Work Text:
Fuku exhaled loudly, wiping the sweat off her brow after dumping the last pile of fallen wisteria flowers into a bucket. They would be dried and stuffed into pouches later before being gifted to their guests. Now that the garden was tidied, she had no more excuses to put off doing her least favourite chore: washing the bedsheets.
“Fuku, why don’t you take a break for a bit? Come eat some watermelons,” a voice spoke behind her.
Just her luck.
Fuku turned to see her grandmother standing on the veranda, holding a plate of said fruit.
“Okay, just let me wash my hands first!” she replied as she headed over to the faucet at the side of the wall.
The sweet, refreshing crisp of the watermelons was the perfect thing to quench her thirst. Fuku was on her third slice when her grandmother spoke, “It’s nice to have an extra helping hand around here. I’m able to finish my chores much faster than I could two months ago. Do you think your father will let you stay?"
Fuku frowned, swallowing her mouthful before responding, “No, he’s insistent on moving to the city. Says there’s more money to make there and better doctors to care for Mum.”
It didn’t make sense. The city is expensive to live in so if she stayed in Iwate village, her father would only have to worry about making enough money for Mother’s treatment. Fuku could help earn some money by working odd jobs around the village, something she couldn’t do in the city since no one would hire a child under fifteen.
“That’s a shame.” Grandma shook her head. “I’ve grown used to your help now that it’ll be difficult to do things alone again when you leave. If you managed to persuade your father to let you continue working here, let me know alright?”
Fuku gave her a small smile. “I’ll try my best.”
“Hello! Is anyone in?”
The pair jumped at the loud and unexpected voice.
Fuku exchanged a baffled look with her grandmother before going inside the house. Could this be a new guest?
Traversing through the corridors, Fuku turned right to reach the genkan and blinked at the stranger standing there.
Cascading from the man’s head was a mane of golden hair dipped in vermillion. His singular iris too was red and yellow, with the red surrounding his pupils. The other was concealed behind a black eye patch.
Those hair and eye colours can’t be natural, Fuku thought as she took in the stranger’s attire: a dark brown uniform embellished with gold buttons, haori and kyahan wreathed in flames.
This man was the most peculiar person she had ever seen.
The incarnation of fire beamed when he saw her. “Good afternoon, young lady! Are you the owner of this inn?” he greeted exuberantly and bowed to her.
Fuku winced, resisting the urge to clap her hands over her ears as his voice reverberated in the small space. She quickly returned his bow with a deeper one, hoping he wouldn’t take offence to her staring.
“I’m the granddaughter of the owner. How may I be of assistance to you, sir?” she replied in perfect polite speech.
“I would like to have a room for two, please!” His voice, no less enthusiastic, was markedly lower this time.
“My apologies, sir, but we’ve run out of rooms. Perhaps you can—”
“I’ll take it from here, Fuku. Good afternoon, young man. Please excuse my granddaughter’s mistake as she is still new to this business. We do have a room for you,” her grandmother interrupted.
Fuku turned to her in confusion. Since when did they have an available room?
“If you would follow me to your room, please. Fuku, go prepare the futon and yukata for our guests. They will be staying on the second floor,” her grandmother instructed.
Oh.
When Fuku first started working in the inn, Grandma informed her that that room was reserved solely for special guests. But with no further explanation on who these ‘special guests’ were, she had shrugged it off as unavailable and forgot about it until now.
“Yes, Grandma.” Fuku scurried away to gather the blankets, pillows and clothes. As the room was rarely used, the only thing kept inside were mattresses.
What was so special about that man that Grandma would only permit people like him to use it?
Once armed with the aforementioned items, Fuku trotted up the stairs. As she stood with her hand poised to knock, it suddenly occurred to her that this was the only room in the inn that uses a wooden door. While there were shoji and fusuma doors to offer privacy to their guests, paper and cloth could never measure up to wood when it comes to blocking out light and sound.
Was it intentional? It was the only room built on a separate level too.
Fuku tucked that thought away to ponder over later and rapped her knuckles against the door.
“Come in!”
Even behind the partition, the stranger’s voice was loud.
Fuku slid the door open. Inside, she spotted the man standing by the window with a crow perched on the sill. His haori was off, allowing her to see the bold white kanji emblazoned across his back.
Exterminate?
“Thank you! You can prepare a futon first, my friend would only be arriving later,” he instructed her. The crow on the windowsill had flown away.
Fuku responded with a soft “Yes, sir.” and set down the items in her arms. As she mechanically prepared the futon, her thoughts tumbled over each other as they attempt to decipher what that kanji could mean.
Maybe he’s a pest exterminator, Fuku thought. He was carrying a haversack when he came, that could contain his equipment.
Surreptitiously, she scanned the room for his bag and found it leaning against a leg of the table in the corner. There was another object on the table too, long; primarily white, but its flame-patterned guard gave away who it belongs to and what it is.
That’s a sword! That’s a sword! her mind shrieked.
Fuku’s next breath didn’t make it to her lungs. Her hands stilled alongside her heart.
Who is this guy? Why is he carrying an outlawed item? What business is he in that requires a weapon and a uniform that says ‘exterminate’?
A yakuza , a tiny voice whispered, wide eyes darting from one dark corner to another in fear.
Snippets of the past conversations resurfaced in Fuku’s mind.
Wait, Grandma called him our special guest earlier...
As the implications of those words settled in, cold dread slithers to the base of her spine.
It can’t be. Are we—are we really...?
Fuku couldn’t complete the question in her mind. She didn’t dare to.
Her grandma couldn’t be. She couldn’t, they couldn’t—
“Excuse me!”
Fuku gasped in surprise. Her neck protested when she twisted her head around too quickly. It was the man who spoke, now standing a foot away and smiling apologetically down at her. How did he move so silently?
“Are you alright? I’m sorry for startling you.”
“O-oh.” Fuku winced at the crack in her voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m alright, sir. Is there something that you need?”
“Yes, can you tell me where the bath is, please? I’d like to wash this travel grime off of me!” he said.
Fuku stood up and held a yukata towards him with a shaky smile. She could come up with a plan on how to deal with this later. For now, she needed to stay calm and keep up the act of a good host to avoid suspicion. “I’m done with my work here so I can take you there, sir. You can change into this when you’re done with your bath.
The man gently took the clothes from her. He was careful to avoid touching her hands but that only made Fuku more uncomfortable.
“Thank you!” he exclaimed.
Fuku dipped her head in return. She walked towards the door, taking care to avoid looking like she was in a hurry and politely held it open for the man to exit first. Then she led him down the stairs to the back of the inn.
“Here are the bathrooms.” Fuku gestured to the two entrances, one covered with blue noren and the other in red. The kanji for ‘men’ and ‘women’ were written on them respectively. “We have an onsen inside as well. You may use it if you’d like.”
The man lit up. “An onsen! It’s been a while since I had soaked in one! Will there be dinner served later?” he asked.
“Yes, it will be served in the living room at seven. Do you have any food you cannot eat? We’ll do our best to accommodate your order. The same goes for your friend too,” Fuku replied.
“I’ll eat with anything you make! My friend’s more picky so I’ll let him decide once he’s here.”
“I understand. If you need anything during your stay, please feel free to look for me or my grandmother,” Fuku said. Inwardly, she hoped that he wouldn’t.
“Thank you! I realise I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Rengoku Kyojurou!” The stranger—Rengoku-san—gave her a quick bow.
“Oh, I’m...Yoshida Fuku,” Fuku replied lamely as she returned his action. She would have given him a false name if Grandma hadn’t called it out in front of him a while ago.
“Nice to meet you Yoshida-san, and thank you for your hard work!”
Rengoku-san disappeared behind the noren before she could respond. Fuku blinked at the space in front of her before she huffed and strode away to complete her remaining chores. She would get some answers from her grandmother later.
Laughter echoed in the kitchen, drowning out the burbling and boiling of the pots.
Fuku frowned at her grandmother. She didn’t understand how her question could be funny in any way.
“Oh Fuku, Rengoku-san is not a yakuza,” Grandma shook her head in amusement before turning back to stir at the stew. “And rest assured that I do not conduct business with them either.”
“Then how do you explain his katana? Those were outlawed years ago and not even the police are allowed to carry them!” Fuku pointed out as she continued cutting the vegetables on her chopping board. She hoped the guests wouldn’t mind the irregularly sized carrots and potatoes in tonight’s tonjiru.
“There are much more dangerous things in this world than the yakuza. The fact that he’s here means there must be demons around.”
Fuku rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Demons don’t exist, Grandma. They’re nothing more than stories parents use to scare children into good behaviour. They are not real.”
Grandma merely gave her an enigmatic smile in response. Fuku was interrupted from ranting further when the devil himself appeared.
“Ah, Rengoku-san! You look like you had a nice bath. Did you have a soak in our onsen?” her grandmother asked.
“It was wonderful, thank you! I had forgotten how great it is to soak my aches away in hot water!” Rengoku-san replied. He looked refreshed and softer with wet hair clinging to his face. He had also traded his uniform for a yukata as well. His cheerful energy, however, remained the same.
In a brief instance of spitefulness at Rengoku-san’s happiness, Fuku wanted to ask if he had been too poor to afford a night at an onsen ryokan prior to his stay at their place. But she wisely stayed silent. The tongue lashing she would receive from Grandma if she hadn’t would make her ears bleed. It did not stop her from wondering if there was anything that would downturn that smile, however.
“That’s good to hear and please, feel free to stay for as long as you’d like. You must be on the road for quite some time before arriving here. Are you hungry? Would you like to have a snack before dinner?” her grandmother questioned.
“Just an apple will do! I don’t wish to spoil my appetite for dinner!” Rengoku-san responded and after receiving his fruit, left the kitchen with an exclamation of thanks.
“What a nice young man,” her grandmother mused.
Behind her, Fuku scoffed under her breath and rolled her eyes. He barely did anything and Grandma was already fond of him. Was she that easy to impress?
“I wonder if he’s single. You’ll do well to have someone like him as a husband, Fuku.”
Oh, no. No, no, no.
Fuku flushed and stuttered an excuse to leave the kitchen.
I am not listening to any talks about marriage, especially mine.
To her relief, Fuku didn’t see Rengoku-san again until dinner. She felt no small amount of glee when he arrived fifteen minutes late into the living room, clothes rumpled and fingers taming his messy hair as he profusely apologised for his tardiness.
Predictably, Grandma waved off his apologies and ushered him to take a seat at the table. Of course Rengoku-san had charmed her enough for her to brush aside her dislike for unpunctuality.
Fuku and her grandmother settled down at the other end from the guests. After saying a short thanks, the group dug into their meals. It was then Fuku learned that Rengoku-san was the noisiest eater she had the displeasure of sitting with.
“Delicious!”
Fuku reached into a small bowl to grasp a cube of tofu between her chopsticks. Carefully, she lifted it out and brought it as fast as she could towards her mouth. The tofu’s soft body was already crumbling apart, giving way to the pressure of her chopsticks.
“Delicious!”
Almost there. Almost there and...
“Delicious!”
Too late.
Her chopsticks hung empty in the air as the two halves of the bisected tofu splattered into her rice bowl. Fuku released an sharp exhale through her nose and side-eyed Rengoku-san. She wasn’t the only one who was glaring at him either.
“Really, can someone eat any louder?” Hamada-san, a middle-aged man who was their other guest, scoffed in a snooty voice.
Rengoku-san paused mid-chew, then hurriedly swallowed his mouthful and smiled sheepishly at him. “My apologies for disturbing you! My mother taught me to always appreciate the food I eat, so I’ve gotten into a habit of verbally expressing my appreciation!”
He turned to her grandmother. “Is it alright for me to take my food up in my room? I don’t wish to disturb anyone’s dinner here!”
“That’s fine with me so long as you bring the dishes down after finishing your meal,” Grandma replied, ever so accommodating to him. She had never once allowed a guest to have dinner in their room before him.
With the only source of noise gone, the rest of dinner passed in silence.
Rengoku-san made a reappearance when they were clearing up the table, holding a tray laden with his empty bowls and plates. He was quick to offer his help upon spotting them and as expected, Grandma was more than delighted to accept it. Then as they were washing the tableware in the kitchen, she proceeded to bombard Rengoku-san with questions about himself with a gleam in her eyes. She had even gone as far as to share some embarrassing childhood stories about Fuku too.
Fuku groaned, sliding down further into the water of the onsen. Here, she could pretend the heat on her cheeks was caused by the hot spring and not the mortifying experience of the last hour. She couldn’t be too disgruntled at Rengoku-san, however. Having an extra pair of hands had made clean-up faster and allowed her to retire earlier for the night.
But she wasn’t marrying him no matter what Grandma thought. Rengoku-san might be nice to them, but he still possessed an illegal weapon which implied the possibility of an illegal job too.
Fuku nodded to herself as she dried and dressed. Since Rengoku-san would be staying in the inn for the next day or two, there would be opportunities for her to catch him in the act of anything illegal. Then all she had to do was report him to Watanabe-san, the village chief.
Easy enough.
Two days came and went in the blink of an eye. Fuku wished the same could be said for Rengoku-san who had been nothing but frustratingly helpful towards her and Grandma.
From the moment he awoke at noon, Rengoku-san would spend his daylight assisting with chores around the inn. Then, after the sun had set and dinner was consumed (it should probably be called lunch for him), Rengoku-san would don his uniform, bid them goodnight, and set off with his sword concealed under his haori. He didn’t return until dawn.
Fuku couldn’t come up with a good reason why he would need a sword around the village at night, but she couldn’t let it continue. Innocent lives might be at stake. Hoping to catch Rengoku-san in a nefarious act, Fuku snuck out last night after everyone was asleep to look for him. But she got sent home after getting caught by the night patrol a short while later. She was determined not to repeat the same mistake tonight.
“Kyojurou! Kyojurou!”
Fuku turned to the direction of the voice and frowned upon seeing no one. Instead there was a crow flying towards them, the same one she had seen on the windowsill when Rengoku-san first arrived. He raised an arm for the bird to land.
“Hello, Kaname! What news do you have for me?” he greeted it.
Is that a messenger bird? Fuku thought to herself as she returned to hang the bedsheets to dry. Hamada-san had just checked out of their inn this morning, leaving Rengoku-san as the only remaining guest.
“Tonight! the demons will be here tonight!” The same voice that called Rengoku-san earlier emerged from Kaname’s open beak.
Fuku’s eyebrows disappeared into her fringe.
The crow speaks!
Had she not been watching them from the corner of her vision, she would have denied that that had happened. Fuku continued her work, pretending that she wasn’t listening to their conversation.
“I see!” Rengoku-san looked to the sky, his ever-present smile replaced by a contemplative frown. “There’s probably two hours until sunset. I’ll have to start preparing now!”
Fuku didn’t register the clothes peg slipping from her grip, not when her stomach had just plummeted to the ground.
It’s starting now. Something terrible was going to happen in Iwate tonight.
She had to get the village chief. She had to warn Watanabe-san—
“Yoshida-san.”
“Yes!” Fuku yelped and plastered on a smile when she spun around to face Rengoku-san. She hoped he didn’t sense anything amiss with her.
Rengoku-san smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry to have to leave you to finish the rest of your chores by yourself. I have something important I need to do now,” he explained.
“It’s no problem, I’m used to doing them alone. Would you be having dinner tonight?” Fuku determinedly avoided looking at the crow staring at her with its beady little eyes.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to skip it. Don’t worry, I’ll let your grandmother know about it now. My apologies again for leaving you with the rest of the work!”
Before Fuku could get another word in, Renguko-san was gone. The hanging laundry fluttered in the breeze generated by the speed with which he had left. She looked at the basket of linens beside her, then at the mess of leaves and petals strewn about the garden.
They could wait.
Mind made up, Fuku turned on her heel and went after Rengoku-san.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything else? Some wisteria flowers to protect you perhaps?” her grandmother asked, standing by the genkan.
That’s not something you should offer a potential murderer, Grandma. Fuku restrained a sigh, shuffling from foot to foot.
It’s a habit of Grandma’s to gift little omamori containing some dried wisteria flowers to their guests before they leave. She’ll always tell them it was an amulet for their safety, but Fuku never believed that it would work and brushed it aside as some old wives’ tale.
Strangely enough, the wisteria tree in the garden was still in full bloom despite it currently being autumn. The other flowers were wilting or had already wilted.
Rengoku-san, dressed in his crisp uniform, stood opposite them by the door. His mouth was curled into his signature smile but the warmth in his singular eye had gone cold as the blade tucked into his belt. Kaname, the crow she had previously met, had taken to perch on his shoulder.
“Thank you, but I have all that I need with me. Things might get rough tonight so please stay inside for your safety. Lock all your doors and windows and don’t open them no matter who calls for you,” Rengoku-san replied.
The pounding of her heart ratcheted up, booming in her ears like taiko drums. Fuku could already envision it: a bleeding individual banging on their door in the dead of the night, their pleas for help increasing in desperation only to be silenced forever by an unforgiving blade. Will she discover a pool of dried blood on their engawa in the morning? Will they be forced to bury the body in their garden to hide his heinous crime?
Unaware of Fuku’s inner turmoil, her grandmother nodded and offered a cloth-wrapped bento box to him. “Please take this. It’s some onigiri I made from the leftover rice during lunch. You need to keep your energy up for the long night ahead.”
Rengoku-san’s smile widened as he took the box from her, a spark of warmth chasing frost from his eye.
“Thank you! I’ll do my best to settle things as quickly as possible!” He bowed.
“I pray for your safe return, Slayer,” her grandmother said and returned the action.
Fuku’s wide eyes darted to her. What did she say? Slayer? Is that what members of his criminal group are called?
She barely registered Rengoku-san’s goodbye to her, body bowing automatically in reciprocation to his. Mind embroiled in an increasing disarray of thoughts, Fuku followed him out the door and watched as he disappeared down the road.
It took three calls of her name in increasing volume for Fuku to acknowledge her caller.
“Come inside and lock the door behind you. We will not be accepting any guests tonight,” her grandmother informed.
Irritation, which had been simmering beneath panic all this time, erupted into anger at her words.
“Grandma,” Fuku enunciated through gritted teeth, “what is going on tonight? Where is Rengoku-san going?”
She waited for a reply. And waited. Every second of the passing silence permitted dread to constrict tighter around her lungs and solidify her suspicions.
At long last, her grandmother sighed. “I know his behaviour looks suspicious to you—but Rengoku-san is here to protect us from something evil, not to harm us.”
Fuku bristled. “Protect us? He’s going to kill someone tonight, Grandma! We need to report this to Watanabe-san so he can get the police—”
“Enough! Rengoku-san is a good man and that is final!”
Fuku’s mouth clicked shut. All of the protests on her tongue were sliced apart by her grandmother’s sharp tone. She glared at the ground with clenched jaw and fists. Rage howled inside the cage that materialised around it, clawing at the walls and demanding to continue spitting out her vitriolic words. But respect for her grandmother held the cage firm.
A sigh resounded in the room. Footsteps approached. A hand rests on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. I know you want an explanation but there are things about Rengoku-san that I can’t tell anyone. Once he is back tomorrow, I’ll ask his permission to tell you everything. Tonight, I need you to trust me when I say that he’s not a yakuza and he’s not going to kill anyone in the village, okay?” her grandmother beseeched.
Fuku sighed. There was no point in arguing further when Grandma had been sworn to secrecy. She still planned on sneaking out to look for Rengoku-san, however, so with fingers crossed behind her back, she replied, “Yes, Grandma.”
Her grandmother smiled and although Fuku felt a small pang of guilt for deceiving her, she reasoned that it was for the greater good. She needed to see with her own eyes the kind of person Rengoku-san was.
“Thank you, Fuku. Now come, we have to complete our remaining chores and start preparing for dinner as well,” Grandma said.
Fuku obeyed. To avoid her grandmother from cluing to her plan, she kept up her usual routine, hoping her false front of calm would hide how she itched to go after Rengoku-san. An agonising eternity passed while she laid in bed waiting for the light in her grandmother’s room to turn off. Then to be absolutely certain Grandma was asleep, Fuku counted to a hundred before gingerly inching her door open and crept silent as a cat out of the house.
Now as she stood facing the direction where Rengoku-san had left, she was faced with a new problem: where could he have gone from here?
Kyojurou polished off the last of his onigiri before rewrapping the box in the cloth it came with. Then he tucked it inside a hollow tree trunk to be collected later and resumed his patrol in the forest around Iwate village.
Demons like to appear where they are least expected; they like having the element of surprise on their prey. So despite there being a road to this village, Kyojurou knew the group he was hunting might opt to emerge from the forest instead, hence the reason for his patrol. Kaname had taken to the air to scout for them as well.
In the past week, these demons had already wrecked three villages and killed the two Kinoto dispatched to deal with them. No more, Kyojurou decided. He would execute them tonight to prevent Iwate’s villagers from becoming their next meals.
Considering Muzan strictly forbade his subjects from forming groups, it was surprising he had not punished these demons for teaming up yet. Then again, they could have had his permission to do so like the spider family led by the deceased Lower Moon Five. Muzan might be desperately trying to raise his demons’ collective strengths due to the near-complete loss of his entire Upper Moons sans One and Two.
Kyojurou looked at the grinning moon, sitting at the highest point in the midnight sky. Any moment now.
A hurried flapping of wings came from his left.
“Kyojurou—this way, this way!” Kaname cawed in urgency.
Feet twisted; muscles pushed, and he was off like a stone from a slingshot. Kyojurou chased the wingbeats of his crow through the forest, nerves steeled for the fight ahead.
There!
He drew his katana in an instant, blade singing a prelude to violence and death. With a forceful swing, a wall of flames burst forth to intersect the demons’ path. As one, they skidded to a halt and turned to face him.
Kyojurou planted himself in front of the trio, gaze hard and sword raised. “You will not take one step further, demons!”
“A Slayer!” one of them hissed, holding his multicoloured hands out defensively.
Another demon—striped and the tallest—snorted as he set down the demoness in his arms. “What, you scared? We killed two before and this one’s alone.”
“Says the one nearly beheaded by them,” the first one scoffed.
“You—!”
“Enough,” a stern voice interrupted, the demoness’.
The two fell silent, faces soured. Kyojurou eyed her, the leader of their group. They were always the ones with the most power.
The demoness snapped open a fan. Like her kimono, it too was decorated in camellias. Interestingly, her irises were shaped like flowers too.
Her eyes narrowed over the edge of the fan. “You...I know you. Our king wants you dead for what you did to the former Upper Moon Three.”
Kyojurou squared his shoulders when the two demons stared at him in surprise.
“I had merely helped him to recover his memories! Muzan had no right stealing them and manipulating Hakuji to serve him out of a misplaced desire to be strong!” he said.
“And was it worth it? He must be dead now. Our king doesn’t take kindly to those who betray him,” the demoness remarked.
Kyojurou held his tongue. Hakuji was still alive but he was not telling them that. Muzan could access the memories of every one of his subjects barring three. Should he discover that his former subordinate survived his punishment, Hakuji would face a worse punishment than being rent apart and left to the sun's mercy.
The other problem was if the demons found out that an Upper Moon could successfully break out of their master’s curse, they would want to do the same. And with more demons no longer under Muzan’s control, the Slayer Corps would see a sharp uptick in demon attacks, plunging the country into unprecedented chaos.
“Well, no matter. Our lord will be most pleased to see your head when we bring it to him,” the demoness continued.
As if on cue, the ground beneath Kyojurou rumbled. An enormous plant erupted behind him, unfurling long, thin leaves covered in tentacles tipped with sticky dew.
So this is her power, he thought to himself, frowning. He’d have to steer clear of those leaves and cut them down quickly. There’d be little escape if those sticky tentacles touched him.
While his attention was split by the plant, the two demons had moved to surround his left and right. Their keen hungry gazes swept across his body, no doubt envisioning the best spots to tear into him.
Kyojurou tightened his grip on his katana, shifting to a wider stance as his world narrowed to his immediate surroundings. His breaths deepened in preparation for his techniques as the flame in his heart ignited into a blaze.
“Let’s see how long you can survive, Slayer,” the demoness proclaimed, eyes aglow with malice.
The leaves lunged towards him. The demons followed.
Kyojurou swings his sword.
The fight was on.
Gooseflesh erupted across Fuku’s skin when a cool breeze pierced through her thin haori. She shivered, rebuking herself for not wearing thicker clothing before she left. The trees in the forest chortled at her plight.
After overturning every stone in her village and finding neither hair nor hide of Rengoku-san, Fuku turned her attention to the only place she hadn’t searched: the forest. Grandma warned her never to go in there after sunset; she never explained why. So with trepidation and paranoia in the background of her mind describing the horrible ways she could die, Fuku mustered some courage and ventured into the unknown.
That could have been hours ago. She hadn’t got a pocket watch to check.
Stumbling through the undergrowth, Fuku prayed nothing would jump out of the shadows to attack her. With the moonlight so weak, part of her regretted not bringing a lantern along. But since it was a sensible choice if she wanted to avoid getting caught sneaking around, so struggle in the darkness she must.
Tripping over another unseen root, Fuku hissed an expletive that would’ve gotten her a mouthful of soap had her grandmother heard it.
Where is Rengoku-san?
It was late. She was cold. She wanted to give up the search and return home already.
What did she plan to do if she found Rengoku-san anyway? Ask him nicely to stop killing? She’d be lucky if he didn’t murder her to prevent word of his crime from going out. Not to mention she’d be lucky if her body was found before it rotted beyond recognition in this forest. Why, oh why, did she think this was a good idea in the first place?
Maybe I should just go home. I can get someone to come with me tomorrow if Rengoku-san is still here. It’ll be safer than—
Wait.
Feet paused in their tracks. Fuku frowned, straining her ears as she swivelled her head around.
She swore she had heard—there it was again, a series of faint but distinct booms coming from a distance. Was someone setting off fireworks in the forest? Could that be Rengoku-san?
She had to investigate if she wanted those answers.
Despite the protests of her rabbiting heart, Fuku forced one foot after another towards the noise.
The explosions grew louder and louder, rattling her resolve with its powerful shockwaves. Colourful flashing lights came next. She was right about there being fireworks.
Movement drew her attention. And there were the causes of the commotion, twisting and weaving between the trees—or what’s left of them in some instances, two chasing one.
Fuku gasped when bolts of light shot out from a chaser’s hand, briefly illuminating his inhuman features. The lights zipped towards his target, who parried them away with his sword before they exploded.
It became obvious who their target was when Fuku spotted that flame-coloured hair.
Though she was no swordsman, she could tell Rengoku-san was a master of it. His movements were fluid and sure, calculated and precise. Nary a drop of energy went to waste as he battled against his two opponents and their extraordinary powers. He was holding up well against them despite being blind in an eye.
Fuku perked up in alarm when she noticed a sharp tendril taking aim at the back of Rengoku-san’s head. A cry of shock escaped her when it launched at him, but Rengoku-san was already turning around as it did and cut off the tendril before swiftly manoeuvring to block a punch aimed at his blind spot. All that was done in one continuous motion.
Fuku was in awe of his skill. So entranced was she by the fight that she leapt out of her skin when someone suddenly spoke behind her.
“Well, what do we have here? A little mouse hiding in the dark?” a feminine voice lilted.
Fuku stiffened as a horrible realisation dawned upon her.
There are three attackers in total, not two.
Run! her mind yelled at her stubbornly rooted feet. Curiosity—who never had a sense for danger—decided it simply must know who this new speaker was and turned her head towards her, all while her heart pounded frantically behind its cage of bones to escape.
In the gloom of the tree’s shadow, a pair of bright red eyes stared back at her.
Fuku would have screamed had her throat not been swollen shut from terror.
At first glance, she thought the woman was a ghost. She had a white face like those in her uncle’s stories after all. Upon closer inspection, however, Fuku decided she looked too solid to be one. Judging by her elegant kimono and elaborate hair accessories, she might be an oiran or a maiko. She was beautiful too and must have had a lot of men vying for her attention.
Slitted pupils raked down Fuku’s body. A corner of the woman’s lips curled in disdain. “Hm, a little skinny for a meal. But I suppose you’ll do as a snack.”
Then there were fangs and too-sharp nails reaching for Fuku’s neck.
Oh, she realised, she’s going to kill me.
There was no grief or fear at her impending death however. Rather, Fuku was sorry for her grandmother who was going to be confused to find her missing from the inn, then devastated when—or if—they found her mutilated body.
I’m sorry, I should have listened to you and never gone out tonight .
But death never came.
Just as the woman’s nails were inches from Fuku’s face, an invisible force collided with her. She crashed into the trees a few metres away, a crumpled heap of limbs; unmoving.
Fuku sucked in a sharp breath and avoided thinking further about the unnatural bent of her neck.
Are you alright?” a new voice asked.
Fuku turned to look at her savior with a word of thanks on her tongue, only for horror to fill her anew upon meeting a pair of blue eyes that shone just like the woman’s. She whimpered and pressed herself against the tree behind her, all while never taking her eyes off the newcomer.
The man opened his mouth but closed it after second thought. He gave her a quick once-over before facing Rengoku-san and his two gobsmacked opponents.
“Having fun without me, Kyojurou?” he teased.
“Hakuji!” Rengoku-san exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.
The two other men stared back and forth between them in confusion. Before they could say a word, movement drew everyone’s attention.
It was the woman’s body, rising to stand. Fuku blanched when her head snapped back into place. That grotesque sight and sound were going to haunt her sleep for the next few nights.
“You!” the woman spat. She was a mess of her former self with dirt splattered on her kimono and hair spilling out of her once neat hairdo.
“How dare you—” she stopped mid-sentence, sniffing the air. A contemplative frown overtook her enraged features.
“This scent, I’ve smelled it before.” The woman narrowed her eyes at Hakuji-san who returned her look with a steely stare. “You were at the other villages too, weren’t you? We avoided them because they seem to be taken. Now you’re here and being awfully friendly with this Slayer too.”
The woman growled, eyes darting to Rengoku-san. “This is a trap, isn’t it? You two have been working together to lead us here!”
Hakuji-san smirked, folding his arms across his chest. “Clever.”
“Why? Surely you must know that Slayers kill Demons,” the man with colourful hands spoke. He jerked his head towards Rengoku-san. “There’s four of us and only one of him here. We can easily kill the slayer and divide his body among us. The girl too.”
Fuku—who had been quietly listening to their conversation—stiffened when she was mentioned. Unbidden, her mind conjures images of ravenous teeth and hands tearing open her body and gorging on her organs. ‘Demon’ was an apt name for these monstrous human-like beings.
Hakuji-san’s smirk fell.
“I don’t eat girls and women,” he replied, voice even but sharp as a knife’s edge.
“Yeah right,” the striped demon sneered. “You can’t possibly get that strong without having eaten a lot of them.”
Fuku cringed when he leered at her, pulling her haori tighter around herself. It still didn’t stop how naked she felt under his lustful gaze.
“The only way you are getting to this girl”—Hakuji-san shifted to block her view of the other demon, hands falling to fists by his side—“is over my dead body.”
“And I as well!” Rengoku-san chimed in, raising his katana.
“That can be arranged,” the demoness cackled with malicious glee.
Fuku only had time to blink before multiple objects shot out of the ground around Hakuji-san, and they would have pierced him from every angle had he not leapt out of the way quicker.
Then the next thing she knew, she was being scooped into his arms and carried away from the fight at speeds impossible for a human. Helpless and terrified, Fuku squeezed her eyes shut and clung onto Hakuji-san’s haori with white knuckles, a noise of fright lodged in her throat.
The heart-stopping ride stretched for an eternity before Fuku felt Hakuji-san slow to a stop. She cracked her eyes open when she was gently deposited behind a bush.
“Stay here. I’ll come get you once we’re done with those three,” he said.
Fuku stared up at him with a mind full of cotton. His words registered like she was hearing him from underwater.
Seeing no use in prying his haori from her vice grip, Hakuji-san shrugged it off and wrapped it as best he could around her, leaving him in a white gi. Once satisfied, he took off back to the fight.
Her heart cried out for him not to leave her alone, but her mind understood it was better for him to go help Rengoku-san than to stay with her. Fuku brought her knees to her chest and resigned herself to count the seconds until Hakuji-san was back. He had to come back; she didn’t want to consider any other possibility.
Time dragged on. As the excitement waned, it got harder and harder to keep her eyes open.
At the eight hundred and thirty-seventh second, Fuku grew alert when she heard noises atypical of the night creatures around her.
Who’s coming? Are they friend? Are they foe?
She tensed. Her nerves, which had calmed from the lack of danger, started buzzing again.
“Fuku-san, it’s us! It’s safe to come out now!” Rengoku-san’s voice reverberated through the forest.
Fuku cautiously peeked out of the bush. And sure enough, both he and Hakuji-san were walking towards where she hid. She sighed in relief and moved out of the bush to meet them.
“Are you alright? You haven’t been hurt, have you?” Rengoku-san asked, scanning her from head to toe when he came to a stop in front of her.
“I’m fine. Are you ok?” Fuku returned his question, sensing the tiredness radiating from him. His haori was scuffed and singed in places too.
“I’m good. Thank you for asking!”
“No, you’re not ,” Hakuji-san was quick to rebuke, shooting him a sharp look. “You have a cut on your cheek below your eyepatch and several more on your arms. And don’t think I didn’t notice you’ve been slightly hunched over since the end of the fight, Kyojurou .”
The aforementioned man smiled sheepishly, scratching his cheek. “I can’t hide any injuries from you, can I?”
Hakuji-san shook his head, glare softening into something fond. “Let’s head back to the inn to get you treated. You have a medicine box, don’t you?”
Recognising that the question was aimed at her, Fuku nodded. “Yes, we do.”
“Good, let’s go.” And with that said, Hakuji-san walked off, leaving Rengoku-san and herself to follow after him.
Fuku had never been quite as happy to see her home as she was tonight.
“Those demons...are there more of them out there?”
When two pairs of eyes turned to her, Fuku continued, “Are there other Slayers like you who fight them?”
The men sitting opposite her at the dining table exchanged looks before Hakuji-san returned to treat Rengoku-san’s cuts. The Slayer had shed his haori and uniform top so Hakuji-san could access his arms, exposing the white bandages tightly wrapped around his stomach. Fuku had adverted her gaze and tried not to think about the mortality rate of a Slayer.
“I don’t know the exact number but I can guess there are hundreds of demons out there, each with a different appearance and power. Some are good at disguising themselves as humans so they can be difficult to find,” Rengoku-san replied with a small, tired smile.
Fuku suddenly felt cold. How many times had she unknowingly walked past a demon already?
As though reading her mind, Rengoku-san said, “You don’t have to worry about encountering a demon during the day though. Sunlight kills them.”
Then he continued, “But what makes demons so dangerous is their insatiable hunger for human flesh, especially from girls and women. They can’t eat anything else. So the Demon Slayer Corps was formed to protect people from them.”
Fuku gulped at the reminder that she was nearly eaten.
“Why do they prefer eating us? Where do demons come from?” she asked next.
“Women are more nutritious than men because their bodies are made to support life.” It was Hakuji-san who replied without looking up from his work. “And to answer your second question, the Demon King is the only one who can create demons. He does it by injecting his blood into humans. It’s venomous and poisonous so the turning process is excruciating. Most die without becoming a demon.”
A question surged forth but Fuku clammed her mouth shut before it could escape, grimacing as it writhed on her tongue. As much as she’d like to confirm if he was a demon, she didn’t want to anger Hakuji-san by poking at a potentially sensitive topic.
As she pondered about the least offensive way to phrase her question, the decision was made for her when he took one look at her face and smiled in bemusement.
“You want to ask if I’m a demon and why I’m helping a Slayer, don’t you?” he asked.
Fuku winced, nodding awkwardly. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer if it offends you.”
Hakuji-san waved away her apology. “It’s fine. I suspected you knew what I am when you first saw me. I was turned over a century ago; lost all my human memories too. I had just gotten them back recently thanks to Kyojurou. It’s why I’m helping him now.”
He patted Rengoku-san on the shoulder to signal that he was done before packing up the medical box. Rengoku-san went to put his uniform top back on but left his haori draped on the chair beside him.
Fuku blinked, startled. Hakuji-san didn’t look any older than twenty. Do demons not age?
Hakuji-san chuckled at her confusion and elaborated, “Demons are immortal. We don’t die unless we’re exposed to the sun or get beheaded by a Nichirin blade. It’s a special weapon all Slayers carry that mimics the effect of sunlight. Oh but the Demon King can only be killed by sunlight though.”
“Why sunlight? Does this mean you won’t die if you’re stabbed in the heart?” Fuku asked.
He shrugged. “I’m not sure why we’re weak to sunlight either, and no, we won’t die if we get stabbed in the heart. Demons heal quickly so a wound like that would heal the instant the blade is pulled out.”
Fuku’s next question had been burning on her tongue ever since Hakuji-san confirmed he was a demon. She needed to know the answer. She must .
“Since you’re a demon, does this mean you’re still eating people?” Her voice was accusatory, sharp with the demand for truth.
If demons were so dangerous, why did the Slayers allow Hakuji-san to live? Why did the Slayers think it was safe to let him travel with Rengoku-san alone when there was always a chance he would turn on him when his gnawing hunger got too much to bear?
Was Rengoku-san used as a bribe to get Hakuji-san to help the Slayers?
The man in question pressed his lips into a tight line. He broke their gaze, almost ashamed, looking down where his hands were tearing at the cotton balls he had used earlier to apply ointment on Rengoku-san’s cuts. When he spoke, it was solemn and barely above a murmur.
“I’m not a demon who ate a lot compared to others—but I stopped completely once I got my memories back. Went through a treatment that fixed my appetite too so I only drink donated blood now. You have no idea how good it is to feel full after just a few mouthfuls of blood after enduring years of that endless hunger despite always eating and eating and eating. ”
The low guttural growl Hakuji-san released reverberated down to Fuku’s bones, sending every hair on her body erect. The air becomes heavy, more oppressive than it was with the previous three demons. It felt as though she had just barely sidestepped a venomous snake only to come face-to-snout with a very angry bear.
Despite how every part of her wanted to flee, instinct, ordered her feet in place and her lungs to stop breathing lest its movement drew the attention of the apex predator in the room.
Her throat closed around a cry of alarm when Rengoku-san reached over and placed his hand over Hakuji-san’s, unaware or uncaring of the danger. With bated breath, Fuku watched as Hakuji-san stiffened before exhaling, shoulders slumped. He placed his own hand over the Slayer’s in return and gave it a squeeze.
“I’m sorry,” Hakuji-san murmured and when he lifted his head, Fuku was taken aback by the miasma of anger, hatred and regret swirling in his eyes.
“I know you don’t trust me. You shouldn’t. I’m still a demon even though I only consume blood now. But if there’s one thing you can be sure of, it’s that Kyojurou will stop me if I ever think to harm another human,” he said with firm certainty.
Rengoku-san nodded in agreement, earnest and sincere.
Fuku studied the pair before her. While she was apprehensive and slightly fearful of sharing a roof with a creature whose meals start and end with humans, she knew she could trust Rengoku-san’s word that he would stop Hakuji-san if he went after her or Grandma. She came to know the Slayer as an honourable and dependable man after spending time with him over the past few days.
Fuku nodded in acceptance and decided to change the topic. “Do all demons lose their memories when they turn?”
“Almost all of them. The Demon King demands absolute loyalty from his subjects. Having memories of their past human life can lead a demon to rebel, especially when they were turned unwillingly.” Hakuji-san leaned back against his chair, looking calmer now. His hands had abandoned the cotton balls and were tracing the lines on Rengoku-san’s palm now.
They seemed close, not something you would expect from a prey and predator.
A thought suddenly occurred to Fuku.
“Wait. If the Demon King is the only one who can create demons and Hakuji-san has been alive for over a hundred years, that means no Slayer has ever gotten close to killing the King, right?” she asked.
“Well, there is a man who almost succeeded many years ago—but you’re right that no Slayer has gotten close ever since. But based on the new generation of talents that are coming up, I believe we’ll be able to kill the Demon King this time!” Rengoku-san replied, twin fires of hope and determination burning in his eyes.
Fuku frowned, unconvinced.
“He’s not wrong,” Hakuji-san chimed in. “Like humans, demons have a hierarchy. The King sits at the top with twelve of the strongest demons below him: six upper and six lower ranks. Each member has their rank marked in their eyes to differentiate them from the other demons.”
He tapped the bottom of an eye to highlight his statement.
“While the lower-ranked demons have been changing throughout the years, those in the upper ranks remained the same. Until now that is.” There was a wicked glee in Hakuji-san’s voice and smirk.
“It’s the first time in history that the Slayers have succeeded in killing not just one but three of the upper ranks. If the fool had kept the rest of the lower ranks after Lower Five was killed, he could have delayed the Slayers’ progress for much longer. Now it’s only a matter of time before they find his castle and drag him out to daylight,” he chortled, looking far too pleased at the downfall of his creator.
“Won’t you die as well if the Demon King is killed?” Fuku asked worriedly, wondering how that would happen. Would he turn to dust? Collapse on the floor dead?
The smile Hakuji-san gave was worn and melancholic.
“I’ve lived long enough,” he said, a sentence befitting far more from someone with a face older than his.
“I...see,” was all Fuku could respond in turn, unsure of what else to say.
She was saved from further awkwardness when Hakuji-san got up from his seat.
“You should head to bed now. The sun will be rising in a few hours,” he said to her as he returned the medicine box back to its place.
“Yes, I’m sure your grandmother won’t be pleased to see you dozing off in the middle of your chores if you don’t get enough sleep now,” Rengoku-san added.
Fuku wanted to protest. She wanted to continue learning more about this side of the world she had never known until tonight. Then, it suddenly occurred to her that she must have been keeping Rengoku-san from going to bed with her questions, and after the fight he had with those three demons, he must be looking forward to his rest.
Sheepish, she switched off the lights in the living room, bade the two men goodnight and headed off to her bedroom.
Fuku didn’t know how she would be able to sleep with her mind awhirl from the night’s excitement. But as soon as her head hits the pillow, her eyelids turned heavy and she was out before the count of ten.
When Fuku awoke in the morning, there was more sunlight in her room than there normally should. She scrambled to don her yukata, dread pooling in the pit of her stomach and mind whirling with reasons she could offer for being late. When she burst into the kitchen with an apology on her tongue, she had to pick her jaw off the ground at the sight of Hakuji-san stir-frying vegetables under the watchful eyes of her grandmother. Rengoku-san was nowhere to be seen.
Contrary to expectation, her grandmother was entirely unfazed about her tardiness. She merely greeted Fuku and told her that lunch would be ready in a bit. If she was too hungry to wait, however, she could help herself to some tamagoyaki.
With cheeks burning hot, she did.
“Hey, grandma?” Fuku asked as she scrubbed the dirty dishes.
Rengoku-san and Hakuji-san had been shooed away to relax after lunch. Fuku felt guilty enough that they had done her morning chores for her despite their reassurances that it was no big deal.
“Hmm?”
She hesitated for a beat. “How did you get to know about the Slayers?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw a smile spread across her grandmother’s face.
When night fell after dinner, Rengoku-san was all packed up and ready to resume his travels with Hakuji-san.
“Thank you for staying in the Wisteria Inn. Please come again.” Her grandmother bowed to the two men. Fuku followed suit.
As Fuku watched the silhouettes of the two men disappear into the distance, she hoped that they would survive the war with the demons so she could see them again. Both of them.
For now though, she and her grandmother would continue to serve the wary Slayers in their Wistera Inn until their services were no longer needed.