...What did you just call me!?"
Uzui Tengen's voice boomed, his jaw practically dropping. My words had hit him harder than a thunderclap. And the word that stunned him most—
"Groundhog."
The Sound Hashira, who always introduced himself as the god of festivals, the master of flamboyance, the living definition of "flashy"… was just called a rodent.
I hopped down from the tree, landing lightly. My eyes stayed narrowed, my face calm as I circled Uzui like I was inspecting some strange animal.
Yoriichi stood nearby, silent as always, though his gaze lingered on me with a trace of curiosity.
After giving Uzui a long once-over, I stepped back, tilted my head, and nodded seriously.
"…Yeah. Not too much at all. You do look like one."
Uzui's eye twitched. "…Tch. Forget it. You're not nearly gorgeous enough for me to waste my words on!"
With that, he turned, vaulted over the wall in a single smooth leap, and disappeared into the night.
Now only Yoriichi and I remained in the courtyard. My playful expression faded as I spoke in a lower, steadier voice.
"Enough joking. It's time we talked about the real matter."
My eyes opened fully, the faint cracks in my blood-red pupils glowing as I looked straight at him.
"You already know I'm not Muzan Kibutsuji. Not completely. This body isn't his anymore. It's mine."
Back during the Infinity Train, Muzan's will surfaced. Yoriichi was there. He knew what I was.
Any fool could piece it together: I wasn't the true Demon King. Just a human who inherited this shell.
Yoriichi didn't answer immediately. He stepped closer, calm as ever, and studied me in silence.
I braced myself for judgment—but instead, he simply brushed a leaf off my shoulder. His eyes softened ever so slightly.
"…I know," he said quietly. "And I don't care whose name your body carries. What matters is the person standing before me. To see you clearly, to understand you… that is enough. Even if it costs me my life."
Departure Day.
Inside Yoriichi's residence, the team was gathered: Uzui Tengen, Yoriichi, myself… and Kamado Tanjiro, Hashibira Inosuke, Agatsuma Zenitsu, and Kamado Nezuko.
I stood with my hands on my hips, glaring at the three boys lined up before us.
Then, turning slightly, I jabbed at Uzui with my words. "Oi, Groundhog. You wanna explain yourself?"
Uzui, unfazed by my sharp tone, simply stroked his chin in a flamboyant pose and began spinning his story.
…Half an hour later, I wanted to strangle him.
The "god of festivals" had actually tried to recruit girls from the Butterfly Mansion for his mission, only to be intercepted by Tanjiro and his friends.
So now we were stuck with these three little monsters—one with a nose like a wolf, one with ears sharper than any demon's, and one who could sense danger in his sleep.
This was going to be a nightmare.
Yoshiwara.
By the time we arrived, night had already swallowed the city. Lanterns glowed red across every street, bathing the entire district in dazzling light.
We split into two carriages. I rode with Yoriichi, fanning myself lazily with a black fan as we entered the pleasure district. Even with my body shrunk down to a smaller form, I hated the stares that followed me.
Eventually, Uzui led us into a hidden safehouse marked with wisteria. An old madam welcomed us inside.
In the room, Uzui laid out his plan. He sat cross-legged, Tanjiro across from him. Inosuke and Zenitsu slumped to the side—both knocked out cold by a single punch from Uzui after they'd whined too much.
Uzui smirked. "In short—disguise yourselves, get sold into the houses I marked, and sniff out the demon. Simple enough, yeah?"
Tanjiro nodded seriously. "Understood!"
I, meanwhile, leaned against the wall behind Yoriichi, idly munching on a rice ball with one hand, holding my book in the other. A faint glow caught on the black fan propped at my side as I kept fanning myself.
The only odd thing… was the red string tied around my wrist. The other end was wrapped gently in Yoriichi's hand.
No one seemed to notice.
But still… didn't anyone tell him what a red string meant?
I sighed, lowering my book just as Uzui called Tanjiro to open the supply box brought by the madam.
The lid creaked, and all eyes turned toward the contents inside.
At that moment, half-awake Zenitsu suddenly kicked Inosuke—who had been lying on top of him—off to the side. He groggily stood up, glaring at Uzui Tengen with watery, resentful eyes.
Zenitsu stretched his neck to peek inside the wooden box. His eyes widened as he saw the contents: piles of cosmetics. White foundation, brushes, tweezers, lipstick, false eyebrows, even earrings and hair ornaments.
Zenitsu looked at Tengen, who stood there with his usual smugness, and muttered with disgust:
"Fine… I get the cross-dressing part. But you're not seriously doing the makeup yourself, are you?"
Tengen froze for a second, then cracked his knuckles. "Hah?!" He slammed an uppercut into Zenitsu's jaw, sending him flying—and the punch also smacked into Inosuke, who was still knocked out.
"Any objections?!"
Boom!
Inosuke jolted awake, roaring, "Guwaah! Who hit me?! I'll tear you apart!!"
Tengen slowly turned his head toward him, eyes glowing with menace. "Huh…?"
Inosuke froze mid-roar. The words "I'll fight you" died in his throat. He silently shoved Zenitsu aside, slipped his boar mask back on, and obediently knelt on the tatami like nothing happened.
Zenitsu, however, didn't faint this time. He just lay on the floor, sulking. What would I even look like if Uzui did my makeup…?
Zenitsu's inner voice: "This guy already looks like a flashy corpse with eyeliner. No way I want him painting my face!"
Just then, another voice cut in:
"Go wash your faces. I'll handle the makeup."
I stepped up to the box and checked its contents. Some things were missing, but it was enough. Tengen didn't stop me—he looked relieved, actually. For him, this was a waste of time and effort.
"Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu—go wash up," I said. Then I turned my eyes toward a quiet figure watching from behind. "You too, Tsugikuni Yoriichi. You'll be first."
"Pffft!" Tengen, who had just taken a sip of tea, sprayed it everywhere. He gawked at me like I'd grown another head. "First is Yoriichi?! No way… Forget it, I don't even wanna get involved."
Yoriichi blinked in mild surprise but calmly nodded. "…Very well."
Soon, Yoriichi returned with his face washed, kneeling quietly before me. I sat on a small stool made of sunlight I'd conjured, looking down at him as I prepared the foundation. Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu leaned closer to watch.
You and your brother look the same. I already did your brother's makeup once… I wonder how you'll turn out… heh.
I tilted Yoriichi's chin up. His calm red eyes trembled faintly, but I ignored it and dabbed white powder across his face, smoothing it out with a cotton pad.
"Close your eyes," I said.
But Yoriichi kept them open, silently watching.
I shaped his sharp eyebrows into slender willow shapes, softening his face. Then I brushed on a faint pink eyeshadow and set aside the false lashes. "…Not needed. Your lashes are already long enough."
I dipped my brush in black paint and drew thin eyeliner, lengthening the edges of his eyes slightly.
Zenitsu gasped. "W-wait… is this still the same person?!"
Inosuke snorted through his boar mask. "Hmph. Who cares. You can't eat him anyway."
Tanjiro, ever earnest, sniffed the air. "His aura feels completely different… almost unrecognizable…"
Meanwhile, Tengen had already vanished into another room—likely removing his own gaudy makeup.
I leaned in close, holding Yoriichi's chin steady as I applied a soft blush. My face was so close he could feel my breath on his skin.
Yoriichi's inner thought: For a moment… it feels like time itself has stopped.
His eyes fluttered open. Our faces were only a finger's width apart. My focus was so intent I didn't notice. Embarrassed, Yoriichi quickly closed his eyes again.
"Now… lipstick."
I pressed a sheet of colored paper to his lips and had him purse them. A soft shine appeared—light pink, gentle, almost humanizing.
Finally, I dressed him in a simple women's kimono from the box, though it was too small. I adjusted it with a sash and left his haori draped over his shoulders.
When I stepped back, even I had to pause.
For a moment, Yoriichi looked less like a warrior and more like a delicate figure from a painting. My chest stirred faintly, though the feeling quickly passed.
"…Not bad," I murmured.