"Chinatsu, about the old man…"
In the somewhat desolate corridor of the Moriki residence, Shinichi couldn't hold back his question.
Ryukawa Chinatsu, walking ahead of him, abruptly stopped.
Only the two of them stood in the corridor, so when Chinatsu paused, Shinichi did too.
For a moment, the silence was so deep they could hear each other's breathing.
With a rustle, Ryukawa Chinatsu moved.
She silently walked to the edge of the corridor and sat down by the railing.
It was then that Shinichi could clearly see her condition.
She looked truly exhausted.
Her women's suit was wrinkled in many places and she had even buttoned one of the buttons wrong.
The bun on her head was messy too, with several strands of hair hanging untidily.
Her black eyes were bloodshot, filled with uncontrollable exhaustion and sorrow, her lips slightly pale.
It could be said that this was the most disheveled Shinichi had ever seen Ryukawa Chinatsu since he first met her.
It was hard to imagine that the frail-looking girl before him was the formidable head of the Moriki Conglomerate, a powerhouse that dominated the world.
"Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka—every renowned doctor across the country, even those in Europe and the Americas—we've tried everything. Traditional medicine, cutting-edge medical technology… nothing worked. Those so-called experts told me Mitsuyo-sama's vitality is completely spent. The foreign specialists said his bodily functions have deteriorated to the extreme. Haaah." Ryukawa Chinatsu lowered her head, murmuring to herself as her hand unconsciously reached for her pocket.
Hearing her words, Shinichi's heart sank.
Instinctively, his grip tightened around the hilt of his Nichirin Blade.
"Cough, cough—!"
A fit of violent coughing erupted—it was Ryukawa Chinatsu.
Her usually pale face flushed red as she coughed uncontrollably, a freshly lit cigarette clutched between her fingers.
"Cough, cough! They say cigarettes ease sorrow, but I—cough, cough—don't feel anything except how damn suffocating they are."
Still coughing, she casually tossed the cigarette to the ground before lifting her gaze to Shinichi.
Forcing a weak smile, she continued, "But these things really do make money. Thanks to the Moriki Conglomerate's push, cigarettes have practically become a nationwide trend. Just last year alone, they brought in tens of millions of yen in profit. And since we've tied the government to our financial wagon, this industry will only keep growing. But..."
"Shinichi, what does earning tens of millions of yen even matter? No amount of money can restore Mitsuyo-sama's health. And yet, I spent so long chasing after those profits—so long that I didn't visit Mitsuyo-sama for two whole years… I—I—" Her voice suddenly cracked with a sob.
"Waaah—!"
Abruptly, the woman who commanded thousands of employees in the Moriki Conglomerate—Ryukawa Chinatsu—completely broke down, wailing like a child.
No one else was around to witness this moment except Shinichi.
And Shinichi?
He stood there, unmoving, like a wooden statue.
After an immeasurable amount of time, Ryukawa Chinatsu hastily wiped her tears with her sleeve and stood up, leading Shinichi further into the Moriki estate.
"Sometimes, I envy Shinobu-san. I've noticed that you only seem like a living, feeling person when you're with her—not the lifeless block of wood you were just now. By the way, shouldn't you comfort a girl when she's crying?" Ryukawa Chinatsu said with a faint smile.
Finally, Shinichi spoke.
"Ah… sorry. I didn't react in time. In my memory, you've never been the fragile type. Besides, the old man once told me you've never cried before."
Ryukawa Chinatsu, "Pretty much. Before Mitsuyo-sama took me in, I watched my parents starve to death right before my eyes. By then, I'd probably already cried all my tears dry.
Shinichi, the feeling of starvation is truly unbearable. It's like your stomach is being torn apart by countless claws, and your throat feels full of blades.
I've seen people on the verge of starvation crawling over their dead relatives, using their last strength to tear at their flesh with their teeth.
At that moment, there was no difference between them and demons.
And when I saw that scene, my first reaction wasn't fear—it was wondering what that crimson flesh might taste like. But before I could become a demon, Mitsuyo-sama appeared before me and I was fortunate enough to brush past hell."
The two quickly passed through the corridor and arrived at the backyard of the Moriki residence.
The yard was already filled with numerous figures—strange medicinal scents, unfamiliar metal contraptions, bustling doctors, uniformed Kakushi members and even a few foreigners with high noses, blond hair and blue eyes.
Yet, everyone's expression was grave.
The foreigners even stepped forward to talk to Ryukawa Chinatsu.
"Sorry, we did our best."
"Shinichi, you're here. Ah... I'm sorry, but regarding Moriki-sama condition..." said Gotou, an old friend from the Kakushi corps, with deep regret.
But both Shinichi and Chinatsu seemed mentally prepared.
They nodded and continued towards the interior of the residence.
Passing a small patch of wild grass, a small wooden pavilion stood quietly under the moonlight, where a gaunt figure sat.
Shinichi walked toward the pavilion, but Chinatsu stopped in her tracks.
She tugged at Shinichi's sleeve and said sirencely.
"Shinichi, we were both pulled back from the brink of hell by Mitsuyo-sama. Never, ever let Mitsuyo-sama down. I don't fully understand how the Demon Slayer Corps operates, but remember this—starting today, the Moriki Conglomerate will spare no effort in supporting the Demon Slayer Corps. I will also give my all to help achieve the world without demons that Mitsuyo-sama desires."
Shinichi paused, then nodded.
"I understand. Thank you, Chinatsu."
When Shinichi entered the pavilion, he realized Mitsuyo wasn't alone—another diligent figure was present besides him.
Shinobu Kocho, now dressed in a purple kimono, was dutifully fanning a small stove with a teapot on it.
The rich aroma of wisteria tea filled the air, and several plates of delicious sweets were arranged on the small wooden table.
Maru-ni lay beside Shinobu, dozing by the warm stove.
Mitsuyo wore a simple blue-green robe, also closing his eyes as he basked in the stove's warmth.
His hair had turned completely white, and the wrinkles on his face resembled the bark of an ancient tree.
The hands peeking out from his sleeves were almost skeletal, as if only a thin layer of skin covered the bones.
Suddenly, the old man opened his clouded eyes and immediately fixed his gaze on Shinichi, who had just entered the pavilion.
"Oh my, Shinichi, why are you so late? If you hadn't come, this old man's mouth would've dried up waiting. Shinobu's wisteria tea smells so fragrant, but she insisted on waiting for you before pouring me a cup. Ah, youngsters these days."
The old man laughed, his voice still as robust as ever.
Shinichi strode over casually and sat down in front of the old man, clicking his tongue.
"Hah, what's the big deal about waiting a little longer? Am I not worth it? After all, I am the Forest Hashira—surely you wouldn't skip waiting for your prized disciple, would you?"
"Hahaha, you really don't know how to talk, do you? Moriki, Moriki—it doesn't mean you have to be as stiff as a log. Were you really just standing there watching Chinatsu cry earlier?"
"Uh… how did you know that?"
Shinobu who's fanning the flames nearby, smirked slyly, while above them, Eizo stood silently on the pavilion's roof.
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