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Tanjiro trudged back toward the room he shared with Zenitsu and Inosuke at the Butterfly Estate. The wooden floorboards creaked softly beneath his steps—a sound he usually barely noticed. This time, though, it felt louder, like it was echoing each tangled thought in his head. The rehabilitation training with Kanao still clung stubbornly to his mind.
Why did he keep losing to her?
The question surfaced again, looping endlessly, refusing to fade. Not once. Not twice. But over and over—always the same way. Kanao’s movements were fast and precise, utterly without hesitation. No wasted motion. As if she knew exactly what Tanjiro would do before even he realized it himself.
Every time he was splashed with that awful medicine, every time he failed to get anywhere near even a strand of her hair before being caught, Tanjiro could only inhale and flash an awkward smile, pretending he was fine. But deep in his chest lingered a small, persistent frustration he didn’t quite know how to name.
He let out a long breath.
Still, it wasn’t the losses that truly bothered him. He was used to losing. Used to falling—and standing back up again. What unsettled him was the strange feeling that surfaced every time he faced her.
Her eyes.
Kanao’s eyes always seemed… distant. Like she was standing right in front of him, yet her mind was somewhere far away. Tanjiro often caught himself wanting to say "You don’t have to push yourself so hard." Or, "If something’s hurting you, you can talk about it."
But he knew his boundaries. He knew when to stay silent—especially with someone who outranked him, someone who had clearly been carrying burdens long before he ever met her.
He stopped in front of the room he shared with Zenitsu and Inosuke. The sliding door was slightly open. Tanjiro pushed it aside gently.
Zenitsu was already asleep, snoring softly as he clutched his blanket like he was fighting off a nightmare. Inosuke was nowhere to be seen—either wreaking havoc somewhere in the estate or being chased down by Aoi for stealing food again.
Nezuko wasn’t there.
“Maybe she’s wandering around,” Tanjiro murmured to himself.
He closed the door quietly so he wouldn’t wake Zenitsu. After lingering at the threshold for a moment, he turned and headed back into the inner corridors of the Butterfly Estate.
Without realizing it, his steps slowed.
In one of the inner rooms—open to the hallway and sheltered from direct sunlight—Nezuko sat on the wooden floor, her bamboo box resting beside her. She was playing with something in her hands, making small, cheerful sounds. Kneeling neatly in front of her was Kanao, watching her with a calm, almost unreadable expression.
Tanjiro stopped behind a wooden pillar, not stepping in just yet.
Nezuko looked… comfortable.
She held out her small hand, showing Kanao something—maybe a dried flower, maybe a small piece of wood she’d found tucked away in a corner. Kanao accepted it carefully, as though it were fragile. Confusion flickered across her face. She tilted her head slightly, brows knitting together as she studied the object in her palm, then looked back at Nezuko, clearly trying to understand the meaning behind the gift. Nezuko simply smiled, pointed at it again, and nodded with quiet enthusiasm.
As if sensing him, Nezuko’s face suddenly lit up. She stood and hurried toward Tanjiro. Instinctively, he opened his arms just in time for her to crash into him in a small but energetic hug. A soft, warm laugh slipped from his throat as he gently patted her head.
“Careful,” he whispered.
Nezuko made a happy sound, then tucked herself halfway behind Tanjiro’s haori, peeking out with only her head visible. Her large eyes turned toward Kanao, as if inviting her to come closer.
Tanjiro lifted his gaze.
Kanao was still sitting where she had been. The small object Nezuko had given her was clenched in her hand now. She watched them—Tanjiro and Nezuko—in silence. The faint smile from earlier had faded, replaced once more by that distant look.
And that was when Tanjiro smelled it.
Faint.
Heavy.
Stifling.
Sadness.
It wasn’t something new—it had been there all along, only now clearer. A scent that made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain.
He crouched slightly to Nezuko’s height, his hand returning to pat her head in a motion that came naturally to him.
“You were playing with Kanao?” he asked gently.
Nezuko nodded eagerly and pointed toward Kanao.
Tanjiro straightened and walked over, stopping at a respectful distance, careful not to startle her.
“I’m sorry if Nezuko caused you any trouble,” he said with a small smile.
Kanao was silent for a moment. Her fingers curled slightly, as if she needed to confirm something first. The coin flipped into the air, catching the light briefly before landing back in her palm. She closed her fingers around it and released a breath so soft it was nearly inaudible.
Tanjiro watched quietly. He recognized the habit.
Kanao looked up again—only briefly. “No,” she said, more firmly this time, before adding in a quieter voice, “she didn’t bother me.”
The air seemed to tremble.
The words were short, but Tanjiro could sense the subtle wavering beneath them. Kanao’s gaze drifted to his hand resting on Nezuko’s head, lingering longer this time. Her violet eyes looked empty, as if her thoughts had wandered far away.
Tanjiro slowly lowered his hand, aware of her stare. His chest felt tight for no clear reason.
He hesitated—then did something he hadn’t planned at all.
He reached out and, with the gentlest movement he could manage, lightly patted Kanao’s head.
Her body stiffened for a split second.
Then her shoulders relaxed.
The scent in the air shifted—slowly, almost imperceptibly. Warmer.
Tanjiro smiled softly.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Slowly, Kanao smiled back. Not the kind that faded before it reached her eyes—but a genuine one.
Tanjiro fell silent.
Warmth spread through his chest in a strange way, as if he had just witnessed something rare. Something precious.
He found himself wishing—quietly, selfishly—that he could see that smile more often.