Yukishiro thought to herself, "As expected, the old man told her everything."
It would have been fine if Lang Bingwei hadn't mentioned anything. Bringing up Yukishiro only made Yukishiro's temper flare again. Still, deep down he knew Shinobu Kocho wasn't to blame. The real problem was his own tendency to overthink.
"Turn around. I need to change my clothes."
Yukishiro bent down and picked up the coarse linen garments folded neatly on the bluestone slab. His tone wasn't as frigid as before, and when his eyes flicked toward Shinobu, he realized the faint scent of wisteria clinging to her robes seemed to have some subtle magic of its own. It dulled his irritation, leaving him unbalanced.
"Here, I brought it for you."
Shinobu smiled as she pulled a cloth bag from behind her back and handed it to him. Inside was the outfit he had worn when first climbing the mountain—his white haori, freshly washed and folded with care.
Yukishiro blinked. For a moment, he just stood there holding the sackcloth in one hand and staring at the bag in the other, as though caught in a strange dilemma. Then, lowering his gaze, he muttered, "You went up the mountain just to bring these back? Why?" He didn't take the bag, instead continuing to slip into the rough linen.
"Why are you still wearing this sackcloth?"
"I have training tonight. That outfit's inconvenient." He tightened the rope at his waist, looking every bit a farmer trekking through the hills. "So, what are you doing here? Don't tell me you came all this way just to hand me clothes."
Shinobu tilted her head, amused by his aloofness. Her laugh slipped out, soft but bubbling, as she covered her mouth.
"You know, you look quite good like this," she teased. "You really are Rogo's apprentice. The resemblance is uncanny—you're becoming more and more like him." She let the words hang before continuing, "The day after tomorrow is the selection at Fujishi Mountain. Mr. Rogo and I already agreed—I'll take you back to the Butterfly House tonight. You'll rest tomorrow and prepare what you need. By the way, I'll remove the stitches on your wound."
So that was her reason.
Yukishiro's gaze drifted toward the peak of Bailong Mountain. During his time there, he had felt nothing but gratitude toward the old man—especially those first two weeks, when weakness had left him unable to manage even basic needs. The old man had fed him, carried him, even tolerated his clumsiness.
To leave now without saying anything felt wrong.
"You go ahead first," Yukishiro said quietly. "I'll return to the Butterfly House later." He started walking toward the mountain path.
Shinobu called after him, her voice lilting, "If you're thinking of saying goodbye to Mr. Rogo, there's no need. He asked me to bring you a message."
Yukishiro froze mid-step. "…What did he say?"
Shinobu cleared her throat dramatically, then pinched her voice into a gruff, arrogant imitation of Lang Bingwei. Tilting her chin high, she jabbed a finger at the dirt with mock disdain.
"Little Butterfly, tell that rude brat—there's no rice on the mountain. If he passes the selection, he'd better buy a bag of rice and bring it up. If he fails, don't bother coming. Waste of food."
"Pfft—ha!" Shinobu burst out laughing before she even finished the line. She clutched her stomach, doubling over as tears formed at the corners of her eyes.
"Oh, honestly," she gasped between giggles. "You men are so strange. Even words of concern have to be twisted into insults. Impossible to understand."
Yukishiro flushed crimson. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth.
"You old bastard," he muttered under his breath, seething. "Couldn't just say it straight?"
"Stop making a fuss," he snapped aloud, trying to cover his embarrassment. "Who even said I was going to say goodbye? I was just—"
He faltered, unable to find an excuse.
Shinobu, of course, wouldn't let go. She circled him with relentless cheer, prodding, "Just what? Hmm? I didn't know our Yukishiro could be so cold on the outside and warm inside."
"Who—who's warm inside? You're impossible!" He quickened his pace, desperate to escape her teasing.
Shinobu only laughed harder, her voice chasing him through the trees. Their footsteps and laughter echoed together across the fading forest light.
…
On the mountaintop, Lang Bingwei stood alone, hands clasped behind his back. The cold wind tugged at his robes as night swallowed the horizon.
Darkness always needed light as its guide. For Yukishiro, he had been that light. For every newcomer, a trainer's role was to shine until the pupil could stand on their own.
…
It was close to midnight when Shinobu and Yukishiro arrived at the Butterfly House. The corridors were dark and silent; the other girls had already gone to bed.
Exactly as Yukishiro preferred—no awkward chatter, no eyes filled with judgment.
Most of the residents disliked him, and he them. The only exception was Kanao. A flicker of curiosity stirred in him: How has she been? Has she found something to hold her interest in these months I've been gone?
Shinobu, knowing the tension between him and the others, led him to the quiet backyard where she conducted her experiments.
She lived there alone, and it was peaceful.
His new room was adjacent to hers. Clearly prepared in advance, it contained simple furnishings, a fresh futon, and a neatly arranged set of toiletries.
Shinobu placed the bag of his laundered clothes at the bedside. "Get some rest," she said softly, before slipping away.
Left alone, Yukishiro lingered in the silence. Something about her quiet attentiveness unsettled him—was this kindness meant just for him, or was it the same for all Demon Slayer Corps members? He couldn't tell.
Without the mountain wind howling outside and the old man's thunderous snores rattling the rafters, the air here felt almost too still. Lying back on the futon, he stared at the ceiling, then began the steady rhythm of "Total Concentration: Constant." His breaths lengthened, deepened. Soon sleep claimed him.
…
At dawn, Yukishiro rose as he had every day on the mountain. Five in the morning, coarse linen clothes, a run to begin the day.
Lacking weights, he found a stone in the yard roughly equal to what he'd carried before and strapped it across his back. The streets were mostly empty, but a few early risers stared openly. To them, he must have looked like a madman escaped from some remote village.
By the time he returned around half past six, sweat plastered his silver hair against his forehead. He pushed through the Butterfly House gate just as Naru was sweeping the courtyard.
At first she thought he was a garbage collector—someone hauling refuse from the yard. She called out twice, but he didn't answer. Then, when he stepped closer, she froze.
That hair. That face.
The huge stone strapped to his back nearly dragged her jaw to the ground.
Miss Shinobu said a new resident would arrive… could it be him?
Still stunned, she watched as Yukishiro dropped the stone neatly into place, clapped the dust from his palms, and strolled toward the backyard without a word.
The broom slipped from her hands. Wind rustled the courtyard, but she just stood there, dazed.
Moments later, two other girls arrived, each holding cleaning tools.
"Naru, what are you doing, daydreaming again? Thinking of some handsome man?"
"What handsome man!" Naru snapped back, cheeks flushed. "That guy's back."
"That guy? Which guy?"
"The one who called us bastards! I just saw him—he carried a giant rock straight through the gate!"
"Carried… a rock?" The second girl blinked. "What's wrong with him? Is he crazy?"
"Maybe he's back here to recover from a brain injury."
"Forget that—don't you get it? He's back!"
The three of them abandoned their chores, voices overlapping in a flurry of chatter as the courtyard filled with whispers.