in a stern, vicious grimace, teeth bared.

"I love you to such a point of dizziness that my brain just rots when you're around," you hissed, staring into her pleasure-and-shock-hazed eyes. "If you say anything cute to me right now, I'm going to demolish this veranda to hell."

Shinobu laughed happily and silvery, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling your aggressively distorted face to hers.

"I love you too, my crazy, aggressive Y/N," she whispered, and her lips covered yours.

The kiss was just like your expression of feelings—wild, assertive, full of restrained might and endless tenderness. You kissed her as if wanting to devour her whole, your hands roaming her body, gripping her hips, shoulders, burying themselves in her hair. You fought the urge to tear her apart from an excess of feelings, channeling that energy into passion.

Your relationship became a secret shrouded in darkness (and bruises).

Your cute aggression didn't disappear anywhere. On the contrary, having grown closer to Shinobu, having gained legal access to her embraces, you became even more dangerous to her physical well-being.

In the morning, waking up and seeing Shinobu's sleepy, rumpled face on the next pillow, you might start a quiet, fierce growl, after which you would pounce on her, crushing her in a crushing bear hug and biting her nose until she started laughing and fighting back, begging you to let her breathe.

Shinobu, in turn, figured out how to use this. If she wanted your undivided, animal attention, it was enough for just smiling at you with her most sincere, gentle smile or wearing her butterfly hairpin slightly crooked.

And you exploded. Your hands would start shaking, your eyes would darken, and you would deliver another tirade about how you were going to crush her into powder right now, followed by a passionate, aggressive tackle.

To everyone else, you remained the strict Insect Hashira and the unyielding slayer. Sanemi, Giyu, and the rest only occasionally noticed new bite marks on Shinobu's neck or how aggressively you pinched her cheek during meals. They preferred not to ask questions, assuming that some horrific sadistic rituals were practiced in the Butterfly Mansion.

At least, that was the case until Kanao Tsuyuri appeared in your field of vision.

As soon as that quiet, graceful girl with the butterfly hairpin was nearby, all your vaunted confidence instantly evaporated, leaving behind only a stuttering, blushing shell of a person. Your flirting ability suffered a critical failure. Your sharp tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of your mouth, and your hands began to nervously tug at the fabric of your uniform. It was catastrophically ridiculous.

The last time you tried to talk to Kanao in the Butterfly Mansion garden, it ended with you tripping over your own shoe, mumbling something incoherent about the weather, and running away, leaving Kanao blinking her large purple eyes in mild bewilderment.

"It’s just unbearable," you groaned, hiding your face in your palms while sitting on the tatami mats in the Uzui estate. "I’m bringing shame to the title of your Tsuguko, Tengen-sama. I’m not brilliant. I’m pathetic."

Sitting around you in a semicircle was a peculiar "war council" consisting of the Sound Hashira and his three beautiful wives. They had been watching your romantic suffering for months, and today, their patience had finally run out.

"Oh, come on, Y/N, don't say that!" Suma immediately sobbed, scooting closer and stroking your back. "Love is so complicated! When I fell in love with Tengen-sama, I cried all the time too, and didn't know what to do!"

"Suma, you still cry all the time," Makio noted reasonably, crossing her arms over her chest. "Y/N’s problem is that she loses her nerve. Listen to me carefully, Y/N! You just need to walk up to her, grab her by the shoulders, look her straight in the eyes, and say: 'I like you! Be mine!' Aggressively, directly, and without the mushy stuff!"

"That’s too harsh, Makio," Hinatsuru gently objected, pouring green tea for everyone. "Kanao-san is a very gentle and quiet girl. Y/N, you need to show your soft side. Give her flowers. Give her a sincere compliment. Show her that behind your bright exterior lies a caring heart."

Tengen Uzui, sitting at the head of the table with his usual grin, clapped his hands to attract everyone's attention. "My wives, as always, speak words of wisdom! But they forget the most important rule!" He pointed his finger at you, his jewelry sparkling. "It must be BRILLIANT! Y/N, you are my apprentice. Your confession should explode like a firework at a festival! Combine their advice, add a spark, and she won't be able to resist!"

Inspired by this strange but sincere support, you decided to act. The plan was simple: use all the advice in turn until one of them worked.

The next day, you began executing "Suma’s Plan." The essence was to appear cute, defenseless, and a little vulnerable. Seeing Kanao on the training ground, you tried to pretend you had injured your ankle and made a quiet, plaintive sound, expecting her to rush to your aid. Instead, your cry sounded like the squeak of a suffocating mouse. Kanao did indeed approach you, but her face expressed not romantic sympathy, but sincere medical concern. "Y/N-san? Are you having an asthma attack? Should I call Aoi?" she asked in her quiet, steady voice. Burning with shame, you muttered that you had simply choked on your own saliva and retreated in haste. "Suma’s Plan" had failed miserably.

Then came "Hinatsuru’s Plan." Flowers and tenderness. You spent three hours gathering the most beautiful bouquet of wild lilies and bluebells. You rehearsed a soft, charming smile in front of the mirror. But when you found Kanao on the veranda feeding birds, your pulse jumped to two hundred beats per minute. Your palms were sweating. Walking closer, you wanted to elegantly hand her the flowers, but your foot treacherously caught on the edge of a floorboard. You lost your balance, waved your arms, and the bouquet flew straight into Kanao’s face, showering her with petals and pollen. "Oh god! Sorry! I didn't mean to attack you with flowers!" you screamed in a panic, crawling on your knees and gathering the crumpled buds while Kanao silently brushed the pollen from her hair, looking at you with the same unreadable expression. The second attempt turned into a total fiasco.

That left "Makio’s Plan." Directness and aggression. You gathered all your will into a fist. You were a Tsuguko of the Sound Hashira. You had killed dangerous demons. You could confess to a girl! Seeing Kanao in the Butterfly Mansion hallway, you headed toward her with a quick, decisive step. Kanao stopped, looking questioningly at your tense face. You walked right up to her, raised your hands to grab her by the shoulders (as Makio taught), opened your mouth to shout your confession... and froze. Looking into her deep, calm eyes, breathing in her light scent of wisteria, you realized you couldn't squeeze out a single sound. Your face turned the color of a ripe tomato. You stood there for five seconds, then made an unintelligible sound, spun on your heels, and literally ran away, leaving Kanao standing in the empty corridor with her head slightly tilted.

By evening, you were completely destroyed. Your ego was trampled, and your hopes were shattered to pieces. You sat on the edge of a far veranda of the Butterfly Mansion, away from everyone, dangling your legs and staring at the evening sky. Your sword lay beside you. You felt like the biggest loser in the history of the Corps.

Quiet, almost weightless footsteps interrupted your self-reflection. You didn't even turn your head, already knowing who they belonged to. That light fragrance always gave her away.

Kanao sat down next to you in silence. Not too close, but not too far. A silence fell, broken only by the chirping of cicadas. You expected her to take out her coin to decide whether to talk to you or not, but the coin remained in her pocket.

"You are acting... unusually, Y/N-san," Kanao finally said. Her voice was as quiet as the rustle of leaves, but it held a strange, uncertain note. "Usually you joke a lot with others. You laugh with Uzui-san. But when I am nearby... you run away. Or you throw flowers at me. I... did I do something wrong? Did I offend you?"

These words hit you straight in the heart. The realization that your ridiculous attempts had made her think you disliked her was the last straw. Your patience snapped, giving way to desperate, naked sincerity.

"No! No, Kanao, you didn't do anything!" you turned to her sharply, your eyes glistening with welling tears of frustration. "I’m the idiot! I’m a complete, absolute idiot who can't string two words together when you’re looking at me!"

Kanao’s eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting such an emotional outburst.

"I can flirt with anyone," you continued, gesturing desperately. "I can joke, I can be loud and 'brilliant' like Tengen-sama teaches. But with you... with you, none of that works. Because I like you, Kanao. I like you insanely! To the point where my brain just shuts off. I tried to be cute, I tried to be romantic, I tried to be decisive, but all I do is embarrass myself. Forgive me. Forgive me for acting like a lunatic."

You breathed all of this out in one breath, feeling your cheeks burn. You turned away, unable to look at her reaction, expecting a polite rejection or the awkward silence she usually bestowed upon interlocutors.

But silence did not follow.

Instead, you heard a quiet, melodic sound. It was laughter. Real, sincere, soft laughter from Kanao. You turned back in shock. Kanao was covering her mouth with her palm, her purple eyes shining with warmth and amusement, and a light, charming blush played on her cheeks.

"Y/N-san..." she said, calming down, but her smile remained. "Did you really think I didn't notice?"

You blinked, completely confused. "Um... well... yes?"

Kanao slowly reached out to you and gently covered your hand with hers. Her palm was warm and a little calloused from sword training.

"I don't know how to read emotions as well as others," she admitted, looking straight at your joined hands. "I often need a coin to know what to do. But when you tripped in the garden... when you gave me that disheveled bouquet... when you looked at me so tensely in the hallway... I didn't need a coin. My heart was beating so fast that I scared myself."

She raised her gaze to you, and absolute, unshakable sincerity could be read in her eyes. "I like you too, Y/N. Your brightness... it warms me. Even when you act ridiculous. Especially when you act ridiculous for my sake."

Your brain froze for a second, processing the information. All your failures, all those humiliating moments—they didn't just fail to push her away; they showed her your true feelings. You, a Tsuguko of the Sound Hashira, couldn't do it "brilliantly." You did it clumsily and sincerely. And that was exactly what worked.

A wide, your true, confident smile blossomed on your face. You intertwined your fingers with Kanao’s, feeling your heart pounding wildly, but this time—from absolute happiness. "So... the flowers actually worked after all?" you chuckled quietly. "If you don't throw them in my face anymore, then yes," Kanao replied softly, and for the first time, a light, playful note sounded in her voice. And at that moment, under the moonlight, you realized that sometimes the most ridiculous failures lead to the most perfect victories.

There was an unwritten rule at Kimetsu Academy: never stand between Kanao Tsuyuri and Y/N L/N. Their rivalry was legendary; it was whispered about in the hallways, discussed during recess, and teachers only sighed heavily when the two of them crossed swords in class again.

Kanao was the school star. Captain of the kendo club, the pride of the track and field team whose 100-meter dash records seemed unreachable, and on top of that, an honors student with impeccable behavior. Her quiet, frighteningly calm aura made other students look at her with awe.

And then there was you. Bright, ambitious, and incredibly stubborn. If Kanao got a 98 on a math test, you would break your back to get a 99. If she won a kendo tournament, you would challenge her to a duel during P.E., exerting yourself to the last drop of sweat. Your friendly rivalry grew into a real school war of wits and ambition. You constantly exchanged cold looks across the classroom, made sarcastic comments about each other's answers, and competed for the title of best student of the year.

Everyone at Kimetsu Academy was sure that you couldn't stand each other.

And everyone at Kimetsu Academy was deeply mistaken.

Saturday noon in a small, cozy cafe on the edge of town was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and vanilla. At a far table, hidden from prying eyes by a massive potted ficus, sat two girls.

"You were trying to needle me in history again today, Y/N," Kanao took an elegant sip of her milk oolong. Her voice was devoid of its usual school coldness; it held only soft, almost purring tenderness.

You laughed, reaching across the table and covering her palm with yours. With your thumb, you affectionately stroked her knuckles. "Admit it, my argument about the Edo period was much more convincing than yours. Besides, if I didn't argue with you, Mr. Rengoku would start to suspect something. We need to maintain the image of sworn enemies, forgot?"

Kanao smiled slightly, her purple eyes warming when she looked at your intertwined hands. "Sometimes I get tired of this image. I would prefer to hold your hand in school hallways, and not just here, where no one sees us."

You had been dating in secret for almost half a year. That spark of rivalry that initially fueled your hostility at some point grew into mutual admiration, and then—into a deep, adolescent love. You knew each other better than anyone else. You knew that behind the mask of an ideal athlete hid a girl who loved sweet pancakes and was afraid of thunderstorms. And Kanao knew that your ambition was just a way to prove your worth to yourself. Your secret weekend dates were your personal refuge from the bustle of Kimetsu Academy.

But every secret has an expiration date.

The problems started on Monday. When you opened your shoe locker, a folded sheet of paper fell out. Unfolding it, you felt your blood run cold. It was a photograph. It captured you and Kanao in that very cafe on the weekend. You weren't just sitting next to each other—the photo captured the moment you leaned across the table and tenderly kissed her on the cheek. The quality was excellent; your faces were clearly visible.

Taped below the photo was a note typed with letters cut out of a magazine: "The ideal star of Kimetsu Academy and her main rival... How touching. What will the school council say if they find out about such a violation of morals? What will the coaching committee say, which is considering her for a national scholarship? I’m waiting for 50,000 yen in the old gym shed by Wednesday, or this photo will end up on the bulletin board and in the principal’s mailbox."

You broke out in a cold sweat. Blackmail. Kimetsu Academy had strict rules regarding relationships between students, especially if it could provoke a scandal. But the point wasn't even the rules. The point was Kanao’s scholarship. You knew how hard she worked for this chance. A scandal of this kind could forever cross out her athletic career and the reputation of her adoptive family—the Kocho sisters, who taught at this very school.

You walked around in a fog all day. You couldn't let her future collapse because of you. You couldn't let her become the object of dirty gossip. The decision that formed in your head was painful, tearing your heart to pieces, but it seemed to you the only correct one.

After school, you wrote Kanao a short message asking to meet behind the old gym building.

She arrived on time, with a light smile on her lips, which immediately faded when she saw your pale, tense face. "Y/N? What happened? You look like a ghost," Kanao stepped toward you in concern, reaching out her hands.

You stepped back, hiding your hands in your skirt pockets so she wouldn't see them shaking. Your heart screamed in pain, but you forced yourself to put on that same cold mask of a rival you wore in class. "We need to break up, Kanao."

Kanao froze. Her eyes widened in shock. "What? What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?"

"No jokes," your voice was steady, even though everything inside was tightening into a tight knot. You weren't going to show her the photo. If she found out about the blackmail, she would try to fight, and that would only make the situation worse. "I just realized it was a mistake. This game of secret relationships... it distracts me from my studies. We are too different. Our rivalry is the only real thing between us. I don't want to continue this farce anymore."

The words cut your tongue like broken glass. You saw Kanao’s face go pale, saw tears gathering in her purple eyes that she was trying so desperately to hold back. "Y/N... you’re lying. I can see you’re lying. Yesterday you said..."

"Yesterday I was mistaken," you cut her off harshly, turning away so you wouldn't see her pain. "Goodbye, Tsuyuri-san. Let’s pretend this never happened."

You turned and walked away, almost breaking into a run, not looking back so you wouldn't rush to her and take your words back. You cried all night, buried in your pillow, convincing yourself you had made the right choice. You protected her.

The next few days turned into hell. At school, you were enemies again, but now there was no spark of excitement in your eyes—only icy cold and unbearable weight. Kanao was unnaturally quiet, her answers in class were monosyllabic, and at kendo practice, she attacked with a frightening, almost cruel ferocity.

Wednesday was approaching. You gathered all your pocket money and borrowed a bit from friends under silly pretenses to collect the required amount for the blackmailer. You were going to pay and finish it once and for all.

On Wednesday after school, you headed to the old gym shed with an envelope of money in your pocket. Your hands were sweating. Approaching the ajar door, you heard voices and froze.

"...did you really think you could threaten me and Y/N with this trash?" The voice coming from inside was icy, permeated with threat and mortal danger. It was Kanao’s voice.

In shock, you peeked through the gap. The scene inside made you hold your breath. Kanao was standing in the middle of the shed. On the floor, cowering in fear, sat a guy from a parallel class—a known school bully and gossip. Kanao held his phone in her hand.

"I know about your bets on underground school tournaments," Kanao continued in a cold, ruthless tone, towering over him. "I know about the money you stole from the radio club fund. I collected all the evidence while you thought you had us on a hook."

She threw a fat folder of printouts onto the floor in front of him. The guy trembled. "T-Tsuyuri-san, I... I didn't mean anything! I just thought..."

"You don't know how to think," Kanao cut him off. She picked up his phone and with a few sharp movements deleted the photos, and then, to the guy’s horror, simply threw the phone onto the concrete floor and stepped on it with the heel of her school shoe with force, crushing the screen into smithereens. "If you ever come near me or Y/N again, if even a word about this situation goes beyond this shed, these documents will end up on Principal Ubuyashiki’s desk, and then—at the police station. You will be kicked out of the Academy with a 'wolf ticket' (blacklisted). Do you understand me?"

The guy nodded convulsively, barely crying from fear, muttering apologies.

Kanao turned and walked toward the exit. You recoiled from the door in a panic, but it was too late—she walked out and collided face to face with you.

You froze, looking at each other. There was no more sadness of a dumped girl in Kanao’s eyes. Fury and unshakable determination burned there. She grabbed your wrist with such force that you let out a quiet gasp, and dragged you behind the shed building, away from prying eyes.

She pressed your back against the brick wall, leaning on both sides of your head with her hands, not giving you a single chance to escape. A classic school "kabedon," but performed with such intensity that your throat went dry.

"You... you knew about the blackmail?" you stammered, feeling incredibly stupid.

"Of course I knew, you idiot," Kanao hissed, her face centimeters from yours. Her breath scorched your cheeks. "He sent me the same copy of the photo on Sunday evening. I spent two days hacking his social media, finding his dirty secrets, and compiling a dossier to destroy him if he dared to open his mouth."

You blinked in amazement. Your quiet, ideal Kanao had just pulled off a threat-neutralization operation worthy of a secret service agent. "But... but why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted to solve the problem before it touched you!" Kanao raised her voice, her eyes filling with tears, but this time they were tears of anger. "And you? What did you do?! You decided that it was better to break my heart, lie to me to my face, and dump me, just to 'protect' my scholarship?!"

"I didn't want your future to collapse because of me!" you also couldn't hold it in, tears sprayed from your eyes. "I love you, Kanao! I wouldn't have survived if you were expelled or disgraced because you were with me! I thought it would be better for you!"

Kanao exhaled loudly, her forehead pressed against yours. Fury left her body, leaving only exhaustion and deep attachment. "Never," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Do you hear me, Y/N? Never again dare to make decisions for me. My future is worth nothing if you aren't in it. I am not a porcelain doll that needs to be hidden from problems. I can stand up for both of us."

You sobbed, your hands, previously pressed to your chest, sliding onto her waist, hugging her tightly. "Forgive me... forgive me, Kanao. I was such a fool. I was so afraid of losing you."

"You would have lost me if you hadn't come here today with that stupid envelope of money," she smiled bitterly, closing her eyes. "We are a team, Y/N. In class, we are rivals, but in life—we are one whole. Remember that."

"Remembered," you whispered, pressing your lips to her cheek, salty with tears.

Kanao pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes, and then decisively covered your lips with hers. In this kiss was the taste of shed tears, the bitterness of the past days, and the sweet, absolute certainty that no more obstacles, blackmailers, or school rules would stand between you.

"And now," Kanao said quietly, pulling away and adjusting your rumpled school tie, the same light, smug smile playing on her lips again, "wipe your tears. We have a chemistry test tomorrow, and I won't let you think that this incident will give you any slack. I’m still going to beat you by two points."

You chuckled through your tears, feeling the weight finally fall from your shoulders. Your Kanao was back. Your rival. Your love. "Dream on, Tsuyuri-san. I’ve already learned all the formulas. You’ll have to eat my dust."

For you, [Y/N], this world initially seemed alien and frightening. As the younger sister of Gyokuyou, the Emperor's favorite concubine and mistress of the Jade Pavilion, you entered these gates not as a captive, but as an honored guest. Having inherited the same striking features from your Western ancestors as your older sister—rose-colored hair and eyes resembling two sparkling emeralds—you instantly became an object of intense scrutiny. You and Gyokuyou were destined to shine, but while your sister bore the heavy burden of being the Emperor’s favorite and the mother of his child, you, as a seventeen-year-old girl, enjoyed a unique freedom. You were untouchable. And it was precisely this freedom that allowed you to find the most unusual friend in the Rear Palace imaginable.

Maomao.

An apothecary girl with an eternally imperturbable face, a dusting of artificial freckles on her nose, and eyes that ignited with a manic gleam only at the mention of poisons, rare diseases, or strange medical anomalies. While other maids trembled before your lineage, Maomao treated you with pragmatic calm. To her, you weren't the "Honorable Sister of the Lady," but simply [Y/N]—a girl who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty helping her transplant medicinal herbs, and who listened with genuine curiosity to her long lectures on the properties of poisonous mushrooms.

You became inseparable. Wherever Maomao appeared, you followed like a shadow, creating an incredibly contrasting yet harmonious duo.

Morning at the Jade Pavilion began, as always, with bustle. Maids scurried about with basins of hot water, brushing Gyokuyou’s hair and preparing breakfast. You sat on the edge of the veranda, swinging your legs in the air, watching Maomao methodically grind dried leaves of some plant in a stone mortar. The scent of wormwood and mint tickled your nostrils.

"If you continue to watch me with such diligence, [Y/N]-sama, I’ll begin to think a rare form of mold has grown on my face," Maomao said without looking up. Her voice was even, devoid of any emotional coloring.

You laughed softly, jumping down from the veranda and walking closer. "I asked you, Maomao. Just [Y/N]. No 'sama.' We’re the same age, and here in the garden, there is no one to reprimand us for breaking etiquette. What are you preparing?"

"An ointment for calluses," the apothecary answered dryly, adding a drop of oil to the mortar. "The maids from the laundry complained about cracks on their hands yesterday. The lye they use is too aggressive. If I add calendula extract and beeswax, it will create a protective film."

"You always take care of others, even if you try to hide it behind your eternally bored expression," you tilted your head with a smile.

Maomao only shrugged ever so slightly, ignoring the compliment. At that moment, the pavilion doors slid open with a clatter, and Hongniang—Gyokuyou’s head lady-in-waiting—appeared on the threshold. Her eyebrows were sternly furrowed, and her hands were planted on her hips.

"[Y/N]-sama! You are distracting Maomao from her work again!" Hongniang said sternly, though her eyes held more weary motherly concern than genuine anger. "And look at the hem of your dress! You were sitting on the wooden boards again. Lady Gyokuyou asked me to tell you that today is relatively calm, and if you wish to take a walk, you should take a guard with you."

"No guards, Hongniang!" you waved your hands, wrinkling your nose. "They walk on my heels and scare everyone away. I’ll go with Maomao. She was just about to take the ointment to the laundry. Right, Maomao?"

You looked expressively at the apothecary girl. She sighed heavily, understanding that she couldn't refuse the mistress's sister, and honestly, your company didn't annoy her at all. You were an excellent buffer between her and the meddlesome inhabitants of the palace.

"Yes," Maomao confirmed calmly, transferring the finished ointment into a small ceramic jar. "We’ll walk to the laundry, and then I need to stop by the eastern gardens. I saw some wild garlic sprouts there that I’d like to gather for supplies."

Hongniang rubbed the bridge of her nose in despair. "Two seventeen-year-old girls... One is the sister of the Emperor’s favorite concubine, the other is a poison-obsessed herbalist. What could possibly go wrong?" she muttered under her breath. "Go. But I beg you, don't get into trouble! If any of the High-ranking Consorts decide to pick on you, [Y/N]-sama, use your status. And you, Maomao, see to it that she doesn't eat anything questionable from the bushes!"

Having received permission (and a portion of lecturing), you left the safe walls of the Jade Pavilion, stepping into the labyrinth of the Rear Palace.

A walk with Maomao was always like an educational excursion. As you walked along the winding paths paved with white stone, she continuously scanned the flowerbeds, shrubs, and trees. For an ordinary person, it was just a beautiful landscape; for Maomao, it was a vast, living pharmacy and a potential arsenal of poisons.

You walked beside her, hands behind your back, enjoying the warm spring sun. Your path led through the eastern gardens—a place where maids from different pavilions crossed paths. Here, a silent, implicit hierarchy reigned.

Suddenly, a quiet, stifled sob drifted from behind a thicket of blooming camellias.

You stopped instantly, your face turning serious. In the Rear Palace, sobbing rarely meant anything good. More often than not, it was a harbinger of cruel bullying by senior maids. You exchanged glances with Maomao. There was no sympathy in her eyes, but there was a cold, analytical interest. You turned off the path simultaneously, pushing aside the branches of the bush.

On a stone bench sat a young girl in the uniform of a low-ranking maid. She was rocking back and forth, cradling her hands, which were covered in a terrifying, bright red rash that was turning into blisters. The girl was gasping through her sobs, her face swollen from tears.

"What happened?" your voice was soft but authoritative. You approached her, while Maomao remained standing a little way off, her eyes already scanning the affected areas of skin.

Hearing your voice and seeing your luxurious rose-colored hair, the maid jumped up in terror and tried to bow despite the pain. "M-Mistress... forgive me, I didn't mean to disturb you with my unworthy appearance!" she stuttered.

"Forget the bowing," you gently sat her back down on the bench. "Show me your hands. What happened to them? Were you punished? Scalded with boiling water?"

"N-no, Mistress," the maid sniffled, struggling to hold back tears. "I was just cleaning my mistress’s chambers, wiping dust off the new lacquered boxes that arrived yesterday. And then... my hands started itching unbearably. I washed them, but it only got worse. The senior maids chased me away, said I was contagious and could infect the Mistress. They said they would kick me out of the palace!"

Maomao, who had been silent until this moment, approached silently. Her face remained impassive, but a gleam of professional excitement appeared in her eyes.

"Let me take a look," the apothecary commanded, taking the maid’s hands into her own, unceremoniously but gently.

The girl flinched, but you nodded encouragingly: "Trust her, she is the best healer in this palace."

Maomao carefully examined the blisters, smelled the skin, and then looked at the girl’s reddened eyes and slightly swollen face.

"This is neither an infection nor a curse," Maomao stated, releasing her hands. "It is contact dermatitis. A strong allergic reaction. You said you were wiping new lacquered boxes?"

"Yes," the maid nodded timidly.

"The lacquer for them was likely made from the sap of a lacquer tree (Toxicodendron vernicifluum)," Maomao began her lecture, her voice becoming more animated. "The drying process for lacquer takes a long time and requires specific humidity conditions. If the boxes were delivered in haste, the lacquer might not have polymerized completely. The sap of this tree contains urushiol—a potent allergen. It causes contact dermatitis in most people. You simply touched the wet lacquer and then, likely, touched your face."

"And what should I do?" the maid asked in a panic. "The blisters hurt so much..."

Maomao reached into the bag she always carried and pulled out that very jar of ointment she had prepared in the morning. "It’s your luck that we were on our way to the laundry. This ointment based on calendula and wax will soothe the skin and relieve the itching. You need to thoroughly wash your hands with an oak bark decoction or a weak salt solution to wash off the remaining urushiol oil, and then apply the ointment. Do not scratch the blisters, or you will introduce an infection, and then your hands will truly have to be amputated."

The maid turned pale at the word "amputated," but accepted the jar with gratitude.

At that moment, three senior ladies-in-waiting appeared in the alley. Seeing their subordinate, they sneered contemptuously. "Xiao-Ling! We ordered you to get out of sight! Do you want to infect us with your leprosy?!" one of them barked.

You slowly straightened. Your softness vanished instantly, replaced by the icy aura of an aristocrat. You turned to the ladies-in-waiting, folding your arms before you. Your green eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I thought that senior maids should possess at least basic knowledge before sowing panic in the palace," your voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a blade.

The ladies-in-waiting froze, finally recognizing you. The color of their faces instantly matched the color of bleached silk. They collapsed to their knees in unison. "[Y/N]-sama! F-forgive us, we didn't notice your presence!"

"This girl is not contagious," you continued coldly, looking down at them. "She suffered from poor-quality lacquer on the new boxes. This is a result of negligence by those who accepted the goods, not the fault of this poor girl. You not only showed incompetence but also cruelty by chasing her away without help. If I hear one more time that younger maids are being bullied in your pavilion, I will personally report it to Lady Gyokuyou, and through her, to the Emperor himself. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, Mistress! We apologize a thousand times over!" the women wailed, trembling with fear.

"Take her, ensure her rest, and do everything as my apothecary ordered," you commanded, turning away. "Let’s go, Maomao. We have other things to attend to."

Maomao followed you in silence. When you had walked a sufficient distance, she gave a quiet hmph. "Impressive. You use your sister’s status like a club to hit fools over the head. That is... effective."

"I hate cruelty based on ignorance," you shrugged, and the icy mask fell from your face, returning your usual soft smile. "Besides, without your knowledge, I wouldn't have been able to prove anything to them. We’re a great team, Maomao! You make the diagnosis, and I carry out the sentence."

The freckled girl only sighed heavily, but the corners of her lips twitched ever so slightly in a semblance of a smile.

Your path led further, past the luxurious Crystal Pond pavilion. Concubines of medium rank lived here, desperately fighting for scraps of the Emperor’s attention. The atmosphere here was always saturated with envy and gossip.

Passing by the open windows of one of the rooms, Maomao suddenly stopped. Her sensitive nose caught a strange, barely perceptible scent. She sniffed, frowning, and turned off the path right toward the open window.

"Maomao, what are you doing? They might accuse us of espionage!" you hissed, trotting after her.

But the apothecary was already looking inside. Real turmoil reigned in the room. A young concubine sat on the floor before her vanity, throwing cosmetics around in hysterics. In her trembling hands, she clutched a silver hair ornament. The ornament, which should have been sparkling with clean metal, was covered in a ghastly, coal-black film.

"It’s a curse! It’s witchcraft!" the concubine screamed at her terrified maids. "They want me dead! Look, the silver has blackened! That means there was a deadly poison in my food or cosmetics!"

At the word "poison," Maomao’s eyes flashed. She could no longer restrain herself. Forgetting all etiquette, she vaulted over the low windowsill and found herself right in the room.

"Maomao!" you clutched your head in horror, but realizing there was no other way, you climbed in after her.

The concubine shrieked and recoiled upon seeing two uninvited guests. The maids tried to shield their mistress, but you quickly stepped forward.

"Calm down!" you said loudly, raising your hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I am [Y/N] from the Jade Pavilion. We heard your screams and decided to come to your aid. My companion is an outstanding apothecary. Let her take a look at the hairpin."

Hearing about your lineage, the concubine calmed down a little, but was still trembling, clutching the blackened silver to her chest. "Mistress [Y/N]... They want to poison me! I read in ancient scrolls that silver turns black when it touches deadly poison! My rivals have cursed me!"

Maomao, not waiting for permission, approached the concubine and unceremoniously snatched the hairpin from her hands. She held it up to the light, sniffed the blackened metal, and then began methodically sniffing all the jars of cosmetics on the table.

You stood nearby, watching her work. You knew that look. Maomao was in her element.

"Have you recently changed your face powder?" Maomao asked sharply, pointing to a small porcelain box with white powder.

"Y-yes," the concubine answered uncertainly. "It was sent to me as a gift from my home province. It’s a special mineral-based powder from healing hot springs. It’s supposed to rejuvenate the skin... What does that have to do with anything? Silver turns black from poison!"

Maomao rolled her eyes with such expressive contempt for someone else’s stupidity that you had to cough to hide a chuckle.

"Silver doesn't turn black from 'poison' or curses," the apothecary began in a dry, lecturing tone, turning to the concubine. "What you read in the scrolls are outdated tales based on the fact that arsenic used to often contain sulfur impurities due to a poor purification process. Silver reacts specifically to sulfur, forming silver sulfide—that very same black film."

She took the powder box and held it up to the concubine’s nose. "You said the powder is from hot springs? Hot springs of volcanic origin are extremely rich in sulfur compounds. You were generously applying this powder to your face and hair, and then sticking a silver hairpin into your hairstyle. Moisture from the air and your sweat provoked a chemical reaction. Your hairpin was covered in silver sulfide. No one cursed you or tried to poison you. You ruined your own jewelry with your own cosmetics."

A dead silence hung in the room. The concubine looked at Maomao with her mouth wide open, trying to digest this stream of complex chemical terms that had destroyed her tragic theory about an assassination attempt.

You, realizing that Maomao’s bluntness could be taken as an insult, stepped forward gently.

"What my apothecary is trying to say, Mistress," you smiled your most charming and sympathetic smile, "is that you are in absolute safety. There is no conspiracy. Your gift from home is truly unique; it simply requires other jewelry. Perhaps you should use gold or jade hairpins while you use this powder. And silver can be easily cleaned with salt and ash."

The concubine, finally realizing that her life was in no danger, burst into tears, but now from relief. "Oh, Mistress [Y/N]! Your apothecary... she is simply a genius! Thank you! You saved me from a heart attack!"

Maomao only snorted dismissively, muttering under her breath about "the ignorance of palace women who believe in fairy tales instead of studying the basic properties of minerals."

You left the Crystal Pond pavilion, leaving behind a calmed concubine and maids who looked at you with awe.

The sun had finally set when you returned to the Jade Pavilion. Paper lanterns had lit up in the garden, casting a soft, warm light on the wooden paths. The air had turned cool, bringing relief after the long, bustling day.

Gyokuyou was waiting for you on the veranda. She was reclining on silk cushions, sipping tea. Seeing you, her face lit up with a happy, relaxed smile.

"[Y/N]! Maomao! You’ve returned," she waved her fan gracefully. Hongniang, standing behind her, breathed a sigh of relief. "Hongniang had already managed to turn gray, thinking you had run away from the palace. I hope your walk passed without incident?"

You exchanged glances with Maomao. The apothecary, as always, maintained the face of a stone statue.

"Absolutely without incident, sister," you smiled mischievously, sitting down next to Gyokuyou and pouring yourself tea. "We were just enjoying the spring air. Maomao gathered some wild garlic, and I... I was simply breathing in freedom."

Gyokuyou laughed quietly, not believing a word you said, but didn't pry. She knew you both too well.

Maomao bowed and walked quietly to the far end of the veranda, pulling the gathered herbs from her bag and beginning to sort them methodically. It was her way of meditating, her protection from the complexities of this world.

You left Gyokuyou to discuss evening attire with Hongniang and approached Maomao, sitting down next to her on the mat.

"You know," you said quietly, looking at her skillful hands sorting the green stems. "I always thought the Rear Palace was a terrible place. That it was a prison full of poisonous snakes. And in part, that’s true."

Maomao didn't stop working, but tilted her head slightly, showing she was listening.

"But today..." you smiled, looking at the starry sky. "Today I realized that even in the most poisonous place, you can find an antidote. You are an amazing person, Maomao. Your knowledge saves people. And your straightforwardness makes me bolder. I am glad I came here. I am glad I met you."

Maomao’s hands froze for a second over the pile of wild garlic. She wasn't used to such sincere, sentimental speeches. In her world, people usually said pleasant words to each other only when they wanted something. But there was no falsehood in your voice. Only pure, unmasked friendship.

The apothecary slowly turned her head toward you. Her face remained imperturbable, but something warm appeared in her deep, dark eyes, like the reflection of a lit lantern.

"You are too sentimental, [Y/N]," Maomao muttered, returning to the herbs. But her voice sounded softer than usual. "I am just doing my job. Poisons and medicines are the only things that interest me."

"And yet," you squinted cunningly, moving a little closer, "admit that you like wandering around the palace with me and uncovering other people’s secrets. You would be bored without me."

Maomao sighed heavily, gathering a bunch of herbs and tying it with twine.

"Boredom isn't the scariest thing in the Rear Palace," she noted philosophically. "But, perhaps... your company makes this palace slightly less unbearable."

This was the highest form of recognition Maomao was capable of. You laughed happily, leaning back against the wooden pillar of the veranda.

Your first and most beloved victims were the Kochou sisters. You grew up together, sharing the same training, the same joys, and the same fears. But your way of coping with fear was fundamentally different from their methods.

Late one night, as the three of you sat on the veranda of the Butterfly Mansion, a sharp, unnatural crunch of a breaking branch echoed from the darkness of the garden. Kanae, always more gentle and impressionable in those years, flinched in fright and clutched her hands to her chest. Little Shinobu instantly frowned, her hand instinctively reaching for her training blade.

You, however, didn't move a muscle. Slowly taking a sip of green tea, you fixed your gaze on the pitch-black thicket of bushes. Your face was absolutely stony. Not a single muscle twitched.

"It’s an Upper Moon," you said in an even voice, devoid of any emotion. "We’re all going to die. This is the end. We should start writing our wills right now. I’ll leave my collection of dried bugs to the Kakushi."

Kanae turned pale as a sheet. "A-An Upper Moon?! Y/N, are you sure?! Oh god, we need to wake the adults! We need to raise the alarm!" She began to panic, her eyes filling with tears of terror.

Shinobu jumped to her feet, drawing her blade. Her small face twisted into a grimace of fury and determination. "I’ll hold it off! Onee-san, run! Y/N, get ready to fight, why are you sitting there like an idiot?!"

You continued to sit with an absolutely dead, serious face, watching as Shinobu took a combat stance and Kanae prepared to scream. The tension reached its climax. And at that very moment, lazily stretching and meowing discontentedly, an old, fat ginger cat that hung around the kitchen crawled out of the bushes.

Dead silence followed.

Shinobu slowly lowered her sword. Her gaze shifted from the cat to your impassive face. "Y/N..." she growled, her voice beginning to tremble with burgeoning anger. "That... that is a cat."

"Yes," you nodded just as imperturbably. "Apparently, the Upper Moon took the form of a ginger cat to lull our vigilance. Such treachery."

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!" Shinobu roared, throwing herself at you with her fists.

You dodged with ease, hiding behind the back of the still heavy-breathing, but now smiling, Kanae. Driving young, hot-headed Shinobu to a boiling point was your favorite pastime.

Your methods weren't limited to words. You were a master of stealth. While others trained their Breathing, you trained your ability to blend into the shadows. When the Kochou sisters walked through the dark hallways of the mansion, you could hang from the ceiling, hooked onto the beams, and as they passed directly beneath you, you would jump down silently with a wild, guttural scream: "BOO!"

Shinobu would jump on the spot every time, bursting into a stream of curses, promising to feed you to the demons, while you stood before her with the face of someone who had simply stepped out to get some fresh air.

Your penchant for trolling didn't go unnoticed. When you grew older and joined the ranks of the Slayers, you found a kindred spirit. A person who had elevated theatrics to an art form. Tengen Uzui, the Sound Hashira, became your unofficial mentor in driving people insane.

You often sat on the rooftops of the headquarters, developing new "brilliant" plans. Tengen preferred loud, flashy provocations, while you were a sniper of imperturbability. And your favorite, sweetest target was Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Sanemi was a ball of raw nerves, aggression, and scars. Provoking him was like poking a grizzly bear with a stick, but for you, it was just another Tuesday.

One day after a Hashira Meeting, as everyone was preparing to leave, you walked up to Sanemi. Your face was so serious that even Oyakata-sama likely would have believed you.

"Shinazugawa-san," you addressed him, looking straight into his mad, bloodshot eyes. "I need to discuss an extremely important tactical matter with you."

Sanemi frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you want? Speak fast; I don't have time for your delusions."

"It concerns your secret obsession with ohagi," you stated, as if reporting a breakthrough in demon defenses.

Sanemi choked on air. His face instantly broke out in red blotches. Giyu Tomioka, standing nearby, perked up his ears suspiciously. "WHAT ARE YOU BABBLING ABOUT?! WHAT OHAGI?! I’LL RIP YOU TO PIECES RIGHT NOW!" the Wind Hashira shouted, grabbing the hilt of his katana.

You didn't even blink. "Shinazugawa-san, denial is the first stage of acceptance. You don't need to be ashamed of your passion for bean paste. I’ve already ordered the Kakushi to deliver three crates of sweet rice balls to your estate. They will be tied with pink ribbons to emphasize your tender nature hidden behind those manly scars."

Sanemi roared like a wounded beast. He lunged at you, but with the grace of a dancer, you dodged, hiding behind the back of the loudly laughing Tengen. "Brilliant, Y/N! Just brilliant! Look how the vein on his forehead is pulsing to the rhythm of a waltz!" laughed Uzui, parrying the furious Sanemi’s attacks.

You stood to the side, with the same impassive face, only occasionally adjusting your cuffs. Bickering with Sanemi was akin to meditation for you. The louder he yelled, the calmer you became. You could spend hours proving to him that his scars suspiciously resembled a star map, or that his sword style would be much more effective if he yelled an octave higher. Sanemi hated you, but in that hatred was a strange, distorted spark of camaraderie.

When new faces appeared in the Corps—Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke—you realized the heavens had sent you the greatest gift. The "Kamaboko Squad" was the perfect, undefended target for your trolling.

Tanjiro was too trusting. His crystal-clear soul simply couldn't recognize your lies because you spoke them with the face of a saintly martyr. During one of the training sessions at the Butterfly Mansion, you approached him as he was trying to master Total Concentration.

"Kamado-kun," you began thoughtfully. "Shinobu-sama asked me to pass on that your breathing won't become perfect until you master the 'Boiling Bowl' technique."

Tanjiro, covered in sweat, immediately straightened and bowed. "I am ready, Y/N-san! What do I need to do?!"

"You must place a cup of hot tea on your head and fight Inosuke for an hour. If a single drop spills, your training will start all over again. It’s an ancient Hashira technique."

You watched as Tanjiro, with an absolutely serious, determined face, balanced a cup of tea on his head and tried to dodge Inosuke’s wild attacks, moving like a broken robot. You stood by the wall, sipping your own tea, not revealing your amusement by a single muscle.

With Zenitsu, it was even easier. You just had to walk into a dark room where he was sitting and say: "You know, Agatsuma, they say the spirit of an old demon-maid haunts this wing of the mansion. She feeds exclusively on blonds who cry too much. Oh, and she comes when she hears a squeak..."

Zenitsu would fly out the window with a shriek, leaving behind only a cloud of dust and broken shoji.

And Inosuke... Inosuke was a victim of your genius reverse psychology. "Hey, Boar," you would throw over your shoulder. "See that huge boulder by the gate? That’s the King of Rocks. No human in history has been able to out-yell him. He just ignores everyone. They say he’s the strongest on this mountain."

For the next three hours, the entire Butterfly Mansion enjoyed watching Hashibira Inosuke, spitting saliva, stand before an ordinary rock and yell at the top of his lungs, demanding it acknowledge defeat, until he lost his voice completely. During that time, you sat on the veranda, filling out reports with the face of a monk who had achieved nirvana.

Your trolling knew no bounds and made no exceptions, even for mortal enemies. You were a strong swordsman, but your true weapon—the ability to throw others off balance—worked on demons just as well as a Nichirin blade.

Demons loved theatrics. They loved giving long, pretentious monologues about their tragic pasts, the greatness of Lord Muzan, their unrivaled power, and their Blood Demon Art. Most Slayers listened to this in horror or anger. You, however, listened with infinite, yawning boredom.

An mission led you to an old temple. A demon, draped in gruesome amulets, spread his arms wide.

"You pathetic little humans!" he roared, his eyes burning with madness. "You do not understand true power! My Blood Art grants me power over shadows themselves! My flesh is invulnerable, and my lord has bestowed upon me a drop of his blood, which..."

"Excuse me," you interrupted him. Your voice was monotonous, like a bureaucrat reading dry statistics. You stood leaning on your sword, looking at the demon with an expression as if he were a commercial break before an interesting play. "Could you speak a little faster?"

The demon faltered. His jaw dropped. "What?! You dare interrupt me, you pathetic bug?! I am telling you of your imminent demise!"

"Yeah, yeah, imminent demise, Muzan's superiority, power over shadows, all very interesting," you demonstratively checked your wristwatch (which you didn't even have). "But the thing is, I have tea cooling on the stove. And I also need to feed the cat. So, if you don't mind, let’s get to the part where you try to kill me, I dodge, and we end this drawn-out play."

The demon gnashed his teeth. His pride was wounded so deeply that he lunged at you in a rage, forgetting his vaunted shadow technique. He attacked blindly, driven by a wounded ego.

That was exactly what you were aiming for. An off-balance enemy is a dead enemy. Your breathing was even, your movements economical. One precise, mathematically calculated swing of your blade, and the demon's head, still screaming of its greatness, flew off its shoulders.

"See," you said, looking at the head crumbling into dust with the same imperturbable face. "And you were worried. Take care, give my regards to Muzan."

But while your trolling was obvious (albeit imperturbable) with demons, Sanemi, and the youngsters, with Shinobu, once you both reached adulthood, it took on entirely different, incredibly subtle forms.

Kanae’s death left a gaping wound in Shinobu’s heart. She wore a mask of a constant smile, hiding her anger. You saw right through that mask. But instead of pressing on her with pity, you continued to do what you did best—drawing her out of her zone of fake comfort.

Your dynamic began to resemble an elegant, almost romantic dance. You loved Shinobu. You loved her poisonous character, her brilliant mind, and her fragile shoulders bearing such a heavy burden. And your trolling became your language of love.

You were sitting in her lab. Shinobu was absorbed in a microscope, studying a new composition of wisteria poison.

"Shinobu," you called her in your usual, even voice.

"Yes, Y/N-san?" she didn't even lift her head; her smile was automatic.

"I was reading new medical treatises from Europe today. It turns out that excessive use of wisteria extract in an enclosed space leads to irreversible mutation of the hair follicles. Your hair could turn bright green within the next twenty-four hours."

Shinobu froze. Her eye twitched nervously. She slowly pulled away from the microscope and looked at you. You sat with a perfectly straight back, turning the pages of some old book. Your face was a monument to seriousness.

"Y/N-san..." Shinobu’s voice held a faint, barely perceptible threat. "That is impossible from a chemical perspective. Wisteria does not affect melanin."

"European scientists claim otherwise," you turned a page without blinking. "I’m just warning you. If you wake up tomorrow looking like fresh cabbage, don't say I didn't care about your image."

Shinobu drilled you with her gaze. Her analytical brain feverishly sifted through chemical formulas, trying to find a drop of truth in your words. Anxiety began to creep into her soul. She reached for a strand of her hair, checking its color.

And then, your perfect facade developed a tiny, microscopic crack. The corner of your lips twitched, rising by literally a millimeter. A mischievous, warm spark flashed in your eyes.

Shinobu exhaled noisily. The fake smile fell from her face, yielding to a sincere, stifled chuckle. "Y/N... you are unbearable," she threw a crumpled piece of parchment at you, which you caught without even looking. "I almost believed it. You lie so convincingly that it’s scary."

"I am not lying. I am providing alternative hypotheses," you finally allowed yourself a light, sincere smile.

Shinobu walked over to you, leaning her arms on the back of your chair. Her face was so close to yours that you felt the scent of herbs and poisons emanating from her skin. "Your alternative hypotheses will send me to my grave faster than the demons," she whispered, and her voice held such deep, vulnerable tenderness that your heart skipped a beat.

In these subtle exchanges of barbs, invisible to others, lay your true connection. You forced her to take off her mask. You forced her to be angry, to doubt, to get irritated—to feel alive. And she loved you for it. She knew that behind your stony face lay an ocean of devotion.

But all comedies come to an end when the curtain rises for a tragedy.

The Infinity Castle was a place where laughter died before it could escape your lips. Space distorted, gravity changed direction, and the air was saturated with such a thick thirst for blood that breathing became physically painful.

This was the only place and the only time in your life when you didn't joke. There was no irony, no sarcasm, no imperturbable jibes. Your stony face, which used to be a tool for trolling, now became a mask of absolute, lethal concentration.

You were separated. The chaos of the Castle scattered the Hashira like pawns on a madman’s chessboard. You knew where Shinobu was. You knew who she was striving for. Doma. Upper Moon Two. Her sister’s killer.

Your blade hacked through the demons blocking your path with mechanical, ruthless efficiency. Your thoughts were cold and clear: reach her. Protect her. No jokes about pathetic speeches. No mockery. Only blood, sweat, and the beating of your own heart.

When you broke into the hall with the lotus pond, the air was already saturated with Doma’s icy mist. Shinobu was there. Wounded, breathing heavily, her lungs freezing from the demon’s poisonous air.

"Ah, another guest!" Doma sang joyfully, waving his golden fans. "Have you come to join our celebration of salvation?"

You didn't answer. You didn't interrupt his monologue with sarcasm about cooling tea. You simply lunged. Your Breathing was at its limit, your muscles tearing from the tension. You stood between Shinobu and the Upper Moon.

"Y/N... leave... this is my fight..." Shinobu wheezed, coughing up blood.

"Shut up, Kochou," your voice was stripped of its usual warmth. It was the voice of a soldier going to their death.

The fight was short but incredibly brutal. You knew you couldn't defeat Doma alone. You knew of Shinobu’s plan to sacrifice herself to poison him. And you made a decision that canceled that plan.

When Doma’s ice clones rushed at the weakened Shinobu, you shielded her with your body. The pain was blinding. Icy blades pierced your ribcage, lungs, and stomach. Blood gushed from your wounds, staining the ice around you crimson.

You collapsed onto the wooden floor. Doma sighed disappointedly, losing interest in you, but you had won precious seconds. Seconds that allowed Kanao and Inosuke to burst into the hall, changing the course of the battle, saving Shinobu’s life, not allowing her to be consumed by the demon.

You lay in a pool of your own blood. Cold numbed your body. Shinobu crawled toward you, her hands, covered in cuts, frantically trying to staunch your wounds, but there were too many.

"Y/N... no, no, no... don't you dare! You can't!" Shinobu sobbed, her perfect mask shattered to pieces. Tears fell onto your paling face. "You promised... you promised me... say something! Say something stupid! Make a joke about me, I beg you!"

You looked into her beautiful, tear-filled violet eyes. You tried to raise your hand to touch her cheek, but you had no strength. Your lips twitched. You wanted to tell her you loved her. You wanted to tell her you were glad she was alive. You wanted to make one last joke about how European scientists were wrong about her hair after all.

But only a bubbling wheeze escaped your throat. Your eyes closed, and the last thing you heard was the heartbreaking, agony-filled scream of Kochou Shinobu calling your name.

Your last joke remained untold.

Darkness retreated. Instead of pain and icy cold came a sensation of absolute, weightless peace.

You opened your eyes. An endless meadow bathed in soft light stretched out before you. Beneath your feet rustled green grass, and the air was filled with the fragrance of flowers you had never seen in the real world. There were no wounds, no blood, no fear.

You stood up, looking around. In the distance stood people. Familiar, beloved silhouettes.

Kanae. She stood there, smiling that same warm, motherly smile you remembered from childhood. Beside her stood others—fallen Slayers, friends, those whose lives were cut short far too soon.

And among them was her. Shinobu.

You knew she had died in that battle too, despite your attempt to save her. Poison in her body, her determination—she had perished during the battle with Muzan.

Shinobu turned. Her eyes, free from the shadows of the past and anger, widened. She ran toward you, tangling in the hem of her haori, and you stepped forward to meet her. You collided, hugging tightly. You both fell onto the soft grass.

Tears—real, bitter, but cleansing tears—poured from your eyes. For the first time in your entire life, you sobbed uncontrollably. You cried for those you had lost, for the pain you had endured, for the fact that your life on earth ended so cruelly. Shinobu cried with you, her hands desperately clutching your uniform, as if she feared you would disappear again. It was a moment of absolute, crystalline vulnerability. You were just two souls, finally finding peace in each other’s arms after decades of nightmare.

Kanae stood nearby, quietly wiping away tears of joy, watching your reunion.

The sobbing gradually subsided. You were still sitting on the grass, hugging. Shinobu stroked your hair, her breathing leveling out. A moment of incredible, bright sentimentality had arrived. The afterlife seemed like a paradise where there was no room for pain and anxiety.

You slowly pulled away. Your face was wet with tears. You looked at Shinobu, then at Kanae. Your eyes narrowed slightly. Your gaze became empty and absolutely serious again. You wiped your tears with your sleeve, adjusted your collar, and took a deep breath.

"You know," you said in your signature, imperturbable, emotion-less voice, which used to make Hashira shudder in the world of the living. "It’s very nice here, of course. The meadow is beautiful. The climate is pleasant."

Shinobu smiled happily, nodding.

"But," you looked at them with the face of a person stating a global catastrophe. "I think, before heading into the Infinity Castle, I forgot to turn off the iron in the laundry room of the Butterfly Mansion. If it’s still running, the mansion will burn down. I’m afraid I’ll have to go back. I can’t stay here while my shirts are at risk of thermal destruction."

Dead silence hung in the air.

Kanae, who still had tears glistening on her lashes, blinked in stunned confusion.

Shinobu slowly, very slowly realized what you had just said. Her perfect, peaceful afterlife smile wavered. On her temple, even here, amidst eternal peace, a familiar, irritated vein began to pulse.

"Y/N..." Shinobu growled, her voice gaining those same familiar, steel notes. "We are dead. Why the hell are you talking about an iron?!"

You didn't even blink. "Death is not an excuse for violating fire safety rules, Kochou. That is irresponsible. I am filing an official complaint with the local deities about the inability to return to resolve household issues."

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU AGAIN!" Shinobu roared, throwing herself at you with her fists, while Kanae burst into clear, sincere laughter, the echo of which carried throughout the entire afterlife.

You dodged her blow easily, your face remaining just as stony, but somewhere deep inside, where no one could see, you were smiling.

You were the student council president. Your name consistently topped the honor rolls every semester, whether it was for complex higher mathematics exams, wins at national literature Olympiads, or brilliant debate performances. Your uniform was always impeccably pressed, your posture remained perfectly straight, and a light, polite half-smile—which drew the gaze of absolutely everyone in the hallways—invariably played on your lips. Your natural, effortless feminine charm drove many mad. You were graceful, intelligent, and incredibly beautiful.

Naturally, there was no shortage of admirers. Senior boys, captains of sports teams, heirs to major corporations—many tried to win your favor. But no one, absolutely no one, could get even a step closer to you. Your rejections had become a kind of school legend.

One such brave soul, the captain of the basketball team, blushing and stammering, handed you a love letter under a spreading sakura tree in the schoolyard. You stopped, elegantly tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and looked at him with your calm, deep gaze.

"Your words have touched me deeply," your voice sounded soft, like the chime of silver bells, but it lacked a single drop of warmth. "It is a great honor to be the cause of such sincere feelings. However, my path is already charted, and my heart is entirely and completely given over to my duties to the school and my family. I sincerely wish for you to find one who can appreciate your courage as it deserves and gift you the time that I, alas, do not have."

You bowed gracefully. The boy, disarmed by your sophistication and completely non-aggressive rejection, simply froze, lost for words. He could neither be angry nor persist. He merely nodded and wandered slowly away, feeling as if he had just touched something divine, but utterly unreachable.

Watching this scene from the window of the medical office was Kocho Kanae—the school psychologist, biologist, and a woman whose empathy bordered on a superpower. Kanae smiled warmly, but a shadow of concern flickered in her violet eyes. While the entire school saw you as a perfect, unattainable porcelain figurine, Kanae saw something entirely different.

She saw the tension in your shoulders. She noticed how you would subtly massage your temples when you thought no one was watching. She saw a girl who was slowly but surely suffocating under a titanic weight of expectations. Your perfect facade was not a display of arrogance, but a brilliantly constructed armor protecting an incredibly weary soul.

Kanae did not act head-on. She knew that wild, frightened birds fly away at any sudden movement. So, she began to act with her characteristic softness and grace.

At first, it was chance encounters in the library, where she would offer you tea from a thermos with a light smile, noting that you had been at your textbooks for four hours. Then, casual conversations about school projects, during which Kanae never pressured you, allowing you to set the pace of the conversation yourself. You were used to adults always demanding perfect reports, high results, and unquestioning obedience, but this woman with butterfly hairpins merely asked softly if you had slept well that night.

One day, when you were dropping off documents at the medical office, Kanae invited you to sit.

"[Y/N]-san, I would like to ask you for one huge favor," Kanae began, pouring you fragrant chamomile tea. "My younger sister, Kanao, is in her first year. She is an incredibly smart girl, but she finds it very difficult to concentrate on certain subjects, and she has some minor difficulties with socializing. Shinobu and I are too busy with work and university to give her enough time. Would you agree to be her tutor?"

You froze, holding the cup in your hands. Your schedule was planned down to the minute, but looking into Kanae’s sincere, warm eyes, you suddenly realized you didn't want to refuse. There was something about this woman that made your armor develop tiny cracks.

"I would consider it an honor, Kocho-sensei," you replied politely, bowing your head.

"Oh, please, call me just Kanae when we are outside of school!" the woman clapped her hands joyfully, and her smile lit up the entire office.

Thus began your visits to the Butterfly Mansion—the spacious, traditional home of the Kocho family, drowning in flowers. At first, you behaved there just as you did at school: perfectly straight back, formal phrases, impeccable manners. Kanao, a quiet and reserved girl, often just looked at you with big eyes, not daring to speak. And Shinobu, the middle sister, initially treated you with evident suspicion.

"Onee-san, are you sure this 'Snow Queen' is a good choice?" Shinobu whispered sarcastically in the kitchen one day, thinking you couldn't hear. "She looks like she has a calculator built in instead of a heart."

But Kanae merely laughed warmly, patting her sister on the head: "Just give her time, Shinobu. She will surprise you."

And Kanae was right.

The time spent in the Kocho house became a breath of fresh air for you. This was a place where no one expected business plan presentations from you, where you weren't evaluated on a hundred-point scale, and where no one tried to use your status for their own ends.

Gradually, unnoticed by yourself, you began to relax.

Kanae began to notice the little things you hid so carefully from the whole world. She noticed that when you solved a particularly complex math problem with Kanao, you would funnily wrinkle your nose and start humming a popular pop tune to yourself, almost inaudibly. She saw how your eyes would go wide and how sincerely, like a child, you would rejoice when Shinobu—changing her anger to mercy—prepared an incredibly delicious strawberry cake for you. It turned out that the perfect student council president had a colossal, almost uncontrollable weakness for sweets.

You no longer sat with a perfectly straight back. You tucked your legs under you while sitting on the tatami. You began to laugh sincerely at Shinobu’s sarcastic jokes. Your strict blazers were replaced by soft, oversized sweaters that Kanae would lend you in the evenings when it got chilly.

Once, Kanae walked into the living room and caught a scene that made her heart skip a beat. You and Kanao had fallen asleep right by the kotatsu, surrounded by textbooks. Your head rested on your crossed arms, your hair was disheveled, and a mark from a notebook leaf was imprinted on your cheek. You looked so defenseless, so real and alive, that Kanae couldn't resist. She approached, carefully covered you with a blanket, and touched your forehead with her lips weightlessly.

Kanae fell in love. She fell in love not with the perfect statuette that the whole school admired, but with the tired, sweet girl who funnily frowned over her textbooks and who so desperately needed warmth.

But just when it seemed the ice had finally melted, a storm broke.

Everything changed in one day. It happened after your phone rang during one of your sessions. You glanced at the screen, and Kanae saw all the color drain from your face at once. You apologized in a dry, brittle voice, walked into the hallway, and talked to someone for a long time. Returning, you quickly gathered your things, put on your "perfect president" mask, and, after a brief goodbye, left.

The next day, you didn't come to school. Nor the next.

When you finally appeared, nothing remained of the relaxed, smiling girl the Kocho sisters knew. You had become even colder, even more distant than on the first day you met. Your gaze was empty, and deep shadows lay beneath your eyes, as if you hadn't slept for many nights in a row.

You avoided Kanae. You canceled all lessons with Kanao, citing work in the student council. When Kanae tried to approach you in the hallway, you would bow elegantly and find an excuse to leave, dissolving into the crowd of students with the grace of a ghost.

Shinobu, seeing how upset her elder sister was becoming, was furious. "I told you she was an ice block!" she vented in the kitchen, violently chopping vegetables. "She played at friendship and abandoned us. Typical elite."

But Kanae wasn't angry. She felt everything inside her constricting with anxiety. Her intuition was literally screaming that you were on the verge of a catastrophe. You weren't pushing them away out of arrogance. You were pushing them away out of fear.

And Kanae Kocho was not going to give up.

It was Friday evening. The school had long since emptied, and a heavy, torrential rain was falling outside. Kanae knew you were still in the building—the light in the student council office was still on.

She opened the door without knocking. You were standing by the window, leaning your hands on the sill, watching the streams of water hitting the glass. Your shoulders slumped helplessly. Hearing the sound of the door opening, you instantly straightened up, turned around, and plastered that same polite, cold half-smile onto your face.

"Kocho-sensei. The school is already closing. Can I help you with something?" your voice was smooth and colorless.

Kanae closed the door behind her, turned the key in the lock, and walked slowly toward you. "Enough, [Y/N]. Please. Stop."

You tilted your head slightly to the side, demonstrating perfect incomprehension. "I don't quite understand what you mean, sensei. My duties..."

"I am not your subordinate and I am not your admirer, [Y/N]," Kanae interrupted her softly but firmly. She approached until you were almost touching, leaving you no path of retreat. "Your perfectly calculated phrases don't work on me. I see that you are suffering. I see how you are suffocating. What happened? Why did you run away from us?"

Your smile wavered. You tried to take a step back, but your back hit the windowsill. Your hands nervously gripped the edge of your blazer. "You... you are exceeding your authority, Kocho-sensei. My personal life does not concern you. I simply realized that tutoring was taking up too much time, time I should be spending on more important..."

"Don't lie to me!" Kanae’s voice broke for the first time, and it held such desperate pleading that your eyes widened. The woman reached out and gently but firmly cupped your face in her palms. Her fingers were warm, contrasting with your icy skin. "[Y/N], my dear, look at me. You can fool the whole school, but not me. Please, let me help. Let me share this burden."

Those words, spoken with such boundless, sincere love, were the final blow to your facade. The armor you had built for years crumbled into dust.

Your lips trembled. Your perfectly straight posture broke, and you suddenly let out a quiet, broken sob. Tears, which you had been holding back for so long, burst from your eyes. You covered your face with your hands and slowly sank to the floor, sobbing so bitterly and desperately as only a child who has been forced to become an adult too early can sob.

Kanae immediately sank to her knees beside you, pulling you into a strong, warm embrace. You buried your face in her shoulder, convulsively clinging to her cardigan, while your sobs echoed through the empty office.

"I can't... I just can't anymore, Kanae..." you whispered, choking on tears. "They will take everything... They will take you away..."

When the hysteria subsided a little and you could breathe, the truth finally broke out.

Your parents weren't just rich people. They were the owners of one of the largest international conglomerates in the country. From the moment of your birth, your life had been planned down to the second. You were to become the perfect heir, a machine without emotions, capable of running an empire.

"That call... it was my father," your voice trembled. "He found out I was spending time at your house. That I... laugh. That I eat sweets and help Kanao just because, without profit. He said I’m losing my edge. That attachment to people is a weakness, a distraction, unacceptable for a future CEO."

You raised your tear-stained, reddened eyes to Kanae. "They threatened that if I didn't stop seeing you, they would take me out of school. Send me to a closed boarding school in Europe. Forbid me from seeing any of you. Kanae, I was so scared... I tried to protect you by pushing you away. I thought if I became the perfect doll again, they would leave me alone. But it hurts so much..."

Kanae listened to you, and her heart was breaking with pain and anger. How could one treat their own child like that? How could one break such a beautiful soul for the sake of ambition?

She gently stroked your hair, kissing the top of your head. "Silly, brave girl. You don't need to protect us. We can stand up for ourselves."

You sniffled, looking at her with desperation. "But what should I do? I don't want to go back to that empty, cold house. I don't want to be a machine."

Kanae looked into your eyes, and a steel determination appeared in her violet gaze. "Then don't go back. Let's go home, [Y/N]. To our home. You will stay with us."

That evening, you crossed the threshold of the Kocho Mansion not as a tutor, but as a person seeking sanctuary. Shinobu, seeing your tear-stained face and hearing the brief explanation from her sister, instantly changed her anger to mercy. All her hostility evaporated, giving way to a fierce, almost motherly protective instinct. Kanao silently brought you a blanket and placed your favorite box of strawberry mochi beside you. For the first time in your life, you felt what a real, unconditional family meant.

But the illusion of safety lasted only briefly.

The next day, toward evening, three black, tinted SUVs stopped at the gates of the Butterfly Mansion. Tough-looking men in sharp suits stepped out—the personal security service of your parents.

The doorbell rang like a gunshot. You flinched, curling into a ball on the sofa. Your fear was palpable.

Kanae gently squeezed your hand, gave an encouraging smile, and went to open the door. Shinobu, whose eyes had narrowed in anger, followed her.

Standing on the threshold was the head of security, a tall man with a stone face. "Good evening. We have been instructed to take Young Mistress [Y/N] and deliver her to the residence. If necessary, we will use force."

Kanae maintained her soft smile, but her voice was as cold as ice. "Good evening. I’m afraid [Y/N]-san is busy now and does not wish to go anywhere. This is private property, and I must ask you to leave."

The guard took a step forward, trying to push Kanae aside, but Shinobu blocked his path. In her hands, a huge sprayer filled with some suspicious, bright purple liquid swayed threateningly.

"One more step," Shinobu sang out, her smile truly frightening, "and you will learn on your own skin why the chemistry lab in our school has been closed for repairs after my experiments. This compound eats through even reinforced plastic. Do you want to check what it will do to your expensive suits and skin?"

The guards froze. There was so much insane, murderous confidence in this petite girl that they instinctively backed away.

At that moment, you appeared in the hallway. You were no longer trembling. Seeing how these two women were prepared to risk everything for you, you felt a previously unknown strength burgeoning within. Your perfect facade returned, but now it was not armor against pain, but your own personal weapon.

You walked to the door, standing beside Kanae, and looked at the head of security with your signature, icy gaze that used to make boys at school lose their words.

"Tell my father," your voice was hard as diamond, "that I am not returning. I will be filing for emancipation. If he tries to use force against the Kocho family, I will personally leak information to the press about the company’s illegal dealings in Southeast Asia, documents of which I had access to. Get out."

The guards, taken aback by your coldness and the threat, exchanged glances and, without another word, retreated to their cars.

A week of silence passed. You expected a strike, but instead, you received a request for negotiations.

On Saturday afternoon, a single car, modest by their standards, pulled up to the gates of the Butterfly Mansion. Your parents stepped out. They looked... tired. Without their entourage and bodyguards, they seemed like just aging people who had encountered something they couldn't buy or control for the first time.

The conversation took place in the Kocho living room. Kanae sat beside you, never letting go of your hand.

Your father was silent for a long time, watching how you had changed. He no longer saw the perfect robot he had created himself. He saw a living, breathing girl who had found the strength to challenge him.

"We thought we were doing what was best," he finally said, his voice stripped of its usual imperiousness. "Business is a cruel world. Attachments make you vulnerable. But when it was reported to me how you protected these people... How you were prepared to sacrifice everything, even your own freedom, for them... I realized I was wrong. Strength is not in the absence of feelings. Strength is in who you are willing to fight for."

Your mother sobbed quietly, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "Forgive us, [Y/N]. We pressured you so much. Please... we don't want to lose our daughter."

The atmosphere in the room eased. Tears, apologies, and long, difficult conversations finally led to a fragile but sincere truce. Your parents agreed to ease the pressure, allow you to choose your own path, and, most importantly, for you to remain living with those you now considered your real family.

When it was time to say goodbye, your father stopped at the door. He looked at Kanae, his gaze heavy, evaluating.

"Kocho Kanae-san," he said, bowing slightly. "You did what we could not. You made our daughter truly happy. I ask you, continue to take care of her."

Your cheeks flushed. You felt incredibly embarrassed by your father’s sentimentality, which sounded almost like a transfer of guardianship. You opened your mouth to smooth over the situation, but Kanae beat you to it.

She stood straight, her eyes shining with absolute confidence and soft light. She looked at your father, then at your mother, and spoke words that made time in the room stop.

"I promise you that I will protect [Y/N] at the cost of my life," Kanae’s voice was firm and clear. "And since you have brought it up yourself, sir... I respect you immensely, but I do not want to be just her guardian or her friend. I love your daughter with all my heart. And I ask for your daughter’s hand."

The silence that hung in the hallway was deafening. Shinobu, eavesdropping around the corner, dropped her towel. Your parents stared at Kanae with wide-open eyes. And you... you simply stopped breathing. Your face turned a color that could rival a ripe tomato. Your brilliant brain, capable of solving the most complex problems, shut down completely.

Your father blinked. Then again. He shifted his gaze from the incredibly serious Kanae to you—red, shocked, but not denying her words. The man’s lips twitched, and he suddenly let out a hoarse chuckle that turned into sincere laughter.

"Well then..." he said, shaking his head. "You, Kocho-san, possess a grip that any businessman would envy. My blessing still needs to be earned, but... I don't object. See you at the family dinner next weekend."

When the door closed behind your parents, Shinobu came around the corner, swirled a finger at her temple, and, muttering something about "crazy romantics," went to the kitchen, leaving you alone.

You stood in the middle of the hallway, still unable to comprehend what had happened. Kanae turned to you. A light blush played on her cheeks, but she regretted nothing.

"Kanae... you... you just asked my parents for my hand?" your voice sounded like a squeak. The perfect student council president now resembled a stuttering teenager.

Kanae stepped up to you, took your trembling hands in hers, and tenderly kissed your knuckles. "Yes. And I wasn't joking in the slightest, [Y/N]."

She led you away, out to the veranda of the inner courtyard, where wisteria was blooming, filling the air with a sweet, calming scent. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of pink and gold.

Kanae stopped, turned to you, and looked deep into your eyes. "I’ve been watching you since the very day I saw you under the sakura in the schoolyard," her voice was velvet, full of tenderness. "I saw your pain, your strength, your kindness. I fell in love with the girl who frowns over her textbooks, who falls asleep by the kotatsu, and who is prepared to sacrifice everything to protect those dear to her. You are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened in my life, [Y/N]. I love you. And I want to be with you always. Not hiding, not afraid."

Your heart was beating so loudly that you were sure—she could hear it. All that fatigue, all that pressure you had lived with for years, finally dissolved into the warmth of her words. You looked at this incredible woman who had broken through your armor, who hadn't been afraid to engage in battle with your past and your family. The woman who had given you a real home.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were tears of absolute happiness.

You slowly raised your hands, cupping her face in your palms, repeating the same gesture with which she had shattered your facade in the empty school office.

"You saved me, Kanae," you whispered, your voice trembling with overwhelming emotion. "I thought I had to be perfect to be loved. But you loved me when I was broken. I never let anyone close, but for you, there was always a place reserved in my heart. I love you too. I love you more than anything in the world."

Kanae’s smile became radiant, outshining even the setting sun. She wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you close, and your lips finally met.

The kiss was soft, trembling, full of promises and unspoken tenderness. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the feeling, tasting her lips and the scent of chamomile tea, which you had always associated with safety. In that kiss, there was no room for fear, expectations, or perfect facades. There were only two souls who had found each other amidst the chaos.

When you reluctantly pulled away, breathing heavily and pressing your foreheads together, Kanae squinted playfully.

"You know," she whispered, stroking your waist. "Now that your parents have given their preliminary consent, I’ll need to buy a ring. What stone does the perfect student council president prefer?"

You laughed quietly, sincerely, burying your face in her neck, inhaling her scent. "Any, Kanae. The only thing that matters is that you are the one who gives it to me."

You were human. Absolutely, one hundred percent, biologically human. Your blood was red and warm; you could stand under the scorching sun, enjoying its rays; and you ate ordinary human food. But nature, as if deciding to play a cruel and wicked joke, had gifted you with an appearance that forced random passersby to cross the street in terror. Your nails were unnaturally sharp and strong, resembling real claws, and when you opened your mouth to speak or smile, elongated, sharp fangs were revealed. Your facial features held a sort of primal, predatory sharpness.

To a world traumatized by demons, you looked like a nightmare walking in broad daylight.

Your first meeting with the Kocho sisters happened many years ago, when you were all still children just stepping onto the path of Slayers. Oyakata-sama, possessed of incredible insight, accepted you into the Corps without hesitation, but the others did not share his calm.

Kanae and Shinobu ran into you in the training camp courtyard when you were all still young. You were sitting on the edge of a wooden veranda, trying to carefully file down your sharp nails, which made it difficult to hold a bamboo training sword correctly.

Upon seeing you, Shinobu froze in her tracks. Her hand instinctively reached for her training blade, and her eyes narrowed. Kanae, always more gentle and diplomatic, merely blinked in surprise but remained where she was.

"You..." little Shinobu’s voice was sharp and clear, slicing through the courtyard silence. "Why are you here? How did you get past the wisteria barrier?"

You slowly raised your head. Your gaze was absolutely calm, devoid of aggression or fear. You parted your lips to answer, and your fangs gleamed in the sun.

"Shinobu, wait," Kanae stopped her gently, placing a hand on her younger sister’s shoulder. "She doesn't smell like a demon. She has the aura of an ordinary human."

"But look at her, Onee-san!" Shinobu wasn't about to back down. She stepped closer, her eyes drilling into your face, studying every detail with painful curiosity and suspicion. She wasn't trying to insult you; she was driven by pure, crystalline directness. "This is highly strange. You have claws. You have fangs. Your eyes look creepy. How can a human look so terrifyingly similar to a demon while still being human? Is this some kind of mutation? A disease?"

You weren't offended. You had long since grown used to such reactions. "I was born this way," your voice was level, quiet, and surprisingly deep. "The doctors in my village said it was just a rare bone tissue and nail plate development defect. I don't eat people. And I don't burn in the sun."

Shinobu drilled you with her gaze for a few more long seconds, as if expecting you to shed your human mask and attack at any moment. Then she snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "That is extremely illogical. Nature is a very strange thing to create such errors. It will be difficult for you in the Corps. People here strike first and ask questions later."

"Shinobu!" Kanae gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "How rude! Forgive her, please; she didn't mean to offend you."

But you only shrugged. "She’s right. It is illogical. But I’m used to it."

That day, Shinobu understood two things: first, you really weren't a demon, and second, your calmness was as impenetrable as a rock.

Shinobu was right. Life in the training camp, and later among the rank-and-file Slayers, became a true ordeal. Rumors spread like a forest fire. Other recruits whispered behind your back, moved away from you in the mess hall, and some, particularly boisterous ones, didn't shy away from expressing themselves.

"Hey, half-breed, watch you don't bite your tongue with those fangs!" "Oyakata-sama probably felt sorry for her like a stray dog. Who needs an ally who looks like an enemy?" "Don't turn your back on her, what if her demonic blood wakes up?"

In the first few months, those words stung. You were a teenager torn from home, and every stone of contempt thrown in your direction left bruises on your soul. You tried to hide your hands in the long sleeves of your haori, tried to speak less, and never smiled so as not to show your fangs. You felt insecure, constantly apologizing for your very existence.

But the human psyche is an amazing mechanism. Over time, in order not to break, you began to build armor. Pain and resentment were replaced by cold, indifferent acceptance. You realized you couldn't change your face or erase your fangs. You began to react to mockery calmly and apathetically. If someone called you a monster, you simply walked past without even slowing your step. Your defense mechanism took the form of absolute apathy.

But if you had learned to ignore your tormentors, someone else hadn't.

Shinobu Kocho, the very girl who was the first to point out your strangeness, became your most fierce and unpredictable protector.

You were sitting on the porch of the Butterfly Mansion after a grueling training session when a group of low-ranking swordsmen walked by. One of them, laughing loudly, pointed a finger at you and threw out another cruel joke about how you belonged in a cage, not the Corps.

You didn't even raise your head, continuing to drink your tea calmly. But the cup in Shinobu’s hands shattered with a loud crack.

Before you could even blink, Shinobu bolted from her spot. Her face was distorted by a grimace of absolute, uncontrollable rage. She rushed at the boy, grabbing him by the collar of his uniform with such force that he choked.

"Repeat what you said, you piece of pathetic trash!" Shinobu snarled, her voice stripped of its usual sweetness; it rang with metal and fury. "You dare insult her just because your tiny, chicken brain is incapable of distinguishing appearance from essence?! She has killed more demons this month than you have in your entire worthless life! Apologize, or I will make you eat your own sword!"

"Shinobu, it’s alright," you stood up slowly, approaching her. "It doesn't bother me. Leave him."

"BUT IT BOTHERS ME!" she shouted, not letting go of the terrified boy. "They are idiots! They have no right to talk to you like that! You can't change how you were born, and they are punishing you for something that isn't your fault! It’s unfair!"

You literally had to call for Kanae’s help. The elder sister ran to the commotion and, gently apologizing to the pale-faced swordsman, dragged the hissing, enraged Shinobu back into the mansion by her haori.

That evening, while treating the cuts on her hands from the broken cup, you asked quietly: "Why are you so angry for my sake? I said I didn't care."

Shinobu turned away, her chest heaving. "Because someone has to be angry. Just because you swallow this injustice doesn't mean it disappears. They are blind idiots. And their stupidity makes me sick."

You looked at her furrowed profile, at how angrily her eyes glinted. Unlike many others who tried to hide their emotions, Shinobu burned. And in that fire, there wasn't a single drop of falsehood.

Kanae’s death changed everything. It shattered Shinobu’s world into thousands of sharp, bleeding shards. In an attempt to honor her sister’s memory, Shinobu donned a mask of constant, gentle smiles, hiding her true nature, her anger, and her pain beneath an impenetrable layer of friendliness. She began to behave the way Kanae would have.

But the mask was heavy. Wearing it every day, smiling at the very demons she hated with every fiber of her soul, was an incredibly exhausting task.

The only place where that mask cracked was in your presence.

Despite your "demonic" features, you possessed an aura of absolute, unwavering calm. Your kindness wasn't loud or intrusive. It manifested in small things: in a cup of perfectly brewed tea placed on Shinobu’s table after a hard day; in the way you silently helped her in the lab, sorting herbs and poisons; in the fact that you never demanded smiles from her.

You were the person who made others feel less insecure about their own flaws. Shinobu often felt guilty that she couldn't be as kind and forgiving as Kanae, that poison and hatred churned inside her. But you never judged her.

You often sat in the evenings on the engawa of the Butterfly Mansion. Shinobu could spend hours complaining to you about Tomioka Giyu’s stupidity, about unbearable patients, about how difficult it was to synthesize a new poison. Sometimes she got carried away; her voice would break, and her words would become sharp and prickly.

You simply sat next to her, cross-legged, and listened. Your face with its predatory, sharp features remained peaceful. Even if the topic of conversation was completely uninteresting to you, you didn't interrupt. You nodded, poured her more tea, and looked at her with your deep, calm eyes.

Shinobu’s prickly character, her sarcasm, and her quick temper never bothered you. Moreover, you enjoyed them.

"Why are you smiling?" Shinobu once asked, abruptly breaking off her angry monologue about how one of the Kakushi had mixed up bandage dosages. She squinted suspiciously, looking at your face, which wore a light, half-smile revealing your fangs. "I’m here, actually, complaining about blatant incompetence."

"I’m sorry," your voice was soft. "It’s just... I like it when you’re angry."

Shinobu was taken aback. Her eyes widened. "You like it when I’m angry? Y/N, you have strange inclinations. Most people find that scary."

"Not in the sense that I want to provoke you," you explained calmly, turning to her. "It’s just... when you’re angry, you’re real. You aren't hiding behind that fake smile you show everyone else. Your anger is part of you. It’s a living, human emotion. And I appreciate that you trust me enough to be real with me, Shinobu. You’re a person who doesn't need to pretend in front of me."

Shinobu froze. Her heart, encased in armor of duty and revenge, suddenly skipped a beat. The air in her lungs vanished. She looked at you, at your sharp nails resting on your lap, at your fangs, which now didn't seem frightening, but rather an integral part of the safest person in her life.

She realized she had become attached to you. And this attachment began to slowly but inexorably grow into something much deeper, more frightening, and warmer. Shinobu Kocho, the Insect Hashira, had begun to fall in love.

Months passed. Shinobu’s feelings grew stronger every day, but she never found the strength to confess. She was afraid to destroy the fragile, perfect balance that had been established between you. She was afraid that you would reject her, that you would find her feelings inappropriate against the backdrop of the war with demons.

She began to show more care; her gazes became longer, her touches—when she treated your scratches after missions—lingered on your skin. She would blush if your hands accidentally brushed, and she often lost the thread of conversation while staring at your profile.

Shinobu thought she was hiding everything perfectly. She was mistaken.

Your problem was that you were raised in an incredibly strict, traditional, and conservative family living far in the mountains. Homophobia was the norm there, and the very idea that two girls could be in a romantic relationship didn't even occur to you because you had never heard of such a thing. But despite that, you were incredibly direct and observant. You saw all the biological and behavioral signs.

One evening, while you were both drying herbs in the lab, the silence was broken by your perfectly calm, mundane question.

"Shinobu, why does your pulse quicken when I stand next to you?"

Shinobu, who at that moment was pouring dried wisteria into a jar, flinched so hard that half the purple petals spilled onto the table. "Ah? What? What are you talking about, Y/N?" Her voice cracked, and a treacherous blush instantly appeared on her cheeks.

You set down the mortar and turned to her, crossing your arms over your chest. Your gaze was attentive and absolutely imperturbable. "Your face is flushing. You’ve started avoiding eye contact, but you look at me when you think I’m not seeing. You’ve started touching me much more often. I’ve analyzed these behavioral patterns. They are identical to those described in books as signs of romantic infatuation. But I cannot understand how that applies to us."

Shinobu was ready to sink through the floor. Her brilliant brain momentarily shut down from the directness of your statement. "I... I just... i-it's..." she exhaled deeply, covering her face with her palms. All her Hashira grace had evaporated, leaving only a terrified, embarrassed girl. "Yes. You’re right. You have amazing analytical abilities, Y/N."

You frowned slightly, sincerely puzzled. "But why?"

Shinobu pulled her hands away from her face. Her violet eyes looked at you with desperation and hope. "Why did I fall in love with you? Because you are the kindest, most understanding person I know. Because next to you, I don't have to be perfect. Because your soul is more beautiful than any flower in my garden."

You blinked. Embarrassment, for the first time in a long time, pierced your armor of apathy. Your cheeks also flushed, and your sharp nails nervously dug into the fabric of your haori. "But... I look like a demon, Shinobu. Why would you love someone who looks like the creatures you hate most in the world? And besides..." you stumbled, feeling foolish. "We’re both girls. Is that allowed? In my village, they said love is only between a man and a woman, for the sake of continuing the family line. I didn't know girls could... be together."

Hearing this, Shinobu blinked, and then her nervous tension eased slightly. Her habitual logic and desire to explain woke up in her. She straightened her back, cleared her throat, and, still blushing, stepped closer to you.

"Y/N, first of all, I absolutely don't care what you look like. To me, your fangs and nails are just part of you, just like the color of your eyes. You are a person, and your heart is human. And second..." she took your hands in hers, her warm palms covering your cold fingers. "What they said in your village is dictated by the limitations of their world. From a biological and psychological point of view, love is a complex chemical process in the brain—a release of endorphins, dopamine, and oxytocin—triggered by attachment to a specific person. These chemical reactions don't depend on gender. A relationship between two girls is little different from a relationship between a guy and a girl. It’s the same care, the same support, the same desire to be near, to protect, and to bring joy to each other. The physiology of gender is secondary to the connection of souls and minds."

She said this so confidently, laying it all out as if giving a lecture on pharmacology. But her trembling fingers and blush betrayed a storm of emotions.

You stood in silence, processing the information. Your brain analyzed her words. There was indeed logic in it. If love is attachment and the desire to protect, then... hadn't you felt the same way about her? Hadn't you wanted to be near her constantly? Hadn't you admired her strength and her real, sincere anger?

Your face softened. You looked at your intertwined hands, then at Shinobu’s face. "So... this is normal? That you want to be with me? And that I... don't mind being with you?"

Shinobu exhaled noisily, her eyes shining. "More than normal. This... this would be the greatest happiness for me."

You smiled easily, baring your fangs in a sincere, tender smile that was meant only for her. "Then, I suppose we can try this... relationship. But you’ll have to teach me a lot, Shinobu."

The Insect Hashira laughed happily, pressing her forehead against your shoulder. "I will gladly be your teacher, Y/N."

Years passed. You grew older, more experienced. You reached unprecedented heights in the Corps, proving to everyone that your appearance was merely a shell, beneath which lay unwavering devotion to humanity. Shinobu became one of the most respected and deadly Hashira.

Your relationship remained your quiet, cozy secret, but those who were perceptive enough had figured it out long ago.

People still teased you. But now, when you were in the circle of other Hashira, those jokes lost their venom. They became light, comradely.

"Hey, Y/N!" Uzui Tengen once shouted at a meeting, flashing his bright smile. "Didn't you have breakfast today? You’re looking at Himejima like you want to bite his arm off with those demonic fangs! That would be very 'un-flamboyant' of you!"

Sanemi Shinazugawa, standing nearby, chuckled. "Oh, give it a rest, Uzui. She wouldn't even hurt a fly unless it was a demon. Though, with those nails, she doesn't even need a katana—she could just scratch an enemy to death."

As a child, those words would have made you withdraw into yourself. But now, you only laughed quietly and sincerely. "I’m afraid, Shinazugawa-san, my nails aren't long enough for that. But I’ll take your advice into account for close-quarters combat. And you, Uzui-san, don't worry. Himejima-san’s musculature is too tough for my digestion."

The Hashira laughed. You had learned to use humor as the perfect defense mechanism. By laughing at yourself with them, you stripped their jokes of any hurtful subtext. This became your new armor—light, casual, and absolutely bulletproof.

But Shinobu, standing next to you, tensed. Her smile became rigid, and her hand moved to the hilt of her sword. Even though the jokes were friendly, the same primal, protective anger from your childhood still lived within her. She still hated it when anyone drew attention to your appearance.

"I think you should devote more time to training rather than discussing the appearance of my colleagues," she hissed through her teeth, and the air temperature around her seemed to drop by a couple of degrees. "Otherwise, I might accidentally add something... muscle-relaxing... to your tea. Forever."

Uzui and Shinazugawa immediately fell silent, feeling the deadly aura emanating from the Insect Hashira.

You sighed softly. Unnoticed by the others, you reached out and interlaced your fingers with Shinobu’s. Your touch was cool, soothing. You squeezed her hand slightly, moving closer so that only she could hear your words.

"Shinobu, it’s alright," you whispered, your voice like the soothing flow of a river. "They’re just joking. It doesn't hurt me anymore."

Shinobu turned her head to you. Her angry gaze softened upon meeting your warm, peaceful expression. "I know," she replied just as quietly, not breaking eye contact. "But it still pisses me off. They don't understand how beautiful you are. They only see the surface."

"But you do," you smiled, and your fangs gleamed in the sunlight. "And that is more than enough for me. I don't need the whole world to see me the way you do. I only need you."

Shinobu took a deep breath, and the tension finally left her body. She relaxed her hand on the hilt of her sword and squeezed your fingers a little tighter in response.

That same evening, when the meeting ended and the Corps' business was settled, you sat on the wooden veranda of your private quarters in the Butterfly Mansion. The night sky was scattered with stars, and the air smelled of blooming wisteria and cool night air.

Your head rested on Shinobu’s lap. She was slowly, methodically, and incredibly tenderly running her thin fingers through your hair. This was your private ritual, a time when all masks were removed, and only the two of you remained.

You closed your eyes, savoring the moment. "You know," you broke the silence, your voice deep and sleepy. "I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said today. About them only seeing the surface."

Shinobu stopped her hand in your hair. "I didn't mean to upset you, Y/N."

"You didn't," you opened your eyes and looked up at her. In the moonlight, her face seemed carved from marble, but her eyes radiated so much love that it took your breath away. "I was just thinking about how lucky I am. I was born with the face of a monster in a world where monsters are humanity’s greatest enemies. I should have been an outcast. I should have lived a life of solitude, hiding from the gazes of others. But instead... I am lying here."

You raised your hand with its sharp, claw-like nails and carefully, with your fingertips, touched her cheek. Shinobu immediately pressed against your palm, closing her eyes.

"I am lying here," you continued, "with the most beautiful, strongest, and most incredible woman in the world. A woman who wasn't afraid of my fangs. Who taught me that love doesn't have the boundaries invented by the people in my village. Who gets angry for me when I forget how to get angry myself."

Shinobu opened her eyes, which were brimming with unshed tears. She leaned over and pressed her lips to yours in a long, trembling kiss. There was no passion or urgency in this kiss—only infinite, deep gratitude and devotion.

When she pulled away, her forehead remained pressed against yours. "You aren't a monster, Y/N," Shinobu whispered. "Demons are hollow inside. They have no heart. But your heart... it is so huge that it took in all my pain and all my anger and turned them into something bright. You are the most human creature I know. And I swear that I will be by your side until the very end. No matter what happens in this war."

You smiled, and this time your smile was wide, sincere, revealing all your "demonic" features, which you were no longer ashamed of. Because in the eyes of the woman looking at you now, those features were a symbol not of a threat, but of protection.

"And I will be by your side, Shinobu. Until the very end, and even after it."

That night, the air was crystal clear, autumn-chilled and crisp. You were adjusting the focus, trying to catch the Andromeda Galaxy in the lens, muttering calculations of light-years and parallaxes to yourself. You were so absorbed in the grandeur of stars, whose light had been traveling to Earth for millions of years, that you had completely forgotten about earthly threats.

The stench of decay and rotten blood hit your nose before you heard the crunch of branches.

You pulled away from the eyepiece, and your heart skipped a beat. From the thick bamboo thickets, illuminated only by the pale moonlight, a demon emerged. It was grotesque, with unnaturally long limbs and a maw from which viscous saliva dripped. Its bloodshot eyes focused on you.

"Such... tender... flesh," the monster wheezed, lunging toward you.

Fear paralyzed your body. You backed away, tripped over your telescope tripod, and fell onto the cold grass. The demon leaped, its claws gleaming in the moonlight. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for unbearable pain, but instead heard only the quiet rustle of fabric and a sound like the fluttering of a giant butterfly's wings.

"Insect Breathing. Butterfly Dance: Caprice."

A flash of violet cut through the darkness. The air instantly filled with the thick, sweet aroma of wisteria. The demon roared, but its scream quickly turned into a gurgling wheeze. You opened your eyes and saw the monster collapse to the ground, its body beginning to be covered in black veins, and then it crumbled into dust.

Standing before you was a girl of incredible beauty. Her haori resembled butterfly wings, shimmering with shades of pink and turquoise. In her hand, she held a strange, thin blade. She turned to you, and a soft, flawless smile lit up her face.

"Good evening," her voice was melodic, like the chime of silver bells. "Are you not injured? Wandering here at such an hour is extremely dangerous."

You sat on the grass, breathing heavily, your gaze darting from the crumbling ash to her face. "I... I'm okay," you muttered, your trembling hands adjusting your disheveled clothes. "Thank you. You... you saved my life."

The girl gracefully sheathed her blade and stepped closer. Her huge, violet eyes, devoid of glints, suddenly stopped on your telescope. "What an unusual device," she said with sincere curiosity. "I've seen similar instruments from scientists in the capital, but this one looks different. What is it for?"

Your fear began to slowly recede, giving way to your true passion. "It's... it's a telescope," you stood up, dusting off your skirt. "I use it to observe the stars. You see, the light from the stars takes so long to reach us that when we look at the night sky, we are literally looking into the past. We see the universe as it was thousands, millions of years ago."

The girl's smile became a little more thoughtful. She approached the telescope and gently touched the cold metal. "Looking into the past..." she echoed. "How poetic. My name is Kocho Shinobu. I am the Insect Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps. And what is your name, lover of stars?"

Thus began your acquaintance. An acquaintance that forever changed the orbits of your lives.

After that night, you began to see each other more often. You continued to come to your hill, despite the danger, because the stars were your addiction. And Shinobu... Shinobu began including this hill on her patrol route.

Every Friday, when the moon entered a new phase, she would emerge from the darkness, silent and graceful. She would sit next to you on the spread-out blanket, pulling her knees to her chest, and listen.

You told her about quasars, about the birth and death of stars, about black holes and the infinity of the cosmos. You were an introvert, an ordinary girl, but when you talked about the universe, your eyes lit up with an incredible light, and your voice became confident and passionate.

For Shinobu, this was a breath of fresh air. Her entire life was soaked in death, poisons, blood, and an endless, exhausting war against demons. Her smile was a mask, hiding a deep, seething rage for her fallen sister. But next to you, listening to the scale of the cosmos, her problems seemed tiny for a moment. You didn't see a Hashira in her, you didn't expect orders or medicines from her. You saw in her just a person with whom you could share the beauty of the night sky.

"You know, Y/N," Shinobu said quietly one day, looking through the telescope's eyepiece at the craters of the Moon. "What you do... it's amazing. My job is to take the lives of monsters and save human bodies. But your gaze is directed where we can never reach. You look for light in the deepest darkness."

You looked at her profile, illuminated by the moonlight. Your heart beat traitorously faster. This had been happening for several weeks—this slow, viscous feeling budding in your chest. You were falling in love with her.

"Stars die too, Shinobu-san," you replied softly, moving a little closer, so that your shoulders almost touched. "But when a massive star dies, it explodes as a supernova. This explosion scatters elements across the universe from which new planets are later formed. And even we ourselves. We are literally made of stardust. Death in space is always the beginning of something new."

Shinobu turned her head to you. Her violet eyes studied your face intently. Her eternal, perfunctory smile disappeared, giving way to something incredibly gentle and vulnerable. She slowly raised her hand and touched your cheek with her fingertips.

"Stardust..." she whispered, and her touch scorched your skin. "What a beautiful philosophy, Y/N."

The tension between you grew with every meeting. Long glances, accidental touches of hands when handing a cup of tea from a thermos, quiet conversations until dawn. But neither of you dared to cross the invisible line.

With the onset of winter, demon activity in your region increased sharply. Shinobu began to arrive at the hill looking more and more tired, and traces of blood were often visible on her haori.

One night, she didn't even let you set up the telescope. She emerged from the forest, grabbed your wrist, and looked you in the eyes seriously.

"This is going too far, Y/N. Yesterday, two kilometers from here, I killed a demon that had almost mutated to the level of a Lower Moon. You cannot be here anymore."

"But Shinobu, my observations..." you began, but she interrupted you, her voice uncharacteristically stern.

"Your observations are not worth your life! If something happens to you..." she trailed off, sighing heavily, and her grip on your wrist softened. "If something happens to you, I will never forgive myself. I cannot always be around to protect you."

You lowered your gaze, understanding she was right. "What should I do? The stars are my whole life."

Shinobu was silent for a few seconds, as if weighing a decision. Then she lifted your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. "Move to the Butterfly Mansion."

You blinked in surprise. "To the headquarters of the Slayers? But I'm a civilian."

"I am a Hashira, and I have the right to invite guests. We have an inner courtyard, protected by wisteria on all sides. Not a single demon will get in there. The sky is just as visible there as it is here. You will be in absolute safety, Y/N. And..." she looked away slightly, her cheeks blushing faintly. "And we will be able to see each other more often. I would really like that."

Your heart fluttered joyfully. It was impossible to refuse such an offer.

The move went quickly. The inhabitants of the Butterfly Mansion—Aoi, Kanao, Sumi, Naho, and Kiyo—accepted you with great joy. Your telescope took pride of place in the center of the inner courtyard.

Life in the Mansion brought you even closer. You became an integral part of each other's daily lives. During the day, you helped the girls dry medicinal herbs and make entries in medical journals (your analytical mind as a scientist turned out to be very useful here). And at night... at night, Shinobu came to you.

She would sit next to you on the wooden engawa (veranda), covering you both with one warm blanket. Sometimes, when she was too exhausted after missions, she would simply lay her head on your shoulder and fall asleep to your quiet stories about the constellations. You would stroke her dark hair with its violet tips, inhaling the scent of wisteria, and feel that you had found your own, most important universe.

But love, like the cosmos, does not tolerate stagnation. It requires gravitational collapse to turn into something more. And this collapse was inevitable.

It happened in the middle of August. According to your calculations, a rarest meteor shower was expected that night, like which had not been seen for the last hundred years. The problem was that the Butterfly Mansion was in a lowland, and the surrounding mountains blocked the horizon necessary for observation.

You knew you couldn't leave. Shinobu had strictly forbidden you from leaving the territory protected by wisteria. Moreover, that night she herself was on an urgent mission in a neighboring town.

But a scientist's passion turned out to be stronger than the voice of reason. "It's just for a couple of hours," you tried to persuade yourself. "I'll just go up to the Dragon's Tooth Pass. It's not that far. I'll be careful."

Armed with a small travel telescope, star maps, and a lantern, you secretly left the Mansion while everyone was asleep.

The climb up the mountain was difficult. But when you reached the summit, the view exceeded all expectations. The sky was literally ablaze with falling meteors. You took out a notebook, avidly recording the trajectories, having forgotten everything in the world. You were so happy that you didn't notice the air temperature drop sharply and the cicadas go silent.

An icy hand covered in scales grabbed you by the throat with such force that cartilage crunched.

You were lifted off the ground. The telescope fell to the rocks with a crash, the lenses shattered. The demon, huge and muscular, with three pairs of eyes, smiled predatorily, squeezing your throat.

"What luck," it growled. "A human female, climbed so high. No one will hear your screams."

You tried to resist, kicked it, scratched the scaly arm, but couldn't even take a breath. Your lungs burned, black spots swam before your eyes. In your head, only one thought pulsed: "Shinobu... forgive me..."

And at the moment when your consciousness was ready to fade, space tore apart.

It wasn't like the graceful dance you saw on the first night. This was concentrated, insane, blind rage.

"Insect Breathing. Butterfly Dance: Wriggling Centipede!"

Shinobu appeared from nowhere. She moved in zigzags with such superhuman speed that the wooden bridge of the pass creaked under her feet. Her face was distorted with horror and anger. She didn't try to prick the demon gracefully. She drove her blade straight into its eye, piercing the skull through and injecting a lethal dose of poison.

The demon howled, letting you go. You collapsed onto the rocks, greedily gasping for air, shaking in a violent cough.

Shinobu didn't stop. Even when the demon began to disintegrate, she continued to strike the crumbling ash with her sword, breathing heavily, as if having lost her mind.

"Shinobu..." you wheezed, trying to lift yourself up.

She turned sharply. The sword fell from her trembling hands. In two steps, she was next to you, falling to her knees on the sharp stones. Her always perfect, impenetrable mask of calm collapsed completely. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes were wide with the horror she had endured.

She grabbed your shoulders and shook you with force. "What the hell are you doing here?!" her voice broke into a scream, full of despair. "Do you have any idea what I felt?! I returned to the Mansion, you're gone! Kakushi said they saw you on the path! I thought I was too late! I thought I lost you, like I lost my sister!"

"F-forgive me... the meteor shower... I thought..." you cried, feeling incredible guilt.

"Damn your meteors! Damn the stars!" she shouted, pressing you to her with such force that it hurt. "If you had died, Y/N... If you had died, my world would have gone out. I wouldn't have survived it. Do you hear? I wouldn't!"

There was so much primal pain and love in her cry that your heart constricted. You hugged her back, burying your face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of blood, sweat, and wisteria.

"Forgive me. I will never leave you again. I swear," you sobbed.

She stroked your hair with trembling hands, convulsively inhaling your scent, as if making sure you were alive.

The return to the Mansion passed in absolute silence. Shinobu did not let go of your hand for a second. Her fingers dug into your palm like a vice.

She took you straight to her private chambers, bypassing the infirmary. Locking the shoji door, she sat you on her futon and brought a first-aid kit.

Only the dim light of a paper lantern burned in the room. Shinobu silently began to treat the abrasions on your knees and hands. Then she moved closer to examine your neck. Where the demon's fingers had closed on your throat, terrible, dark bruises had already begun to show.

Shinobu touched them with her fingertips. Her hand was shaking. "Does it hurt?" she asked quietly, her voice still hoarse from recent tears.

"Tolerable," you whispered, not taking your eyes off her face.

She applied a cooling ointment to your neck. The distance between you was negligibly small. You felt the heat of her body, saw how her chest rose under the Slayer uniform. The tension that had been accumulating between you for months, multiplied by the adrenaline from the near-death experience, had reached critical mass. The air in the room became thick and heavy, as if before a thunderstorm.

Shinobu did not remove her hand from your neck after she finished with the ointment. Her fingers dug into your hair at the nape. She lifted her gaze, and her violet eyes met yours. There was no more fear in them. In them was a wild, all-consuming hunger and a desperate need to feel that you were here, that you were alive and belonged to her.

You took the first step. You leaned forward and covered her lips with yours.

Shinobu let out a quiet, almost animal moan and responded to the kiss with such greed that your head spun. This was not a gentle, romantic touch. This was a kiss born of the fear of loss. Her lips crushed yours, her tongue assertively penetrated your mouth, tasting you, dominating, demanding total surrender.

Your hands instinctively gripped her waist, pulling her closer. She threw a leg over your hips, sitting on top of you. Her hands frantically slid over your clothes.

"Y/N... my Y/N..." she whispered between hot, wet kisses, covering your jaw, collarbones with them, carefully avoiding the bruises on your neck.

"Shinobu..." you were suffocating from the feelings that had rushed in. Your fingers tangled in the buttons of her uniform.

She helped you, with a sharp movement unbuttoning her jacket and throwing it aside. Your clothes followed. The cool night air touched your bare skin, but was immediately replaced by the scorching heat of Shinobu's body.

She was stunningly beautiful. In the light of the lantern, her pale skin seemed porcelain, with faint scars from battles that only made her sexier. Her small, neat breasts rose from heavy breathing.

You reached out to her, caressing her breasts, running your thumbs over her hardened nipples. Shinobu arched her back, throwing her head back, and a sweet, long moan escaped her throat.

"Yes... please, Y/N... make me forget this fear. Make me feel only you," she whispered, looking at you with eyes darkened by lust.

She pushed you onto the futon, looming over you. Her kisses went lower. She kissed your breasts, your stomach, making you writhe under her. You gripped the sheets when her lips touched the inside of your thigh.

"Shinobu, I..." you couldn't string two words together, your analytical mind completely shut down, giving way to pure instincts.

Her fingers gently parted your folds. You were already incredibly wet, ready for her. Shinobu looked you in the eyes, enjoying the power she had over you in this moment. She slowly inserted one finger, making you gasp loudly. Everything inside you constricted, pulsing with pleasure.

"You're so tight... so hot," the Insect Hashira whispered, her voice vibrating with excitement.

She added a second finger, beginning to move rhythmically inside you. At first slowly, stretching, and then faster and deeper. With her other hand, she unerringly found your clitoris, caressing it with circular motions.

It was too good. Your hips instinctively moved to meet her hand, begging for more. All the pain from the fall on the rocks disappeared, washed away by waves of mounting ecstasy.

"Sh-Shinobu! Harder... please!" you sobbed, unable to restrain your moans.

She increased the pace. Her movements were precise and unrelenting. She knew human anatomy perfectly, and now she used this knowledge to drive you to madness.

"Surrender to me, Y/N. Show me how much you love me," she whispered hotly into your ear.

The tension in your lower abdomen twisted into a tight spiral, and then exploded. You screamed her name, convulsively arching, your internal muscles tightly gripping her fingers, pulsing from a powerful, destructive orgasm. Stars flashed before your eyes—the same ones you loved to study—but now they were here, in this very room.

When you finally went limp on the futon, breathing heavily, Shinobu slowly withdrew her fingers and lay down next to you.

But you were not going to leave her without an answer. Your body was still humming with pleasure, but you wanted to give her the same.

You turned over, ending up on top. Shinobu sighed in surprise when your lips covered her nipple. You caressed her breasts, moving down with kisses until you were between her legs.

"Y/N..." Shinobu swallowed convulsively, her fingers digging into your hair.

You gently kissed her loins, and then your tongue found her sensitive center. The Insect Hashira, the scourge of demons, trembled beneath you like an autumn leaf. You acted diligently, pouring all your love into the caresses. Your tongue moved quickly and confidently, while two fingers slid inside her.

Shinobu turned out to be loud. Her moans filled the room, she tossed, arching her back, unable to control her body.

"God... Y/N... yes... don't stop!" she screamed, her nails leaving red streaks on your shoulders.

You accelerated your movements, feeling her approach the peak. Her thighs tightened around your head, she trembled with her whole body, and with a loud, piercing cry, an orgasm washed over her. Her body shook in your hands, juices washed your fingers.

You moved up to her, lying next to her and pulling her into your embrace. You were both covered in sweat, breathing heavily, but your hearts were beating in unison.

Several hours passed. The night had deeply come into its own, but neither of you was sleeping. You lay under one light blanket, pressed closely to each other. Your head rested on Shinobu's chest, and you listened to her steady heartbeat. Her fingers gently toyed with your hair.

"You know," Shinobu broke the silence quietly, her voice full of languor and calmness. "I wasn't angry at you just because of fear."

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking into her eyes. "Then because of what else?"

Shinobu smiled weakly, running a finger along your cheek. "Because I realized I had lost. I am a Hashira. I swore to give my life to the Corps and to revenge for my sister. I shouldn't have had attachments that could make me weak. But then you appeared with your telescope and talk about the cosmos. And I realized that my oath had cracked. I fell in love with you so much, Y/N, that the thought of your death scares me more than defeat at the hands of Muzan."

Your eyes filled with tears. You leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. "You're not weak, Shinobu. Love doesn't make us weak. In astrophysics, there is a concept of a 'binary star system'. This is when two stars revolve around a common center of mass. Their gravity holds them together, making the system incredibly stable. They feed each other. We are the same kind of stars. I will be your support, and you will be mine. I love you. I love you more than the entire universe."

Shinobu laughed happily, hugging your neck and pulling you back onto her chest.

"What a nerd you are, my beloved astrophysicist," she whispered, kissing you on the crown of your head. "A binary star system... I like that."

"So, are we a couple?" you asked with timid hope, burying your nose in the crook of her neck.

"We are a couple," Shinobu answered firmly and confidently. "And from now on, if you want to look at the stars, we will only do it together. And preferably from our inner courtyard, protected by wisteria. Otherwise, I will tie you to the futon. And believe me, my methods of tying are very... specific."

You blushed upon hearing the playful notes in her voice, but laughed happily.