Chapter Text
The nine Hashira watch silently as the kakushi carry Kamado Tanjiro away from the estate grounds, Nezuko’s box secured carefully to their backs.
The boy twists around one last time, still shouting something hoarse and desperate about hurting 'the guy that stabbed his sister'.
The sound fades into the wind and silence settles over the courtyard.
Then Kagaya Ubuyashiki speaks.
“Well, now that’s been dealt with, you are all free to go for today.” His gentle voice drifts through the warm afternoon air. “However… Shinobu, could you remain behind for a moment?”
Several Hashira glance toward her briefly before bowing.
Shinobu folds her hands into her sleeves and smiles pleasantly.
“Of course, Oyakata-sama.”
One by one, the others depart.
Mitsuri waves brightly before following Obanai. Sanemi scoffs under his breath as he leaves. Giyu lingers for a second too long before disappearing as silently as ever.
Eventually, only Shinobu remains. She steps forward and kneels gracefully.
“You wished to see me?”
Kagaya’s expression remains calm, though she notices the faint tension hidden beneath it immediately.
Something serious, then.
“I have a mission for you,” he says softly. “Though I admit… there is very little information to provide.”
That alone is unusual enough to interest her.
Shinobu tilts her head slightly.
“Oh?”
Beside him, Amane unfolds several sheets of paper.
“Over an unconfirmed period of time," she explains, “there have been a series of disappearances across several villages in the western regions.”
Shinobu’s smile does not falter.
“Disappearances are hardly uncommon.”
“Yes,” Kagaya agrees. “However, the pattern is.”
Amane places the reports down carefully.
“Most victims are women. Particularly those in unstable situations.”
“Runaways,” Shinobu says.
“A few.”
“Widows?”
“Yes.”
“Orphans? Servants? Prostitutes?”
Amane pauses briefly before nodding once. Shinobu’s eyes narrow just slightly. Interesting.
Kagaya continues.
“In addition… there have also been confirmed deaths connected to criminals.”
“Criminals?”
“The bodies, if there are any, are difficult to identify,” Amane says quietly. “But local authorities believe several missing men were connected to theft, assault, or organized crime.”
“Ah.”
Now that is interesting, demons do not usually discriminate.
“Any survivors?” Shinobu asks.
“None willing to speak clearly,” Kagaya says.
She raises a brow. “Meaning?”
“One man claimed he was ‘saved by a goddess.’ Another insisted his village was blessed.” Kagaya’s expression remains unreadable. “Most testimonies contradict each other.”
Shinobu lets out a soft hum. Not fear, then. Admiration. That alone irritates her slightly, demons should inspire terror.
Amane slides another report toward her.
“There is one more detail.”
Shinobu picks it up.
The paper describes the disappearance of a young woman from a roadside district. No signs of struggle. No blood.
Witnesses report she willingly left with someone.
“Did anyone describe the suspect?” Shinobu asks.
“A woman.”
That earns Amane and Kagaya her full attention.
“A demon?”
“We cannot confirm it.”
“How many sightings?”
“Very few.”
“Descriptions?”
“Inconsistent.”
Tall. Short. Black hair. White hair. Kind eyes. Cold eyes.
Useless.
But one line catches Shinobu’s attention immediately.
Beautiful enough that people struggled to describe her properly.
Her smile sharpens slightly.
How irritating.
“Have any Demon Slayers been sent previously?”
“Several lower-ranked slayers investigated nearby areas,” Kagaya says.
“And?”
“No reports returned.”
Dead, then.
Shinobu sets the papers down gently.
“So you suspect a demon gathering vulnerable people while selectively killing others.”
“Yes.”
“And you wish for me to investigate because the disappearances are spread over too wide an area for standard patrol routes.”
“Correct.”
Shinobu thinks for a moment.
Not a nest, nor feeding frenzies.
Too controlled.
Too patient.
A demon capable of restraint is always more dangerous than one driven by impulse.
“Do you believe this is one of the Twelve Kizuki?” she asks calmly.
Kagaya is silent for a brief moment.
“We do not know.”
That answer alone tells her enough.
If they knew it was an Upper Rank, more than one Hashira would already be mobilized, so probably a lower rank, if a member of the Twelve Kizuki at all.
Still…
Lower-ranked slayers disappearing without traces is troublesome.
Shinobu rises smoothly to her feet.
“I understand.”
Then she smiles.
“I’ll investigate immediately.”
“Please be careful,” Kagaya says gently.
Shinobu’s expression softens at the concern. "Of course.”
But internally, her thoughts are colder.
A demon who lures people willingly. A demon admired by humans. A demon hiding behind kindness.
Disgusting.
As she turns to leave, Kagaya speaks once more. “Oh, Shinobu.”
She glances back.
“There is something else.”
“Hm?”
“The villagers involved seem…” He pauses carefully. “Happy.”
Shinobu says nothing.
Kagaya’s gaze remains distant.
“No signs of coercion. No fear. No reports of violence.”
A breeze stirs through the estate, and somewhere nearby, wind chimes ring softly.
Then Shinobu smiles again. Small. Polite. Sharp enough to cut.
“That,” she says sweetly, “only makes it sound more dangerous.”
–
Shinobu travels for days beneath overcast skies and restless winds.
The western regions are sprawling and uneven, villages scattered between dense forests and mountain paths that twist endlessly through the countryside. Most are small places, poor, tired, and half-forgotten by the outside world. The kind of villages where disappearances can happen quietly.
The kind demons prefer.
By the third day, Shinobu has already grown irritated.
Nothing.
No scent thick enough to indicate a nest. No strange behavior beyond ordinary fear. No blood trails hidden beneath floorboards. No signs of feeding grounds.
Just whispers.
Always whispers.
A beautiful woman.
A kind woman.
A woman who appears at night.
The descriptions remain inconsistent no matter where Shinobu goes. Some insist the woman wears white. Others swear she dresses in black. One old man describes long silver hair while another insists it was dark as midnight.
Only two details remain consistent.
She is beautiful.
And people trust her immediately.
Shinobu stands quietly beneath the awning of a small teahouse while rain taps softly against the roof overhead. Across from her, the elderly owner wrings his hands nervously.
“I’m telling you, miss, she didn’t seem dangerous at all.”
Shinobu smiles pleasantly as she lifts her cup.
“I’m sure she didn’t.”
“That girl left willingly. Smiling, even.”
“How strange.”
The old man lowers his voice.
“Honestly… she seemed happy.”
There it is again.
Not fear.
Not coercion.
Happiness.
Shinobu’s smile remains perfectly gentle, though inwardly her annoyance deepens.
Demons are creatures driven by hunger. Even the clever ones eventually crack beneath their own nature. They lie. They manipulate. They wear human skin like costumes.
But this?
This almost sounds domestic. She shudders at the thought. It honestly unsettles her more than slaughter would.
“Did you see the woman clearly?” she asks.
The owner hesitates.
“No… not really.”
Shinobu’s eyes flick upward slightly.
“You just said she was beautiful.”
“I mean—” He frowns. “You could tell, somehow.”
How irritatingly vague.
“She wore a mask,” he says finally.
That catches Shinobu’s attention.
“A mask?”
“Yes. A fox mask.”
He gestures awkwardly around his face. “White porcelain, with strange flowers painted on it.”
Shinobu sets her cup down quietly.
“What kind of flowers?”
“Red ones, I think. Cherry blossoms maybe? And I think there was a lotus on the forehead.”
Interesting.
“Anything else?”
“The eyes.” He pauses slightly. “They were strange. Bright blue. Almost glowing.”
A decorative mask, then.
Not unusual during festivals, but unusual enough for travelers to remember.
“Did she speak?”
The old man stares distantly for a moment, as though trying to remember a dream.
“She sounded… gentle.”
Shinobu thanks him politely before leaving.
Outside, the rain has weakened to a mist.
Her sandals press softly against wet earth as she walks through the narrow village road, gaze calm and thoughtful.
A demon hiding its face. That alone suggests intelligence.
Demons who rely on beauty often enjoy being seen. Vanity and ego are common weaknesses among stronger demons. Hiding one’s appearance implies caution.
Or restraint.
Neither possibility comforts her.
The journey continues.
Days blur together beneath gray skies and endless roads. Shinobu passes through village after village, each carrying fragments of the same strange story.
Missing women.
Dead criminals.
Beautiful stranger.
Fox mask.
Yet every trail vanishes before becoming useful.
One village claims the disappearances stopped months ago. Another insists no demon could possibly be responsible because “good things” started happening afterward.
Good harvests. Safer roads. Less crime.
Shinobu nearly laughs aloud hearing it.
Humans are foolish creatures, give them comfort and they will overlook almost anything.
Even monsters.
Especially beautiful ones.
Late one evening, she arrives at another mountain settlement only to find the same emptiness waiting for her. No demon scent lingers strongly enough to follow, and the villagers grow nervous the moment she asks questions.
Not fearful.
Protective.
That bothers her more than anything else so far.
By the seventh day, Shinobu begins considering the possibility that the demon simply moves constantly, never remaining in one place long enough to establish a permanent territory.
It would explain the scattered reports.
Still…
Something feels wrong.
Demons do not usually invest this much effort into subtlety unless they are hiding something significant.
As dusk settles across the mountains, Shinobu pauses atop a narrow ridge overlooking another valley below.
The scenery is beautiful in a quiet, isolated way. Dense forests stretch endlessly beneath fading gold sunlight while distant rivers cut silver paths through the land.
And there...
Her eyes narrow slightly.
A village rests behind the mountains.
Unlike the others, it immediately stands out.
Even from a distance, she can see signs of unusual prosperity. Large homes. Strong infrastructure. Fields properly maintained. Lanterns glowing warmly along clean roads.
Far too wealthy for such a remote location.
Most mountain villages barely survive harsh winters.
This one clearly flourishes.
Shinobu watches silently as smoke curls peacefully from chimneys below.
Children run through the streets laughing.
No visible fear. No tension. No desperation.
Just comfort.
A breeze moves gently through the trees around her.
Then...
A scent.
Faint.
Almost impossibly faint.
Flowers, not natural flowers, though.
Blood Demon Art.
Shinobu’s smile sharpens. Finally.
Her gaze settles fully on the prosperous village below.
Maybe it means nothing, maybe it's simply another dead end.
But deep in her instincts, something whispers otherwise.
And for the first time since beginning this mission, Shinobu feels as though she is finally approaching the center of it all.
–
This village should not exist.
That is Shinobu’s first thought as she descends the mountain path beneath the dim light of dusk.
Remote mountain settlements are usually worn thin by famine, weather, or fear. Demons thrive in forgotten places because forgotten people are easy prey.
Yet this village glows warmly against the evening dark.
Lanterns sway gently outside polished homes. Laughter drifts through the streets. Fresh vegetables line market stalls despite the late hour, and the scent of cooked rice hangs richly in the air.
No tension.
No hunger.
No fear.
It unsettles her immediately.
Shinobu walks slowly through the village center, her expression perfectly pleasant as curious eyes drift toward her. A traveler would attract attention here, especially one dressed like a Demon Slayer, even if the uniform isn't well known.
But the reactions are strange. Not frightened, not wary, measured.
As though the villagers are quietly evaluating her.
Children peek from behind fences before being ushered away by smiling mothers. Elderly men pause mid-conversation to glance at her, only to continue speaking moments later.
No panic spreads.
No one runs.
Interesting.
A demon resides here.
Shinobu is sure of it now.
That faint floral scent lingers beneath the ordinary smells of village life, subtle enough that most slayers would likely miss it entirely.
But she does not.
Flowers.
Sweetness.
And blood hidden beneath both.
Her sandals click softly against the stone path as she approaches a nearby food stall. The owner, a middle-aged woman with laugh lines around her eyes, brightens immediately.
“Oh my, a visitor!” she says warmly. “You must be exhausted from traveling.”
Shinobu smiles.
“You’re very kind.”
The woman waves a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. Sit, sit.”
Shinobu accepts easily, settling onto the wooden bench while quietly observing the street around her.
No signs of fear.
No signs of coercion.
The villagers move naturally around one another.
That bothers her.
“How long have you lived here?” Shinobu asks casually.
“All my life.”
“And business seems good.”
The woman laughs softly. “Far better than it used to be.”
“Oh?”
“There was a time this place nearly collapsed.” She begins preparing tea as she speaks. “Poor harvests. Bandits. Sickness. People leaving constantly…”
“But things improved?”
The woman smiles gently.
“Yes.”
Simple answer.
Too simple.
Shinobu tilts her head slightly. “How fortunate.”
“We are fortunate.”
Something about the way she says it makes Shinobu’s instincts tighten.
Not rehearsed.
Not controlled.
Genuine joy.
The tea is placed before her carefully.
Steam curls upward between them.
Then the woman asks casually:
“Are you here for the Lady?”
Shinobu’s fingers still briefly against her cup.
Ah.
There it is.
She keeps smiling.
“The Lady?”
The woman blinks in surprise.
“You haven’t heard of her?”
“I’ve heard many things during my travels,” Shinobu says lightly. “Perhaps not the same stories you have.”
The woman’s expression softens almost immediately.
“That makes sense. People outside the village misunderstand her often.”
Her.
No hesitation.
No fear speaking about it openly.
Shinobu’s smile remains perfectly composed despite the irritation prickling beneath her skin.
“How unfortunate,” she says sweetly.
The woman nods sympathetically, as though discussing someone unfairly slandered.
“She saved this place.”
There is no fanaticism in her tone, no madness. Only certainty.
That may be the most disturbing part.
“How?” Shinobu asks.
The woman pauses thoughtfully.
“She arrived many years ago.” Her gaze drifts toward the darkening mountains beyond the village. “At first, we thought she was just another traveler. But she stayed.”
Stayed.
Demons rarely stay anywhere long enough to become attached.
“She helped everyone,” the woman continues softly. “Food. Money. Protection. Even medicine.”
Medicine?
Shinobu hides her surprise carefully.
“And nobody found that suspicious?”
The woman laughs quietly.
“At first? Of course they did.”
“And now?”
A strange warmth enters the woman’s eyes.
“Now we know she’s kind.”
Shinobu nearly sighs, humans truly are ridiculous creatures. “Do you know where she lives?” she asks pleasantly.
The woman points toward the northern side of the village.
“There’s a large estate near the forest.”
Estate.
So the demon truly established roots here.
Bold, very bold.
Shinobu finishes her tea before standing gracefully.
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Oh!” The woman suddenly brightens again. “If you do meet her, don’t be afraid.”
That earns the slightest pause.
“…Afraid?”
“She’s gentle.”
Shinobu smiles wider.
“I’m sure she is.”
—
The estate stands at the edge of the forest beneath enormous maple trees painted crimson by autumn.
It is beautiful.
Elegant wooden architecture rises behind stone walls wrapped in flowering vines. Soft lantern light glows through paper windows, warm against the deepening night.
A shallow river curves around part of the property, reflecting gold light across the water.
And surrounding everything, flowers.
Hundreds of them.
Lotuses bloom along the water despite the season. Geranium hangs from carefully maintained trellises. Crimson camellias sway gently beside narrow stone paths.
The floral scent is overwhelming here.
Blood Demon Art saturates the entire estate. Shinobu rests one hand lightly on her sword. Interesting. No attempt to hide it anymore.
As she steps toward the entrance, she notices movement near the gate.
Two young women stand there speaking quietly while carrying baskets of herbs.
Neither notices Shinobu immediately.
“…she stayed with Mina all night again,” one whispers.
“She was worried.”
“Well, Mina’s fever was awful.”
The second girl smiles softly.
“Our Lady always worries too much.”
Lady.
Again.
The reverence in their voices sounds almost familial, loving. Shinobu dislikes that thought immensely.
The girls finally notice her standing nearby and immediately straighten.
“Oh!” one says. “Can we help you?”
Shinobu offers a gentle smile.
“I was hoping to speak with the owner of this estate.”
The girls exchange glances.
“Oh, with our Lady?”
“There’s no need to be nervous,” the other says quickly, apparently misreading Shinobu’s silence. “She’s very kind.”
There it is again, Shinobu wonders how many times she will hear that phrase tonight.
“I see.”
The first girl studies her uniform carefully. “…You’re a Demon Slayer.”
Not fear. Interesting.
Shinobu’s smile never shifts.
“And if I am?”
Another glance passes between them.
Then surprisingly, “…Please wait here,” the second girl says politely.
No panic, no attempt to hide the demon, no desperation.
One of them disappears into the estate while the other remains awkwardly near the gate.
Shinobu quietly studies the grounds. No cages, no blood, no signs of force.
The longer she observes this place, the more unnatural it feels.
Several minutes pass, then the floral scent deepens.
Not stronger.
Closer.
Shinobu’s hand settles fully against her sword hilt, and the girl near the gate suddenly lowers her head respectfully.
“She’ll see you now.”
The estate doors slide open slowly and she makes her way to the room she assumes she is supposed to go to.
The opens the door, seeing a small seating area, which she ignores to look around. Then, in walks a woman wearing a mask.
White porcelain.
Tall ears.
Crimson blossoms edged in gold.
Her eyes covered by a bright blue sheen of, perhaps plastic?
Lotus emblem resting elegantly across the forehead.
Exactly as described.
She wears a dark purple kimono patterned with pale flowers, her posture graceful and perfectly relaxed.
No aggression.
No killing intent.
No visible hostility whatsoever.
That alone makes Shinobu more cautious.
The demon inclines her head slightly, the movement graceful and composed beneath the warm lantern glow.
“Welcome. It isn’t often we receive Demon Slayers here.” Her voice is soft, refined, almost impossibly pleasant to listen to. “And you seem especially interesting.”
Immediately, Shinobu’s instincts tighten.
Not because of killing intent. There is none.
Not because of aggression. The demon stands with the calm ease of a noblewoman greeting a guest into her home.
That is precisely what unsettles her.
The lower half of the woman’s face remains visible beneath the fox mask. Pale skin. Soft lips curved faintly upward. The porcelain ends just beneath her nose, leaving enough of her expression uncovered to feel deliberate.
Calculated.
The mask itself is striking up close. White porcelain framed by thick black detailing, elegant and theatrical all at once. Crimson blossoms edged in gold bloom across the cheeks, while the lotus emblem resting on the forehead gives the entire thing an almost sacred appearance. The narrow eye holes glow blue-violet beneath the lantern light, unreadable and strangely beautiful.
Shinobu dislikes how much attention her gaze lingers on it.
The demon tilts her head slightly.
“Hm…”
For the first time since arriving, the woman’s attention sharpens fully onto her, or, more specifically, onto her haori.
Then, unexpectedly, her expression softens into something almost resembling sympathy.
“I recognize that haori,” she says quietly. “It belonged to the previous Flower Hashira, correct?”
Shinobu says nothing.
The demon studies her for another brief moment before continuing gently,
“A relative of yours?”
There is no mockery in her tone, no smug amusement, if anything, she sounds genuinely curious.
That alone irritates Shinobu more than open hostility would have.
“My sister,” she replies evenly. Something shifts faintly behind those eyes and the smile beneath the mask fades just slightly.
“Ah.”
A pause follows, then the demon sighs softly, almost regretfully.
“That explains it.”
Shinobu’s fingers tighten imperceptibly around the hilt of her sword.
The floral scent in the hallway thickens faintly around them, sweet and heavy beneath the lantern warmth.
Then the demon speaks again.
“The Upper Moon who held this position before me talked about her quite often afterward.” Her voice remains calm, though quieter now. “He was rather upset he couldn’t consume her before sunrise.”
For a single moment, the world goes still.
Not visibly.
Not enough for anyone ordinary to notice.
But inside Shinobu’s chest, something sharp twists violently.
Kanae.
The demon who killed Kanae.
The pieces click together instantly.
Upper Moon two.
The man with platinum blond hair and rainbow eyes
And this woman... this demon standing calmly before her defeated him.
Not only does that mean she's facing an uppermoon, but that means she's facing the woman that killed her sister's murderer.
The woman’s gaze drifts briefly across Shinobu’s face, thoughtful.
“Although,” she continues softly, “if she resembled you even slightly, I can understand why he found it unfortunate.”
Shinobu’s smile remains perfectly in place despite everything. The demon, meanwhile, only sighs again, almost wistfully.
“I still think it was a waste.”
–––
Taisho era secrets:
'The Lady' has partial immunity to wisteria, and has a heyfever-like reaction to it.
The one flower 'The Lady' cannot produce is the blue spider lily.
Shinobu doesn't know whether to feel grateful or not, since this demon did kill the demon that murdered her sister...