"There are only two of you on this mission," Fukada muttered, rubbing his hands nervously.
"Shouldn't… someone else have come as backup?"
Yukishiro's gaze sharpened. "I don't know either. But if we were chosen, it means headquarters entrusted us with it."
Mitsuri nodded quickly in support, though her expression betrayed her unease.
Fukada lowered his eyes.
He was still disappointed, but what more could he say?
The Demon Slayer Corps had decided. Besides, the young man in white before him gave off a presence far heavier than any trainee had a right to.
"Are all the hot spring resorts closed at night now?" Yukishiro asked, cutting directly to the point.
"How could they stay open?" Fukada's voice trembled despite himself. "With so many disappearances… no owner dares keep their doors open, and no guest would dare enter even if they did. The moment night falls, this town feels like a graveyard."
His tone carried the weight of lived fear. Even here, in his own home, he glanced often toward the darkened windows as though something might break through at any moment.
"Not only tourists," he continued bitterly.
"Even the owners themselves refuse to stay inside their establishments. Once, a stubborn woman—the owner of a small bathhouse—insisted on keeping it open. She stayed in overnight to prove nothing was wrong. By morning, she was gone."
Mitsuri, who had been quietly nibbling the last of the dessert fruits, lifted her head. "Then… she was eaten by a demon?" Her eyes were wide with both fear and curiosity.
"No one knows," Fukada whispered. "No one even knows if a demon is truly behind this."
Yukishiro leaned forward slightly.
His voice was calm but firm.
"Tomorrow, find us the largest and most luxurious hot spring resort in town. Reserve it. Tomorrow night, only the two of us will bathe there. No one else."
"Hot spring?!" Fukada and Mitsuri exclaimed at the same time, but their faces could not have been more different.
Fukada blanched with horror, as though Yukishiro had just suggested stepping into a pit of snakes. Mitsuri, on the other hand, flushed pink, her expression somewhere between excitement and embarrassment.
"All the disappearances share two conditions," Yukishiro said coolly. "Night. And hot springs. If we want answers, that is the only path." His eyes flicked toward Fukada. "If you're too afraid, we'll go alone."
Being seen through made Fukada flush red. He stammered, "N–no… it's fine. I'll take you. I know the town well."
"Then it's settled. It's late. Take us to our rooms."
Fukada exhaled shakily and nodded. He led them upstairs, where two adjacent rooms awaited, sliding the paper doors aside.
"Please rest here for tonight. I'll arrange everything in the morning."
…
The following day it dawned gray and cold. After breakfast, Fukada left early, heading to the local government office. When officials heard that Demon Slayers had arrived, relief shone in their weary eyes.
Together, they accompanied him to negotiate with the owner of Shimizu machi's most lavish hot spring resort.
The owner, a man in his forties, had once been the richest in town. His newly built resort—grand as a palace—had been his crowning achievement. Yet fate had turned cruel.
The disappearances had begun there. The first guest vanished.
Authorities scoured every corner of the sprawling resort. They found nothing—no body, no blood, not even signs of forced exit. At first the owner suspected fraud, but the grief of the victim's family proved too raw to fake. Even the abandoned clothes in the changing room confirmed the guest had entered but never left.
Still, he thought it a freak incident—until a second woman vanished less than a month later, under the same circumstances.
"One case could be trickery," the owner had told himself. "Two? Impossible."
From then, suspicion turned to accusation. Law enforcement grilled him, suggesting he alone could have hidden two living people within the resort he himself had designed.
The public whispered filthier stories—two young women, a wealthy middle-aged man, the implication too vile to ignore.
Neighbors spat at him in the street.
Friends averted their eyes.
Even his family looked at him with doubt.
The final nail came when another disappearance occurred in a different bathhouse, proving his innocence too late.
By then, his name had been dragged through mud, his business ruined, his spirit hollowed.
Now, as Fukada explained the Demon Slayers' request, the man's eyes flickered briefly with hope, then dulled again. "Use it if you want," he muttered. "If someone else vanishes, it won't be on my head."
Bitterness laced his tone, but he did not refuse. Perhaps, deep down, he longed to see the true culprit exposed.
…
While Fukada handled negotiations, Yukishiro remained in his room. He sat cross-legged, carefully polishing his silver Nichirin Blade with a strip of gauze. The steel caught the pale morning light, gleaming like snow. He traced every edge, every pattern, until the weapon shone immaculate.
In the afternoon, he and Mitsuri wandered the streets.
It was hard to believe this lifeless town had once bustled with laughter and steam. Wide avenues lay nearly empty even under the sun. Locals passed them hurriedly, eyes downcast, bodies angled away as if the two Demon Slayers carried contagion. Doors and shutters slammed the moment strangers drew near.
The pair circled the outskirts, scanning alleys, sniffing the air for traces of malice. Yet no demonic presence stirred.
"Not even a trace," Mitsuri murmured, hugging herself. "It's like… the whole town is holding its breath."
By dusk, they returned to Fukada's courtyard.
"I secured the resort," Fukada reported. "We can use it tonight."
After dinner, they prepared. When darkness fell fully, the three of them left together, carrying the minimal items needed for bathing.
The resort loomed ahead like a jewel set at the town's gate. Even half-abandoned, its grandeur was undeniable—carved hashiras, lanterns shaped like lotus blossoms, roofs gleaming under moonlight.
Once the pride of Shimizu machi, now it stood like a haunted palace.
Inside, the echo of their footsteps across the vast lobby was deafening. The silence pressed closer with every step, until Fukada led them through to the backyard.
There, steam curled in the night air. Two pools lay side by side, separated by a row of bamboo fencing. The left was for men, the right for women.
"Most of the victims were women and children," Fukada said quietly, his voice almost lost in the hiss of rising mist.
Which meant Mitsuri was the likeliest target.
Yukishiro's hand rested on his blade. His senses extended outward, attuned to every fluctuation in heat and air. "Stay alert," he told her softly. "I'll cover the entire area. But do not let your guard down."
Mitsuri swallowed and nodded. "I… I'll be careful."
The steam rose thicker, curling around them like Demonly arms. Somewhere beyond the mist, in the silence of the empty resort, something waited.