Chapter 4

One hand fists the knot of cloth while the other cradles the bottom of the wrapped bento box. Heat seeps through the patchy material, and your stomach rumbles as you guess what might be inside.

"Thanks for the meal!" You call out to Aoi's retreating back.

She spins around, striking her usual pose, hands placed firmly on her hips.

"It'll be a waste if you didn't eat it," Aoi yells back. Her voice takes on an echoey quality as it rebounds off the wooden walls. "I used a new recipe for today's karaage, so tell me what you think of it when you get back!"

You give her a parting wave before she steps through the doorway leading to the dining hall. The heat from the object in your hands spreads through your chest, and you stare at it with an eager smile. Other than fried chicken, you wonder what else Aoi has packed into the square container. You remember the scent of something acrid clinging to her when she'd handed you the bento. Radish, or perhaps a mix of pickled vegetables. You'd be delighted, either way.

Your smile melts into a grimace. This handmade meal is the prelude to weeks of dry, crusted field rations and hastily prepped meals under the cover of darkness. You've been spoiled rotten by the meals at the Butterfly Mansion, and it won't be an easy feat to go back to bland, undercooked roadside fare. You have yet to leave and already, you find yourself missing the taste of fresh vegetables and marinated meats. Setting Aoi aside, the cooks here are more than competent, and you've thoroughly enjoyed all your meals here.

You shake off that depressing thoughts and crouch by the doorway to get your belongings in order. The bento fits safely at the bottom of the knapsack, over which you add an extra uniform, emergency first aid, and your trusty journal. Slayers aim to travel as light as possible, but it pays to be prepared. Solo missions carry inherent risks, even for Pillars. Bleeding out in a rural area is not anyone's definition of heroism.

Sumi, Naho and Kiyo bid you a safe journey when they caught you in the hallways earlier. They made you promise to come back safely, and just the thought of having someone look forward to your return causes something in your chest to flutter. It's been a long time since you last had anyone care about your existence.

That thought sobers you. Don't the inhabitants of the Butterfly Mansion show their concern to everyone? From how they interact with the injured slayers, you might even say they are too kind for their own good. To them, you are probably little more than a passing acquaintance. You best consider your rank and the fact that your luck might run out soon.

Being self-aware will save everyone the heartbreak, yourself included. You have no familial ties to anyone here and never will.

Don't mistake their care for affection, you remind yourself, pausing to sling your knapsack over your shoulder. You glance at the crack in the door where sunlight tumbles through. Well, you've wasted enough time. It's better to be out of the prefecture before the sun sets, or you risk running into all sorts of unsavoury characters.

"There you are," Shinobu's voice echoes down the hallway. "I'm glad I could catch you before you left!"

You remove your hand from the doorframe. You turn to see her darting toward you with enviable swiftness. You silently marvel at how her footsteps never make a sound despite the aged floorboards squeaking like a tortured mouse under your own feet.

"Did something happen?" you ask.

A hint of worry might have mixed into your confusion because Shinobu's tone turns reassuring, "Nothing awful as you might be thinking. I merely wanted to ask if you could do me a favour. A small one. It shouldn't take too much of your time or effort."

Even if it were, you're still touched she trusts you enough to ask. "I don't mind helping if it's in my ability to do so. What do you need?"

Shinobu gestures for you to hold out your hand. When you do so, she deposits a familiar hairpin in your palm. You recognize it as the one the girl, Kanao, constantly wears, green butterfly wings rimmed by thick pink lines and white dots.

"Please take this with you," Shinobu says. "Keep an eye out for paints of these colours. I've looked almost everywhere in my territory, but for some reason they are impossible to get a hold of. It's quite frustrating."

You bring the hairpin closer, peering at it for a better look. On second observation there are dull patches in several areas, and miniscule but worrying cracks spreading outward from the elongated metal base the wing-like instruments sit atop. You assume she plans to restore the clip to its former state, however...

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, Shinobu-san." You feel bad for what you're about to say, but far be it you give her false hope. "I don't think a new coat of paint will hold it together for much longer. Getting a new one would be a wiser choice."

For the first time since you've known her, Shinobu hesitates. Her gaze remains fixed on the butterfly hairpin, her eyes flashing with grief. It's easy to place the emotion given how regularly you see it in your own reflection. Seeing it on Shinobu shakes loose a particular piece of memory, and you abruptly recall a tale you had eavesdropped from a group of particularly gossipy slayers you once worked with.

Before you can apologize for insinuating she throw away one of her deceased sister's final keepsakes, Shinobu says, "I did consider hiring someone to create a replacement. Since it has yet to break, though, I'd like to extend this kanzashi's life for as long as I can."

You nod solemnly. "Alright, I promise to do my best." You gently touch the wings of the butterfly kanzashi, noting down the texture. Acrylic paints would work best for these. Confident, you hand the clip back to Shinobu. "I won't need to bring it along. I've already memorised the colours you're asking for," you explain when she levels you a blank stare.

Shinobu gives you a thin-lipped smile which makes her seem three times her size. "Excessive confidence may come back to bite you. Won't things be easier on the both of us if you take the clip along?"

There is an undertone of disbelief in Shinobu's voice. You don't blame her for being incredulous and she has every right to be worried. Your confidence must seem unfounded since she has no idea where its coming from.

For you, memorizing a handful of colours is child's play compared to the lengthy mental lists you used to juggling, and its regular practice for merchants to know the origin of every item which passes through their hands. Using logbooks to keep track of inventories is common, but keeping a mental record of what and who you're selling your goods to is equally important. Vital, even, if you get into trouble down the road.

"I don't mind bringing the kanzashi along," you say. "I'm just worried something might happen on the mission, and honestly... I'd prefer to avoid destroying what's clearly something precious to you."

Shinobu's smile fades, her eyes widening imperceptibly. "Oh," she answers, voice feather soft. "I see."

You watch her consider your dilemma, waiting patiently for her to decide if you can leave without it. From this side of the door, you can hear the errant flapping of wings and an incessant cawing that bastardises your name. You resist the urge to cover your face. Goodness, your kasugai crow has the ego the size of Mount Fuji. You'd definitely have to soothe it with some of your lunch if you don't want any obnoxious surprises later.

"Please wait a moment," Shinobu says suddenly.

She moves swiftly, so quick that you blink and see her halfway down the hallway. When she returns a minute later, she's holding a different accessory sporting the same tones as Kanao's hairpin. "This obi clip was made as an experiment, so the colours aren't wholly accurate. However, it should be enough to help you find what I'm looking for."

Shinobu hands it to you. You thrust it into your knapsack for safekeeping.

"Thank you. This will work just as well," you say.

Shinobu sees you off with a gentle smile. "Return safely, my dear Tsuchinoto."

You flee the estate with her teasing laughter at your back.

Time marches forward. It takes four days of travel from Demon Slayer headquarters before you reach Fukiya, a village in Okayama prefecture where your designated target has been residing. Like every sudden mission you're given, your lack of time to gather information about the destination ends in resigned surprise when you finally arrive.

Fukiya was a remote village, something you correctly assumed given the map shows it tucked deep inside a mountain range. Unfortunately, what you hadn't expected was that its isolation didn't deter travellers in the slightest. You are rarely thrown off, but it had been quite the nasty surprise to find the village packed to the brim when you arrived.

In hindsight, you should have expected it. Why would a demon make an area its hunting ground if not for the sheer amount of potential victims?

You set about asking around and easily discover the reason for Fukiya's renown. The village's reputation is apparently built on the back of its production of red pigment using iron from its nearby mines, and the scores of people milling about were either budding or established artisans hoping to get ahold of the material. Merchants, too, came in waves for obvious reasons. You could practically smell the money in the air.

You insantly understood the fanaticism of some of these people when you laid eyes on the clay roof tiles of the buildings, made using the sought after red pigment. The tiles were shaded deep red, the crimson resembling fresh blooming spider lilies, and in the late afternoon sun the colour seemed to morph a shade darker into a colour that was eerily reminiscent of dried blood.

However, despite your admiration for Fukiya's flourishing state, your search for the demon devolved into nothing less than a waking nightmare. The high foot traffic made information gathering a headache, but adding a crafty demon into that mix went like how you would expect.

Lone travellers, the homeless, beggars. Trails you painstakingly uncovered ran cold when there was no one to question, and your repeated enquiries to the village guards hadn't helped things. Thewhispers and glares that follow you whenever you passed became nigh unbearable by the end of your first week in Fukiya. Your strange dressing and unknown motives probably made it easy for the locals to mark you as some kind of spy.

Knowing you couldn't continue as you had, you hatched another plan. You left Fukiya and travelled to the next nearest village, and after a day or so, returned with an entirely new identity. The changing of an outfit and one's hairstyle were simple tricks that could make a person look entirely different. Taking advantage of your valid merchant background, you then spent the next few days going from shop to shop, writing down a list of materials and informing shopkeepers of your interest to procure their wares on your next trip.

Firmly establishing yourself as a travelling merchant, you executed the next part of your new plan. When the sun went down, you visited travellers bars, mingling until late into the night. Your temporary accommodations included bars you pretended to pass out at and the nearby forest with plenty of shelter. You repeated this for three days, until finally, your target took the bait and descended upon you like a starving animal when you enter the forest.

When you blindside the demon with a heavy slash that sends its head flying, you think it the easiest part of the entire mission. Your strength and skill might not be comparable to higher ranked Slayers, but a demon that relies on sneak attacks stands little chance against you.

And so, after four days of travel, two whole weeks of tracking and ultimately killing the demon, your mission finally comes to a close. This isn't the longest mission you've been on, but it certainly feels like it. You check into the inn and sleep the rest of the night away in pillowy comfort, only sending your kasugai crow to report in the morning.

What a tedious and unfulfilling mission, you grumble to yourself as you stroll down the streets in the afternoon sun. The one silver lining to being in Fukiya is the varied amount of interesting objects you've come across. There are plenty of things you can purchase to bring back as souvenirs.

"Mister, you're back!" The spritely boy greets, bouncing up to you when you enter the shop. "Did you change your mind? I thought you weren't gonna get anythin' till your next trip." He peers up eagerly, his infectious energy drawing a grin from you.

"I remember what I said." You gesture at the rows of ceramic pottery, some plain and some etched with art, all glazed with light and innumerable colours. "But I thought better of it. Going home empty handed when I've found plenty of beautiful wares is really a waste."

"I could've told ya that, mister! Anyway, you know everything we're sellin' here, yeah?" The boy scrunches his nose, apparently recalling the day you grilled him for a list of all the items this shop sold. "I spend so much time talkin' last time, my mouth went numb after you left!"

As if beckoned by improper tone, a heavyset woman with hard lines in her face pops up from behind the counter. She slaps the boy on the back of his head, making him yelp. "How many times have I told you to be polite? Sorry, sir, the boy's got a big mouth on him."

You wave off her bows, comforting her by saying, "It's fine, it's fine. Children should have spirit. It makes everything more interesting."

The boy's mouth widens into a shrewd smile. "Ma, don't worry about it! If this mister buys more than three items, I'll be polite to 'im even if he forces me to run laps around the village."

You pat his shoulder. He has a fair bit of gumption despite his youth. You hadn't been this good with words, or even liked conversing with adults and strangers when you were the same age. Too rebellious and headstrong, excited to experience the world on your own terms. The boy has a bright future ahead of him if he ever succeeds the store.

"I liked that vase you brought out, last time," you say. "Do you still have it?"

"Yeah, we do!"

You nod, pleased. "And the donabe?"

"I'll bring em' out as you asked. And how about one last item, to round everything off nicely?"

You chuckle at his overzealous expression and look around the shop for your third selection. Your gaze lands on a tea vessel at the topmost shelf. It's exceedingly well-made, enough that you find yourself enamoured by it even from a distance. There is blizzard of petals dancing across its surface, pink and purples melding into a soothing, but nonetheless attractive, colour scheme.

You point to it. "How about–"

The vessel is abruptly snatched from the shelf. The man who clutches it is tall, dressed in flowing robes that ripple like tussled silk. His almond shape eyes narrow when they land on you. You blink. You hadn't heard him enter the shop. Had he always been there?

The boy cries out indignantly. "Hey, who said you could grab our stuff like 'hat?!" His anger is comical, especially when he rolls up his sleeves in preparation to stomp over. The show is cut short when an elderly man picks him up by the scruff of his neck, arm muscles straining as he lifts the boy several feet off the ground. Despite having a head full of white hair, it's obvious he has a long way to go before his strength withers.

"I apologize for my granson's attitude," he says, bowing at the well-dressed man. He turns to you, giving you an identical bow. "I'm sorry sir, but that young master has already paid for that tea vessel several days ago. It was my failing to neglect to inform my nephew that it is no longer for sale."

There's no mistaking the sincerity of his tone. You shake your head, smiling reassuringly. "Do not worry, I was simply browsing. It is certainly a lovely tea vessel, but you have countless others, I'm sure. I can pick another."

You are slightly disappointed, because it looked perfect for someone you had in mind. Still, that man has already laid claim to it, and you doubt kicking up a fuss over the tea vessel would make anyone happy.

The elder looks relieved. He drops the boy and gives him a warning look. "Help wrap the young master's purchase."

The boy glares back. His grandfather's stare is unmoving, and his expression turns sullen. "Fine," he bites out. He gives a half-hearted bow to the young master. "Come this way... sir. I'll wrap it for you."

You step aside to let the man in the flowing robes pass by. You see the crest on his back and blink. It seems familiar... but why?

When the boy finishes packing up the tea vessel, the man takes it without a word. He is halfway out of the store when he suddenly turns to you, nose turned up, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Your rank."

You raise a brow. "I'm sorry?"

The man scoffs. "Are you hard of hearing? I'm asking for your rank, Slayer."

You changed back to your Slayer uniform after spending the night at the inn, and your missing haori means the kanji emblazoned on your back is fully revealed. Given he's identified you as a Slayer, it probably means he's the same. His attitude however, is completely unnecessary. Young master is right, you can't think of anyone you've met who is this hostile and domineering without the backing of a wealthy family behind him.

You stare back, irked by his tone but still maintaining your cool. "Me, sir? I'm a Tsuchinoto."

He looks unbearably smug at your admission. "Unfortunate. Unless you reach Kinoe, I will refrain from inviting you for tea. We wouldn't have anything substantial to speak about before then."

You eyebrow arches even higher. You're impressed he's made it to Kinoe, but not by his imagined superiority. You've met your share of upstart Slayers, and there's only one way to deal with the likes of them. Beating them at their own game.

"I suppose we don't. I am doubtful of what you could offer me." The man's face falls, and you hear a boyish snicker from somewhere in the shop. "As for the tea... well, I will not claim to have your good tastes. I will enjoy some dregs of my own later."

"It seems the demon slayers roaming around are no better than boars in their manners. And to think my family wastes their resources taking care of men like you. I should hope we never have to meet again, lest your uselessness rub off on me." With a snort, the man sweeps out of the shop without another word. You catch sight of the crest of his back once more, and this time, you take his words and put two and two together.

The crest of the Wisteria family. It was no wonder it had looked familiar. There hasn't been a Slayer who never found themselves on the doorsteps of that family's house in the duration of their career. This is the first time you heard of that family being managed, or having a Slayer in their midst. With a rank as high as Kinoe, could he be just a regular member of the Wisteria Family or someone more important...?

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you say to the family of three.

"I wish I could've broke tha' teacup," the boy mutters darkly. "Just cause he's a young master doesn't mean he gets to throw his weight around."

The elder steps forward and gives you a friendly clap on the back. "You handled his misplaced arrogance well. If you had the temper of my nephew, you might have wrecked the entire shop and drowned in the debt that followed!"

"It think what just occurred is a misunderstanding of epic proportions." You play it off. "I hardly deserve your praise, sir. He might have been arrogant, but I doubt we would have come to blows."

You keep to yourself that you didn't pick a fight because you had nothing to prove. Men like that would take it the wrong way regardless. He'd likely assume you were rude and defiant because you were envious. You have seen plenty of youth of large families be corrupted by excessive wealth and status.

The elderly man chuckles, waving his hand. "Well, if there's anything I can help with outside of giving you a discount, don't hesitate to tell me. So long as you have enough yen, there are no mountains I cannot scale!" He laughs uproariously at his declaration, ignoring the chorus of sighs from his daughter and grandson.

You chuckle along with him. Suddenly, you recall the obi clip you brought with you. Swinging your rucksack over your shoulder, you feel your pulse quicken with excitement as you say, "Actually, I think I have something you could help with me with..."