Chapter Text
By the time Sanemi Shinazugawa has been made the Wind Hashira, he's decided to live his life by vows he's made to himself.
He's sworn to destroy.
He's sworn his every waking moment to the pursuit of revenge.
He's sworn himself to a life of isolation with no mortal ties.
He would not seek pleasure, for pleasure was fleeting and meaningless. He’d live lean days, purged of all distractions. He would be single-minded. He would eat, sleep, and only do what was necessary to fulfill his singular mission. Everything else was noise.
Stupid, stupid noise.
***
The first time Sanemi sees her at the Butterfly Mansion, his first thought is that she shouldn't be there. His dumb eyes are probably playing tricks on him again. They do that sometimes when he's gone more than a few days without sleep. Just another symptom of how weak he still was.
She's out of place here. All wrong. That face, those eyes, in the Hashira uniform. She's like a cherry blossom in a battlefield. Delicate, radiant, misplaced. Wrong. All wrong, here. In a life full of blood and violence and evil.
He freezes when he’s just a few steps into the medical wing. He’d expected to see Shinobu Kochou with her usual disappointed frown. His mouth goes dry.
Faint sunlight pours in through the shoji windows, casting her in an ethereal haze. She’s standing at the front of the room, smiling at him even though they’re strangers.
Maybe Masachika’s right this time, he thinks. Maybe he’s lost so much blood he’s begun to have delusions.
He takes in her long, midnight hair. She has butterfly pins above her ears to match her haori. Porcelain skin with a warm flush in her cheeks. Eyelashes dark and thick like a sin, above eyes that… he doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know what because he doesn’t have words for something he’s never seen before.
Sanemi realizes he’s started to hold his breath.
“So you’re Shinazugawa,” she says. Her voice is gentle and friendly. “Shinobu’s told me all about you.”
Sanemi doesn’t say anything. His reputation precedes him. That’s nothing new. He clenches his jaw and walks over to her, narrowing his eyes. Get a grip, he tells himself. She’s just a girl. A respected Hashira, sure, but still just a girl.
She’s still smiling like she’s in on a joke he’s not aware of. It annoys him. He focuses on that feeling when she gestures for him to sit down.
“I’m Kanae Kochou,” she tells him. “This is my estate. It’s nice to meet you.”
She pauses, as if expecting him to answer.
“Can we get to it?” he says sharply. “I don’t do small talk.”
Her smile widens, unbothered. Amused, even. “I understand you must be in a hurry to get back to your duties. Please remove your jacket and undershirt.”
Sanemi hesitates but does as she says. He was bandaged up by a Kakushi before he was dragged here by Masachika.
She inspects his bandages from the outside. They’re stained nearly black and are stiff to the touch because he’d bled through them days ago and hadn’t bothered to change them.
Her smile changes into a look of concern.
She sighs. “You should’ve come here days ago.” She turns to grab fresh bandages from the table. “Or are you allergic to immediate medical attention?”
It takes him a second to recognize the sarcasm hidden in her dulcet voice.
“I was busy,” he scowls.
She hums softly. “No one is too busy to die from an infected wound. Not even you, Shinazugawa.”
As if on cue, one of her attendants enters the room with a basin of water. She sets it down on the table beside Kochou before departing.
She sits down next to him, reaching out to touch his torso, where his bandages are. He stiffens from her touch.
She starts to remove his bandages, unraveling them around his body. Some of them are practically fused together.
Sanemi turns his face away, trying not to stare. She’s close. Closer than he’s let any human being get to him since he’d lost his family. From this proximity, her scent fills his nostrils, sweet and fragrant. He wonders if it’s her perfume or if that’s just her natural essence as the Flower Hashira.
She unwinds the last of his bandages. The smell of iron and sour flesh permeates the air. The air feels cold against his bare skin. She’s completely silent as he feels her eyes on him. Sanemi’s always been proud of his body and his scars, but with her he feels a flutter of self-consciousness. He pushes it away. No use being self-conscious if she was the one treating his wounds.
He tenses when he feels her fingers on him.
“It’s infected, but I think we caught it early enough,” she says. “We’ve just got to make sure we keep it clean and change your bandages until you’re fully healed.” He hears the faint sound of water as she dips in a cloth. “You must’ve been in pain.”
His eyes flutter closed and he clenches his jaw as she cleans his wounds. Her touch is gentle but thorough.
“Pain’s nothing,” he grunts out.
She wrings out the cloth, old and new blood tainting the water red. She dries him with a clean rag before applying antiseptic and stitching him up. He stays perfectly still as she does this, watching her nimble fingers and look of calm focus. He barely feels her feathery touch. He tries to slow the erratic beating of his heart.
“Pain is valuable,” she tells him. She opens a jar and starts to cover his angry, weeping cuts with the salve and he hisses. The herbal smell is pungent and it stings. “It’s a language. Our body’s way of telling us that something’s wrong.”
She applies clean bandages. Again, he watches her hands. They’re dainty but precise and quick. She makes the Kakushi who’d originally bandaged him up look like an embarrassment.
“There. I think you’ll live to see another day,” she smiles, leaning back in her chair. She stands up and turns away to clean her hands in another basin. Sanemi blinks at her back before realizing this is his cue to leave.
He shrugs his undershirt and jacket back on, getting to his feet.
“Come back in three days for fresh bandages. I’ll check to make sure the infection isn’t worsening.” She turns back to face him, wiping her hands.
He swallows hard at the thought of seeing her again.
“Fine,” he says.
“See you again soon, Shinazugawa.”
He leaves the medical wing and makes his way out of the Butterfly Mansion. On his way out, he sees Kakushi rushing through the doors with other wounded Demon Slayers.
Masachika is outside talking with Shinobu Kochou when he approaches. He’s telling her one of his funny stories and making her laugh. Sometimes Sanemi amuses himself by wondering what sort of Hashira Masachika would be. Could there be a Laugh Hashira?
“Ah, Sanemi! You’re all fixed up.”
Shinobu sees him and excuses herself, saying something about talking to her sister, heading inside the mansion.
Masachika has one of his knowing grins on his face. “She’s real pretty, right?”
They start walking off the estate in the direction of the village they’ve been assigned. It’s not too far from the Butterfly Mansion. A few hours walk.
“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Sanemi says.
“I guess this must be your first time meeting her,” he says. “She’s been out on a mission for several months. Kochou told me she just returned yesterday. The Flower Hashira - lives up to the name, doesn’t she? She’s around your age, too. Not only is she beautiful, but incredibly smart and skilled. A lethal combination, that one.”
He snorts derisively. Beauty was wasted on a Demon Slayer. They lived a life full of ugliness. Eventually they’d all wind up scarred, maimed, and dead.
“And she’s real good at stitching people up,” Masachika says. “So she’s perfect for you.”
“What the hell are you going on about?”
“You’ll probably be one of her most frequent visitors, with how recklessly you regard your own body,” he continues. “My advice? Just try not to gawk. And be the sweet guy I know you can be, deep down. Like, deep, deep, down. Do that and I think you’ll have a solid chance.”
“Enough of your drivel,” he says. “We gotta get back before nightfall.” He starts into a sprint, Masachika following quickly behind. He feels his blood pound in his ears as he catches the lingering scent of honey and flowers.
***
He returns in three days as instructed. This time, he comes alone.
“Shinazugawa. You’re back. I didn’t think you’d actually return,” Kanae Kochou says, smiling that smile again.
He takes a seat and removes his undershirt and jacket without her having to ask.
“Oh.” She seems surprised. “There’s… more.”
She’s looking at the gashes on his arms. They’re fresh but mostly healed.
“They’re nearly healed. It’s not a big deal.”
She sits down next to him, reaching out her arms to unbind his bandages. He turns his face slightly away but watches her. Like last time, her touch is gentle, like she’s afraid she might hurt him. Like he’s fragile.
He wonders if she treats everyone this way, or just him.
“I’ve heard that you have Marechi blood,” she says pensively. “I can see why you like to use it to your advantage. It’s a handy strategy for luring demons.”
She undoes his bandages quickly. She inspects his stitches. She rubs more of that stupid salve on him, which he hates. But the warmth of her skin and against his and it makes something in his throat harden.
“I can also see how it can be tempting to overuse it.”
He scoffs. “Look. I’m here to get my bandages changed. Not for some self-righteous lecture.”
“I see.” Her lavender eyes flicker up at him then, meeting his gaze. His chest tightens. “Have you ever heard of self-preservation?”
She discards his old bandages and wraps him in clean ones.
“What about it?”
“I think you’re someone who could do well with a bit more of it,” she says, quietly. If this is a lecture, this is the gentlest lecture Sanemi’s ever had. She ties up the bandage but doesn’t pull her hands away. She keeps her eyes down at his scarred chest.
“I know we don’t know each other very well yet, Shinazugawa,” she says softly. “But I know Kumeno is very fond of you, and I think he’s a good judge of character. So, I’d like to get to know you. But to do that, you’d have to live long enough for me to do so.”
She meets his eyes then, her lips stretching into that smile. Sanemi counts ten of his rapid heartbeats before she finally draws back, taking her hands with her. She folds them in her lap.
“I hope you think of that the next time you press your blade against your own flesh.”
Prickly heat travels up the back of his neck. He tears his eyes away from hers, grabbing his shirt. His fingers feel clumsy and his palms are suddenly sweaty.
“Am I supposed to come back or something?” he mumbles.
“Please return in four days,” she tells him. “Goodbye, Shinazugawa.”
***
It’s two days later when Sanemi finds himself facing a hoard of demons. Some idiot had opened up an ancient cave and unleashed them on a nearby village, ending in a massacre.
With their recent feast, the demons are stronger, quicker. Taking on several of them at once would be no problem, but he wanted to dispose of them quickly before they scattered.
He’s bringing his blade to his forearm when he hears her voice.
I’d like to get to know you.
A demon pounces on him and he slashes its neck.
But to do that, you’d have to live long enough for me to do so.
He grits out a snarl and lets his sleeve fall.
“I can slaughter you abominations without it just fine,” he yells.
***
He returns to the Butterfly Mansion on the fourth day.
He stops in his step when he sees that it’s Shinobu Kochou waiting for him in the medical wing. She looks up at him, catching his surprise, before he walks over to her.
“Kanae left for a mission this morning,” she tells him.
“Didn’t ask."
“No. You didn't.” There’s a smirk in Shinobu’s voice. “Not with words.”
***
The next time Sanemi sees the Flower Hashira again, his best friend has just died.
She corrects him in front of the other Hashira. And she’s right. He feels shame creep up his back but it’s nothing compared to the anger and grief he feels at losing Masachika. It covers his sky like a dense, black cloud, blocking out all the light. It towers above everything.
Even above being made the Wind Hashira.
I want you to live, Masachika had written to him in his will.
Stupid, Sanemi thinks. Life is stupid until it’s gone and then it’s everything.
There is no celebrating over his ascent. No gloating, because there’s no one to gloat to. His best friend - his only friend - died so that he could have this. It was terrible and ugly and now it was his.
When the meeting is over, Sanemi wanders the massive Ubuyashiki estate. The Master had told him he’d get his official orders tonight. He finds a quiet corner with a pond. He walks to the edge of it, staring into the water spotted with lily pads. On closer inspection, the pond is teeming with life. There’s fat koi and turtles and frogs. Dragonflies as big of his fist flit by.
He stares at his murky reflection. Masachika’s will is still crumpled up in his hand.
“I’m sorry about Kumeno.”
He tenses but doesn’t turn around. He knows this voice. This time, it’s without the tone of reprimand.
He tightens his fist. “Tch. Don’t need your pity.”
He watches as the Flower Hashira slowly appears beside him in his reflection. It’s an odd sight, seeing the two of them together. Wrong, even. They look like they come from two different worlds. Mismatched.
“I used to think that the longer I was with the Corps, the easier it would get,” she says quietly. “Losing people. That I’d get numb to it, eventually. But it hasn’t yet. I hope that it never will.”
He looks up at her and glares.
“You always wanna feel this way?” he snarls. “What kinda stupid logic is that?”
“Pain is a language,” she repeats to him. There’s a knowing look in her eyes. A wiseness that taunts Sanemi, but some sadness too. “Feeling pain when we lose someone makes us acknowledge that they meant something to us. That their absence cleaves something from us.”
Sanemi stays silent, seething. What cloying nonsense. Why had she sought him out, anyway? Shouldn’t she be on her way back to the Butterfly Mansion?
He doesn’t like the way he feels around her. He just wants to break something with his hands. He wants to kill demons like they killed his friend. He wants to slaughter until he forgets.
“I know it’s under unfortunate circumstances, but I just wanted to congratulate you on becoming the Wind Hashira. I wish you well on your coming mission, Shinazugawa.”
He watches as her reflection beside him finally disappears.
***
It’s four months later when all the Hashira are summoned back to the Ubuyashiki Manor. When he arrives, Sanemi sees her laughing with Himejima. The Stone Hashira towers over her and her laughter rebounds from his solid mass, sounding like tinkling bells.
He’s heard the story of how Himejima had been the one to save the Kochou sisters from demons. Kochou was friendly with all the Hashira, but with Himejima even he can sense her reverence, sometimes even more so than with the Master.
He takes his seat on the other side, across from her. It’s a few minutes before the Master appears. Sanemi notices his right hand is bandaged.
“My esteemed Hashira,” he greets them. “I thank you all for coming and I’m glad to see you’re all well. From each of your reports, I can conclude with certainty that demon activity has been increasing throughout the regions. From this, we’ll be focusing more efforts on training up Kinoe and the recruitment of more Demon Slayers. However, I ask each of you to start training with each other. You will be sent on joint missions. To be successful, you must know how to work together and coordinate your attacks.”
They all nod. “Yes, Master Ubuyashiki.”
“You will spend one entire day training with each Hashira when you’re not on a mission. I shall give you your first assignment today. Your Kasugai will inform each of you of your future partners.”
He announces the first pairings. Sanemi’s ears perk up when he gets to Kochou. She is paired with the Flame Hashira. Sanemi is paired with the Serpent Hashira.
Great, he thinks. The freak with the snake.
***
After Iguro, he trains with Rengoku. His third training is with Himejima. Their contradictory breathing styles - stone and wind - make it a challenge, but a worthy one for Sanemi.
After a long day of training from daybreak to dusk, they sit and eat together. They do so mostly in silence. Partly because they’re both exhausted but also because neither of them have much to say.
Himejima is the one to break the silence.
“Shinazugawa. Do you despise the others?”
Sanemi’s eyes flicker up from his soba, surprised at his question. “No,” he grunts. “I just don’t care for them.”
The Stone Hashira stares at him with his milky eyes. It unnerves Sanemi and he looks away, back to his dinner.
“It costs nothing to befriend your fellow Hashira. We all inhabit this life together. You may find some comfort in confiding in those who understand what it’s like.”
Sanemi snorts.
He sighs. “At least you have befriended Kanae.”
He tenses, feeling his face grow hot. “What? We’re not friends.”
“She speaks of you fondly. And you often gaze at her when you think no one is looking during our Hashira meetings.”
He pounds his fists on the table, causing their bowls to loudly clatter. “I don’t gaze!” he chokes out.
“If you insist.”
Sanemi glares at him.
“She was worried for you after the death of Kumeno.”
“Then she’s stupid,” he says. “It’s useless to worry.”
“Hm,” Himejima says, sipping his tea. “I agree it’s not productive. But as humans we’re plagued with emotions that we consider nuisances. It doesn’t mean they don’t have a purpose. Worry is a symptom of caring.”
“Yeah, well, caring is useless too.”
“Is that so?” Himejima’s lips almost quirk into a smile. “If you didn’t care, you would have lived your life without ever even considering joining the Demon Slayer Corps.”
“Yeah?” he snarls. “That’s just ‘cause I wanna destroy every filthy demon that has the damn nerve to exist.”
Himejima sets down his bowl with both hands. “Shinazugawa. We do not kill just for the sake of killing. We kill them so that others won’t have to feel the pain we did when we suffered loss at their hands. To protect others from the misery they spread.”
“Sure. If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”
“Kanae believes we might be able to coexist peacefully with demons someday.”
“Then she’s delusional.”
“It’s an uncommon opinion among our ranks, to be sure. But still worth considering.”
Sanemi decides he’s had his fill of this conversation. He’s getting to his feet when he hears the flapping of wings.
“CAW! CAW!”
Sorai, his Kasugai, informs him of his next training partner.
He’s to head to the Butterfly Mansion in the morning.
***
It rains on his journey to the Flower Hashira’s headquarters. The dirt roads are nearly sludge and he’s kept company by the croaks of frogs.
Sanemi doesn’t mind the rain. He finds it peaceful. He thinks the water pouring from the sky drowns out the noise of everything else.
He tracks in mud when he enters the mansion. An attendant annoyingly follows after him with a rag to clean his trail from the floor as he walks through the halls.
He doesn’t announce himself when he enters the medical wing, where he knows Kochou frequents. He freezes silently in his step when he realizes what he’s walked into.
The sisters are there, their backs turned to him. The Flower Hashira is partially undressed. She’s wearing her undershirt only on one shoulder, with the right half of her bare. Sanemi’s eyes take in the creamy, unblemished skin of her naked shoulder. He sees the bandages on her back and he swallows. From how much the bandages cover, he can tell it’s a bad wound.
For some reason it has never occurred to Sanemi that Kochou could be hurt. She was always the one stitching others up. She wasn’t covered in scars like he was. He realizes now that maybe her scars were just hidden.
“Shinazugawa.”
She’s turned her face to catch him standing in the doorway. She pulls up her sleeve, covering herself back up. Shinobu Kochou glares at him. He can tell there are certain names she’d like to call him but can’t in the presence of her sister.
He comes forward. Kanae Kochou shrugs on her haori, but he notices her wince as she does.
“You smell like a wet dog,” Shinobu Kochou mutters.
“I believe the rain should let up in an hour,” the Flower Hashira says, a polite smile back on her face. “We’ll begin training then. In the meantime, you can get cleaned up. I’ll have someone bring you some tea.”
One of her attendants leads him to a spare room in the mansion. She draws him a hot bath and then departs. Sanemi hangs up his damp clothes. His oilcloth protected him from much of the rain, but the bottoms of his pants are soaked.
He sinks into the hot water, thinking of what he’d walked into earlier. He was sure he’d seen her flinch from pain. He wonders if she’s fit to train. He’d hate to waste his time here if she wasn’t at her best.
Then his mind drifts to her bare shoulder. How stark it looked underneath the cascade of her dark hair. Like coal and milk. He feels goosebumps prickle across his skin. Sanemi has never touched a woman before. Has never wanted to. That was a part of his brain he’d long shut off. But the skin on her shoulder had looked so soft that he feels a tingle in his fingers and yearning unfurl at the pit of his stomach trying to imagine what it would feel like to touch.
Would it feel as soft as a cat’s ear?
No. Softer, he thinks.
He doesn’t linger in the bath. He gets out and dries himself. He dresses back into his uniform. Outside, he finds hot tea waiting for him. He drinks it quickly, not caring that it burns his tongue.
He walks around the mansion. Attendants and Kakushi scurry past him in the halls. He finds the open door to the courtyard behind the estate and takes a seat on the steps under the cover of the roof. Just as Kochou had said, the rain has stopped. He watches the rainwater drip from the roof and the reflection of the gunmetal sky in the puddles.
He senses someone behind him. Her scent is distinct to him even when the air smells like rain and wet soil.
“The rain,” he comments. “How’d you know?”
“Just a feeling,” she says, a smile in her voice. “Shall we?”
He nods, getting up. She joins him but he pauses before they descend into the courtyard.
“Earlier. You’re… wounded,” he says. “If you’re not feeling well, we should postpone.”
She keeps her eyes ahead of her, towards the sky. “Are you already so eager to leave, Shinazugawa?”
“Look, it’s no use training with you if you’re not at your best. It’d be a waste of time for both of us.”
“Is that what you think?” she says, finally turning to him. There’s a twinkle in her eye. “That time with me is wasted?”
Sanemi swallows, flustered. “I—”
Her smile widens. “If you want to leave, I can’t make you stay. But if you stay, I promise I’ll try my hardest and make the training worth your while.”
He closes his mouth. He nods.
“Good,” she says. “Let’s begin.”
As with the others, they spar and train for hours without a break. Sanemi does his best to focus on his breathing techniques and keep his eyes from wandering to her. It’s difficult, he finds.
Her moves are skilled and graceful and nothing like he’s ever seen. There are moments when it takes his breath away. Ethereal bursts of blossom petals that do nothing to dull the lethal strike of her sword. He wonders how it is she’s managed to make killing so beautiful.
He wonders what he must look like to her. Masachika once compared him to a feral monkey.
Sanemi watches her as they spar.
She must be stupid, he thinks, as they deftly dodge each other’s moves. Stupid because with a face like that, she could be in some palace somewhere, living a delicate life full of only the most exquisite things.
A face like that could start a new religion. Could start wars. Could end them, even.
But instead she’s here. How the hell did she get here?
Sanemi knows how he got here. Demons slaughtered his family and had stolen every semblance of a normal life he could’ve had.
He remembers her story wasn’t far off from his own. She had also been orphaned at the hands of demons. He imagines her face streaked with the blood of her loved ones, her long midnight hair matted with bits of bone marrow. He imagines her afraid. Then he imagines her angry. He hasn’t seen Kanae Kochou angry yet. Disappointed, sure. Not angry.
He bitterly wonders if she makes anger look beautiful too.
Soon the sky has darkened and the lanterns in the courtyard are lit. He doesn’t notice when they’re lit, or how, or who lights them.
Towards the end, he concludes that their breathing styles are a natural fit. They find their synchronicity and flow without much strain. She doesn’t say it, but he can tell that she’s pleased by this. He tries not to look too satisfied. He does not find gratification in things that come too easy.
After their training is complete, she invites him to join for dinner. Sanemi washes up and heads to communal dining area of the estate before a squirrelly attendant catches up to him in the hall to inform him that Kochou would be having dinner in her private quarters tonight and that he’s to join her there. Sanemi follows after the young girl, feeling a nervous tightness in his chest.
She opens the door to a large room and gestures for him to enter before hurrying away.
Kochou is in the center of the room at a table. There’s hot food already waiting for him and a cup of hot tea. He can see the steam rising from the bowl.
“Thank you for coming. Shinobu and Kanao are away tonight, otherwise they’d be joining us too.”
Sanemi doesn’t know what to say so he just starts eating. He watches her out of the corner of his eye. Unsurprisingly, she eats as gracefully just as she does everything else.
“How was your training with Gyomei?” she asks.
“Fine,” he grunts. He has a memory of their conversation. She speaks of you fondly. He ducks his head down as he eats his noodles, feeling blood rush to his face.
Stupid Himejima talking nonsense.
There’s an awkward silence. Sanemi realizes he’s to reciprocate the question. The art of conversation is not completely lost on him, contrary to Masachika’s old complaints. He just never cared to engage in them.
“Who were you training with?”
It’s subtle, but he catches the slight widening of her smile at his attempt to keep conversation. He ignores the way his heartbeats quicken in response.
“Tomioka.”
Sanemi grunts with disdain.
A look of soft concern furrows her brow. “Oh. Has he wronged you in some way?”
“It’s just the way he is. Walks around all high and mighty, not saying a word to anyone. Like he’s too good for everyone.”
Kochou is silent, as if surprised, before she bursts into laughter. He stiffens, looking up at her.
“You’re funny, Shinazugawa.”
“You laughing at me?”
“Not at you. Just… you’re not very different from Tomioka, you know.”
He scowls. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re not exactly the most approachable person either.”
“Yeah?” he grumbles. “That’s how I like it.”
“Well, I think it’s a shame,” she says. “I think they’d enjoy getting to know you. I hope that someday you’ll let us peek into that head of yours.”
Sanemi feels heat stain his cheeks. He isn’t good with words. He finds conversation a waste of breath and energy - perhaps the only thing he has in agreement with the arrogant Water Hashira.
He isn’t like the charismatic Uzui and Rengoku. Although he respected them for their skill and strength, he found them too loud and flashy for his taste. He wasn’t even like Masachika, whose talent at befriending anyone with teasing words and funny stories had been potent, and annoyingly so.
He wonders if there’s a different universe out there where, at this very moment, he is making the Flower Hashira laugh. Where he’s charming her with witty remarks and interesting stories. Where he’s not quite so tightfisted with his words. Where he would be brave enough to gaze at her openly, and often.
He realizes that they’re staring at each other. He glances away, taking a sip of his tea to busy his hands. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees her pick up her chopsticks again. She pokes at her noodles.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you. After I met you, I started to read up on Marechi blood,” she says. “Not much is known about it because it’s so rare, but I did find one doctor’s journal within the last century that had some notes. His wife had Marechi blood. He posed that not only is it irresistible to demons but that he believed it could have extraordinary healing properties for humans as well. Unfortunately, his wife was killed by a demon before he could do a more thorough study. Perhaps someday we’ll know more.”
“Healing, huh?” he says gruffly. “Don’t hold your breath. It’s good for one thing only, and even then it’s temporary.”
She’s silent for a moment. “Shinazugawa,” she says, her voice softer. “Is it so impossible to you that your body is capable of more than just destruction?”
There’s a look of pity in her eyes that turns his mouth sour. He gets up abruptly, fists clenched.
“Thanks for dinner. I’ll leave at dawn.”
He leaves the room without another word.
***
As promised, Sanemi is up before the sun. He awakens when the sky is still dark, irritated from a restless night. He even considers slipping out in the middle of the night but his Kasugai crow hasn’t returned yet.
His clothes had been laundered at some point during the night. They hang behind the door, clean and dry. He puts them on and grabs his things before heading through the halls of the Butterfly Mansion.
He’s surprised to see Kanae Kochou there waiting for him.
He catches the hesitation in her smile when she sees him.
“I was hoping to see you off,” she tells him. “And to apologize. I shouldn’t have said what I said last night. It wasn’t my place.” Her eyes are full of both remorse and hope and his fingers tighten on the strap of his bag. “Do you forgive me, Shinazugawa?”
“Fine,” he bristles. “Have you seen my damn crow?”
Before she can answer, they hear the ostentatious cries of two crows at once, in unison.
“CAW! Kanae Kocho and Sanemi Shinazugawa! You have been summoned on a joint mission! Head to Kamisato Village immediately! CAW!”