CHAPTER SEVEN: RENGOKU'S FAMILY

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❝ Lose the staples that hold your teeth to your jaw. ❞
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HER EYES SOFTENED.

"It's because of the chickens I killed to get here," (name) said, her voice carrying a strange lightness. "See, I came from a different town, and the journey was... well, let's call it eventful. I had to improvise to make it through. Sorry if I didn't get a chance to change my clothes."

The casualness in her tone was disconcerting. Tanjirou's brows furrowed as her words settled in his mind.

(name) smiled faintly as though her explanation required no further elaboration. But to Tanjirou, the pieces of the story felt disjointed, out of sync with her demeanor. The gears in his mind turned as he tried to make sense of it all.

(name) was skilled, he concluded.

She had to be.

To avoid blood staining her clothes while carrying the scent of death meant she knew how to fight with precision—how to eliminate without error.

Yes, that must be it.

But a small voice in the back of his mind whispered doubt. What if her skills weren't the reason? What if her explanation held an unspoken truth?

And if she was indeed skilled in combat, why wasn't she already part of their ranks? Was there something holding her back? Or perhaps... she had other reasons.

"Then you must be skilled in combat, sen-san," he finally ventured, his voice quiet but steady. "There isn't a drop of blood on your clothes, yet the scent lingers. That's no easy feat."

(name)'s lips curled into a wide grin. "Impressive!" she said, her tone playfully exaggerated. "You've got quite the sharp nose, Tanjirou. Bravo! Bravo!"

Before he could react, a whisper brushed against his ear, light and unnervingly close.

Tanjirou's breath hitched.

He turned his head, and there she was—too close, her green eyes locking onto his. Her presence felt heavy, suffocating, as if the air around her carried an unspoken threat.

"I can't kill demons," (name) murmured, her voice low and deliberate.

Tanjirou froze. Her proximity, the weight of her words—it all left him paralyzed. For the first time, he felt something he couldn't name. It wasn't fear, but a deep unease, as though her words carried a shadow that reached beyond their meaning.

Her aura was unlike anything he'd encountered before. It wasn't meant for the satisfied, the content, or the joyful. It was something... darker.

"Anyway—!"

The tension shattered as (name) abruptly stepped away, skipping a few paces ahead. The sudden movement broke the spell, and Tanjirou exhaled, realizing he'd been holding his breath.

She walked ahead of him now, her back facing him, her carefree demeanor seemingly returning.

"Want to know the real story? It wasn't just chickens," she called over her shoulder, her voice teasing. "You caught me bluffing." She paused, placing a finger on her cheek and squishing it slightly. The gesture was oddly innocent, almost childlike. It reminded Tanjirou of Nezuko's softer expressions.

"But unlike the other Hashiras..." (name)'s voice dipped, her tone taking on a sharper edge. "They're so full of themselves. So high up their own asses, they can't see what's happening below. Weird, right? Not all Hashiras were like that before. But let me tell you—one of them? They loved lying to you for fun. Oh, they'd make you beg for the truth. Now that was a game they enjoyed."

They resumed walking, the dirt path crunching softly beneath their feet.

"What do you mean?" Tanjirou asked, his voice tinged with both curiosity and frustration. It rose from a murmur to a firm tone as his conviction took over. "The Hashiras are doing their best to protect people from demons. There's no reason for them to look down on anyone!"

"Ah, ah, ah. I'm not talking about those Hashiras," (name) interjected, spinning around suddenly and pressing a finger to his lips.

Tanjirou's eyes crossed slightly as he tried to focus on her hand. She moved so quickly that he hadn't even noticed her approach.

"I'm talking about the previous Hashiras," she said with a smirk.

Tanjirou blinked, the words processing slowly.

"Previous Hashiras? Like Rengoku-san?"

"Mhm." (name) nodded, folding her hands neatly behind her back as she continued walking. "Boy, you have no idea how things used to be when they were in charge."

"Wait..."

Tanjirou's mind raced to piece together her cryptic remarks. Yet, every time he thought he had the full picture, (name) would introduce new fragments, scattering the puzzle once again.

What was she saying about the Hashiras?

"I thought you were new here, sen-san," he asked cautiously.

"Oh, I'm new to journaling," (name) replied with a cheeky grin, sticking out her tongue. "I never said I was new to the old faces."

Her gaze shifted to his earrings, and her expression changed subtly, curiosity flickering in her green eyes.

"By the way, those earrings... where'd you get them?"

Tanjirou instinctively touched the earrings, his thumb and forefinger brushing against the familiar texture. "These? My father gave them to me."

"Cool, cool..." (name) mused, her tone casual, though her eyes lingered on him a moment longer than necessary. "But how did he—"

Tanjirou's expression dimmed slightly, his gaze falling as a shadow of memory passed over his features.

(name) almost laughed at his reaction but stopped herself, her expression softening.

"You don't need to tell me right away!" she said, her voice brightening. "Come on, I'm not trying to pry. I'm just curious."

She smiled warmly, and Tanjirou managed a faint smile in return.

"Thank you for understanding, Sen-san."

His gaze lingered on her back as they walked, questions swirling endlessly in his mind.

"Is this it?" (name)'s voice broke his thoughts.

Tanjirou blinked, refocusing.

He looked up to see the familiar fence of the Butterfly Estate. His eyes widened, and he slapped his own face lightly, trying to shake off his wandering thoughts.

"Yep! This is it," (name) confirmed with a grin, turning to face him briefly before striding ahead.

Muzan sat in the dim stillness of his borrowed room, the faint glow of a solitary lamp casting long, wavering shadows across the walls. The space was modest, unremarkable in every way—a far cry from the dark majesty of his Infinity Castle. Here, in the guise of a child, he played the part of an adopted son. It was a role crafted with meticulous care, as seamless as every other mask he wore in his long existence.

The air in the room was heavy, almost stifling. The silence pressed against his ears, broken only by the soft hum of the lamp and the faint rustle of fabric as Muzan shifted in his seat. He turned the severed hand over in his own small, pale ones, his sharp nails brushing against the lifeless flesh. It was cold, damp, and faintly sticky with congealed blood—a grotesque trophy delivered into his possession mere hours ago.

The memory of how it came to him lingered vividly, as if etched into his mind.

Nakime had been waiting for him as he prepared to leave the Infinity Castle. Her silent, watchful presence was as unremarkable as the castle's endless corridors, but this time, she held something unusual in her clawed hands.

"What is this?" Muzan's voice had been low, edged with impatience as he narrowed his crimson eyes at the offering.

"Different," she rasped, her words as enigmatic as always.

He had taken the severed hand from her without much thought, his sharp nails grazing hers briefly. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a bloodied appendage, its flesh mangled and torn. Muzan nearly dismissed it outright, his irritation at her vagueness rising. But then, something caught his eye.

Amidst the discolored veins and butchered tissue, a sliver of white jutted out, incongruous against the surrounding carnage. A slip of paper, triangular in shape, peeked from the wrist like a deliberate signal. Muzan's gaze sharpened. How had such a fragile thing remained intact through the mess of its mutilation?

Now, seated in his quiet room, Muzan focused intently on the task before him. His slender fingers worked with precision, prying the paper free from its grotesque sheath. Blood clung to its edges, sticky and stubborn, slowing his progress. It was infuriating, yet fascinating.

The amount of blood was calculated.

It was enough to make the task maddeningly tedious, forcing him to focus, but not so much as to render the paper unrecoverable. Muzan smirked faintly at the ingenuity of it. Whoever had done this was meticulous. Calculating. Clever.

Who is she, really?

The question repeated in his mind, louder now, as if demanding his full attention. He remembered their first meeting vividly, the moment her presence had disrupted his carefully ordered existence. She was unlike anyone he had encountered in centuries.

How had it come to this?

She was elegant, poised, and enigmatic—an anomaly in every sense. Her mere existence was an affront to his understanding of the world, and he despised how she unsettled him. And yet, there was something more, a seed of curiosity that had grown unchecked into a wild, thorny fascination.

At last, the paper came free, slipping from the flesh with a soft, wet sound. Muzan exhaled, a faint trace of satisfaction flickering across his features. He carefully wiped the slip clean, patting it dry with a cloth. For once, his movements were deliberate, almost reverent. Whatever this was, it demanded his full attention.

The slip unfolded with a faint rustle, revealing neat, deliberate handwriting:

Kibutsuji Muzan,
It is my honor to present to you my existence, for shall it be known that my last hours will be numbered.
And so will yours.
- (last name) (first letter of first name).

The words hit him like a blade to the chest. Muzan's hand tightened around the paper, crumpling it into his palm. His red eyes glowed, their light casting an ominous hue across the room. Fury rose in him like a tide, hot and unrelenting, scorching his composure as it threatened to spill over.

Then, a sound broke the silence—a sharp, echoing caw. Muzan's gaze snapped to the window. A crow, its feathers sleek and black as midnight, perched on the sill. It was no ordinary bird; its presence was far too deliberate.

The bird hopped onto the desk with a flutter of wings, its talons clicking against the wood. Muzan's sharp eyes immediately noticed the object tied to its back—a small, crimson apple bound with a rough cord. The bird bent its head, pecking at the knot until the apple rolled free and came to rest on the desk with a muted thud.

Muzan's fury flared again as he stared at the fruit. His hand shot out, seizing the apple. His grip tightened until the smooth skin cracked and the flesh crumbled, juice running over his pale fingers and pooling onto the bloodstained desk.

He should have known.

From the moment they met, he had sensed it—an unshakable certainty that this girl would undo him. She was more than an enigma; she was an untouchable force, a storm he could neither predict nor control.

And he hated it.

The lamp flickered faintly as Muzan leaned forward, his elbows slamming onto the desk. He buried his face in his hands, his sharp nails digging into his scalp. The tension coiled in his body, refusing to relent. He let out a low, frustrated groan, his thoughts a chaotic storm of anger and something else—something he refused to name.

After a moment, his eyes drifted back to the crumpled paper on the desk. With a sharp breath, he smoothed it out again, his red eyes scanning the words once more.

The fury that had burned so fiercely moments before began to waver.

Why couldn't he stay angry? Despite everything—her games, her audacity, her taunts—he couldn't hold onto his rage.

And that, more than anything, terrified him.

Both (name) and Tanjirou entered the Butterfly Estate, the tranquil ambiance of the place immediately enveloping them. The structure bore similarities to the Ubuyashiki residence, yet the charm of the estate lay in its gardens—a vibrant display of flora that stretched across the grounds. Unlike the ubiquitous wisteria of demon-slayer safe havens, the estate was alive with a medley of blossoms in every hue.

(name)'s eyes widened, crinkling slightly at the corners as she took in the vibrant beauty around her. The variety and vibrancy of the flowers gave the estate a personality that seemed to mirror its owner, Shinobu Kocho.

"So... everyone here is a woman?" (name) asked, her tone light yet curious.

Tanjirou turned to her, his brows rising in surprise. "Whoa! How did you know?"

Without answering immediately, (name) stepped towards a nearby flower bed and plucked a single red tulip. She turned back to Tanjirou, her movements slow and deliberate. As she placed the tulip into the pocket of his uniform, her face hovered mere inches from his, the closeness enough to make his breath hitch.

"Feminine touch," she said simply, patting the spot gently before stepping back.

Tanjirou exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He tried to focus on guiding her into the estate, but his thoughts were scattered. His hand instinctively reached out to hers, but she flinched, pulling back sharply.

Tanjirou stopped, concern flickering across his face as he turned to her. " (name)-san? Is something wrong?"

Her eyes were distant, the warmth they carried earlier now replaced with a foggy detachment. She shook her head quickly, forcing a small smile. "No, don't worry. I'll wait here if you need anything."

Tanjirou hesitated but nodded. "Okay... I won't be long."

He walked inside, his thoughts still lingering on her sudden shift. As he made his way to his room, the lively bustle of the estate's other inhabitants greeted him. He glanced around, noticing the absence of the three children who usually ran about. Shrugging it off, he stepped into his quarters and let his gaze rest on Nezuko's box.

"Hey, Nezuko... I'm back," he murmured, placing a hand gently on the wooden surface.

He knelt beside the box, his voice softening. "I just came back from visiting Rengoku's family. I... I had to tell them everything. They needed to know the truth." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I apologized, too. I couldn't help myself."

A sheepish laugh escaped him, but the weight of his words lingered in the room. Rising to his feet, Tanjirou stepped out into the hallway, only to be met with a familiar, frantic cry.

"TANJIROOOOOOO!"

Zenitsu barreled toward him, tears streaming down his face. He latched onto Tanjirou's waist, clutching his haori as though his life depended on it.

"Zenitsu?! What's wrong?"

"Inosuke's trying to kill me!" Zenitsu wailed.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall as Inosuke rounded the corner, his fiery energy palpable even without his boar mask. His uniform, courtesy of the estate's attendants, clung awkwardly to his wild demeanor.

"GAHH! KAMABOKO! WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?!" Inosuke bellowed, his voice echoing through the hallway.

"Inosuke," Tanjirou began, wagging a finger sternly, "are you picking on Zenitsu again?"

Inosuke flinched, crossing his arms and huffing indignantly as he avoided Tanjirou's pointed gaze. Meanwhile, Zenitsu's tears turned to ones of gratitude.

"Thank you, Tanjirou! I owe you my life!"

"Yeah, yeah, get off me," Tanjirou muttered, gently pushing the thunder-breather away.

"What are you two even fighting about?"

"INOSUKE STOLE MY CUP OF NOODLES!"

"IT WAS MINE TO BEGIN WITH!"

"YOU THINK EVERYTHING BELONGS TO YOU!"

"I NEED IT TO GET STRONGER, YOU COWARD!"

"STRONGER?! THAT'S YOUR EXCUSE FOR EVERYTHING!"

Tanjirou sighed, his laugh awkward as he tried to mediate their endless bickering. Yet his mind wandered. (name)'s face drifted to the forefront of his thoughts—her soft cheeks, the way her words carried a strange kind of spell.

The sudden silence caught him off guard. Zenitsu and Inosuke were staring at him, their argument forgotten as they noticed his distant expression.

"Are you okay, Tanjirou?" Zenitsu asked, tilting his head in concern.

"Huh?" Tanjirou blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "Oh! No, no, I'm fine."

"DON'T BE SUCH A WEAKLING, KAMABOKO!" Inosuke shouted, breaking the moment.

"I'm not!" Tanjirou protested. "It's just... I met this girl named Takatsuki Sen..."

"WHAT?!" Zenitsu's reaction was instant and explosive. He clasped his hands together, his expression lighting up.

"You know her?" Tanjirou asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Of course I do! I love her books!" Zenitsu declared, practically vibrating with excitement.

"She writes books?" Tanjirou echoed, his curiosity piqued.

Zenitsu gasped. "She's here?! Right now?!"

"Y-Yeah, she's outside..."

Before Tanjirou could finish, Zenitsu vanished in a bolt of lightning. Inosuke, not one to be left behind, charged after him, convinced it was some sort of race.

Tanjirou sighed, watching them disappear into the distance. "Those two..."

He shook his head, giving himself a light slap on the cheeks. "Stop zoning out! That's the second time!"

Still, his gaze lingered on the direction they'd gone, his thoughts drifting once more.

"What's wrong with me?" he murmured, unable to shake the peculiar flutter in his chest.