The steam had long cooled when Yukishiro finally roused Fukada. The older man stirred sluggishly, still half-stupefied, and followed him out of the pool. They moved in silence to the men's locker room, where they dressed quickly and waited for Mitsuri. When she emerged from the women's side, bright-eyed though puzzled by their solemn faces, the three of them left the hot spring together.
Yukishiro's thoughts, however, did not leave the pools.
Why hadn't those demons attacked?
Why reveal themselves only to sit motionless in the water?
And why let their prey walk away untouched, when dozens of women and children had vanished before?
The questions clawed at him as he replayed the night over and over. The demons were powerful—he had felt the weight of their presence, the paralysis of their strange fragrance. Yet they had withheld the final strike. What purpose lay behind their restraint?
He chose not to speak of what he had seen. Fukada and Mitsuri would only panic, and panic helped no one. Still, as they crossed the resort's great hall, he glanced once toward the shadows of the lobby. His senses told him the demons were still there, hiding within the building, waiting out the sun that would soon spill over the horizon.
They had not left.
…
From the corner of the hall, after the three Demon Slayers departed, two figures emerged.
The first was a woman clad in a soft kimono embroidered with flowers. She moved with quiet grace, her long lashes lowered, her expression calm and serene. The second was a young man in a white haori, his hair a striking shade of pale blue, his features sharp and serious. His gaze lingered on Yukishiro's retreating back, his mouth tightening with visible irritation.
"Such sharp eyes," the woman murmured. Her voice was gentle, like water flowing over stones.
"And such willpower. He resisted my spell longer than most."
The young man clicked his tongue, scowling. "Don't praise him, Lady Tamayo. He wasn't resisting—he simply fell under your blood spell slower than expected. Anyone, no matter how strong, would have been helpless against it."
Then, almost comically, he stepped close to her, his frown dissolving into an eager smile.
"Tamayo-sama is the most extraordinary of all. None can compare to you."
Her lips curved faintly, a sigh slipping free. "Yushirō, you're too quick to dismiss him. We were cloaked by stealth, yet he sensed us the moment we entered.
His perception is uncommon. Perhaps the Corps has gained a prodigy."
"Hmph," Yushirō muttered, crossing his arms. "Prodigy or not, under your Blood Demon Art, he'd crumble like anyone else."
Tamayo only shook her head softly. "Do not underestimate him."
At her words, Yushirō lowered his gaze, chastened, though dissatisfaction still simmered beneath the surface.
He followed as Tamayo turned back into the veil of shadows.
"Our whereabouts are exposed now," he said in a quieter voice. "Shouldn't we leave?"
"Not yet." Her tone carried no hesitation. "We remain until the blood is collected."
Yushirō's brows furrowed. "And if the one we wait for never comes? Do we linger here forever?"
Tamayo's eyes glimmered in the dark, serene but unwavering. "It will come."
…
Back at their lodging, Mitsuri noticed the storm clouding Yukishiro's face. He had scarcely spoken since leaving the resort. Several times she wanted to ask what weighed on him, but each time the words caught in her throat.
She knew him too well. If Yukishiro chose to speak, he would. If not, no question in the world could pry the truth from him.
Even so, her chest tightened. The furrow in his brow, the way his gaze drifted to nothingness—he had never looked so troubled. For him to be this unsettled, the enemy must be unlike any he had faced before.
And indeed, her instincts were right.
In his own mind, Yukishiro reviewed what he knew.
Two demons.
Two distinct abilities. The first: invisibility. They could vanish even under direct gaze, hiding themselves completely. The second: the fragrance. A cloying sweetness that robbed him of strength and clarity, leaving his body useless while his mind drowned in haze.
The first ability was manageable. His temperature sense allowed him to track differences in heat and cold.
Stealth would not fool him.
But the second—how to fight when even his breath turned against him?
Yukishiro's answer came coldly: remove the breath itself.
He would sheath his senses. Freeze his own lungs and sinuses with his icy breath, blocking scent entirely. And while he was at it, he would strip away vision and sound as well, narrowing his perception to a single thread: temperature.
For the first time, he would fight solely by the rhythm of heat.
…
Night descended quickly.
At supper, Fukada assumed they would once again bathe together, as they had for the past four nights. His face soured at the thought, but he braced himself. To his surprise, Yukishiro shook his head.
"Tonight, I'll go alone."
Mitsuri looked up, startled. "Alone?"
Fukada's jaw fell slack. Relief and fear warred in his chest.
But Yukishiro's gaze was flat, determined.
For a moment, Mitsuri felt glad—finally, she could sleep in a real bed, under blankets, instead of stewing in water until dawn. But then the truth dawned. He was protecting them. He had found something he hadn't told her.
Her hands curled into fists. "No. I'm coming with you."
His eyes flicked to hers, unreadable.
"I can be bait," she pressed, cheeks warm but voice steady.
"The missing people were all women. That makes me the obvious target. If you go alone, the demons may not even appear."
Fukada swallowed hard. If Mitsuri, a girl barely older than his niece, could volunteer without fear, how could he, a grown man, stay behind? His pride twisted painfully. "Then I'll go too. If something happens, you'll need more than one pair of hands."
But Yukishiro shook his head. "No. You're not in the Corps. You'll only slow us down."
Fukada flinched, shame stinging sharper than the words themselves. For once, he could not argue. He gave a stiff bow. "Then… I'll stay."
…
The streets of Qingshui lay empty beneath the moonlight. The lamps in every window had been extinguished, shutters bolted tight.
Not even dogs barked in the night.
Mitsuri and Yukishiro walked side by side, their shadows long and sharp against the cobbles. Above them, at the mountain's edge, the hot spring resort glowed like a lantern palace. Its halls shone in defiance of the fear choking the town, a false beacon of safety on the cliff.
From a nearby alley, a stray cat darted into their path. Mitsuri yelped and clutched Yukishiro's arm before she realized what it was.
The cat vanished into the dark, but she lingered, cheeks burning, before quickly letting go.
"How can you follow me when you're so easily frightened?" Yukishiro asked, his voice cool as the night.
She ducked her head, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I—I wasn't scared, just… startled."
Then his voice dropped lower. "There were two demons in the hot spring last night."
Her head snapped up. "Two?!"
He gave her a sharp look, one that brooked no jest.
Mitsuri forced a laugh. "That's impossible, isn't it? I was only dizzy for a little while. I didn't see a single demon, not even a shadow. You're teasing me, aren't you?"
Yukishiro's silence was heavier than words. His eyes were ice, saying clearly: Do I look like I'm joking?
"There was one in the men's pool and one in the women's," he said at last. "They were already inside before we entered."
Mitsuri's breath caught. Already inside?
She thought back. Last night, when Yukishiro's aura had flared so suddenly, she had been alert, scanning every inch of the courtyard.
Yet she had seen nothing. Not even a ripple. And she had been in the water the whole time, sitting only meters away.
But Yukishiro was not one to invent lies. And his tone left no room for doubt.
Her heart thudded.
Then… I was soaking in the same pool as a demon all night, and never knew?
"As soon as I stepped into the yard, I sensed them," Yukishiro continued quietly. "My reaction was instinct."
Her face paled. She remembered her question last night: Did you sense anything? His answer was, Nothing.
But he had lied.
Why?