Shades of Blue — Chapter Eight
Fourteen Suns
"Oh my," Shinobu murmured to the empty veranda. "You have it very bad for our stoic swordsman, do you not?"
✦ Pairing — [Giyu x Reader]
✦ Rating — T
✦ Warnings/Tropes - [Protective Giyu, Runaway Reader, Yoshiwara District, Oiran Reader, Artist Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn, Badass Giyu, Giyu is Bad at Feelings, He Thinks Love is a Fever, Touch-Starved, He literally buys her freedom, Mutual Pining]
✦ Table of Contents
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Chapter Eight: Fourteen Suns
Two weeks had passed since you walked through the wooden gates of the Butterfly Mansion.
The rhythm of your new existence replaced the terrifying memories of the Yoshiwara. You traded suffocating layers of embroidered silk for a simple, breathable indigo yukata. You traded the biting scent of cheap incense for the crisp, clean aroma of boiling medicinal herbs and blooming wisteria. The estate operated on an unending cycle of healing and training, and you found yourself slipping into its flow with eager gratitude.
Your hands bore the evidence of this transformation. Tiny calluses formed on your palms from sweeping the wooden verandas and scrubbing linen sheets in the courtyard basins. The tasks proved gruelling during the first few days. As an Oiran, you never washed your own garments or hauled buckets of well water. Attendants managed every chore, treating you like a fragile porcelain doll meant only for display. Now, you possess agency over your own body and your own labour. The soreness in your muscles felt like a badge of honour, and you embraced the exhaustion because it belonged to you.
You found willing teachers in the estate's staff. Aoi governed the mansion's daily operations with a stern voice and an unyielding gaze, but her strict demeanour masked a caring heart. She demonstrated the proper way to fold bandages. She corrected your mistakes without cruelty, offering a firm nod of approval whenever you mastered a new task.
The younger girls—Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho—fluttered around the hallways like cheerful birds. They guided you through the sprawling estate, showing you where the kitchen stored the rice and where the laundry lines caught the best afternoon breeze. They treated you with a bright, earnest respect that warmed your spirit.
You even met Kanao, the quiet girl who trained under Shinobu. She rarely spoke, often staring at a small copper coin resting in her palm before deciding to interact. You found her silence comforting. During the chaos of the midday meal preparations, you and Kanao often washed vegetables side by side in companionable quiet.
Shinobu remained an elusive figure. She spent her days managing the infirmary, researching poisons, or vanishing on crucial corps missions. Whenever your paths crossed in the corridors, she offered a pleasant smile and asked about your well-being. Her kindness felt genuine, even if her purple eyes always seemed to calculate a hundred different variables at once.
Despite the bustling activity and your newfound freedom, an undeniable void occupied your chest. You missed Giyu.
Fourteen suns have risen and set since he walked out of the infirmary, leaving you with a promise to return. You found yourself pausing your chores whenever the front gates creaked open. Your eyes would scan the incoming slayers, searching the crowd for a glimpse of his mismatched haori. Every time you recognised a different uniform, a pang of disappointment settled in your throat.
One afternoon, while you hung damp bedsheets over the bamboo drying racks, Aoi paused beside you. She carried a woven basket filled with clean towels.
"You’re staring at the gate again," Aoi noted, her voice lacking any accusation but carrying a matter-of-fact bluntness.
You flushed, snapping your attention back to the wet fabric in your hands. "I’m sorry, Aoi-san. I was just—I was just watching the road."
"You’re waiting for Tomioka-sama," Aoi corrected, securing a towel to the line with a wooden peg. "He has not visited since he brought you here."
You smoothed the wrinkles from the damp sheet, fighting the knot forming in your throat. "Do you think he forgot? I know he has important duties, and I don’t wish to be a nuisance to him."
Aoi sighed, resting her hands on her hips. She looked at the front gate, her expression softening. "The Hashira shoulder the burdens of the entire corps. They don’t have the luxury of leisure. Tomioka-sama spends his days and nights hunting monsters that most people cannot even fathom. He travels from town to town, tracking rumours, clearing demon nests, and risking his life to ensure the sun rises on a safe world. He does not have time to socialise."
Her words hit you with sobering clarity, and you felt a twinge of guilt. Giyu had already sacrificed days of his time, diverted his travel route, and spent a fortune to buy your freedom. Expecting him to abandon his life-saving work just to visit you felt selfish. You owed him everything, yet you silently demanded more of his time.
"I understand," you murmured, clutching the wooden peg. "I took so much from him already. I should be grateful he delivered me here."
"You’re allowed to miss him," Aoi said quietly, picking up her basket. "Just remember that his absence is not a rejection. It is a necessity."
She walked away toward the infirmary, leaving you alone with the fluttering white sheets. Her reassurance offered a small comfort, but your heart remained stubborn. It wanted what it wanted. You missed his quiet voice, his steady presence, and the awkward, sincere way he called you his friend.
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You discovered your greatest joy lay in the mansion's vast gardens. The soil offered a grounding peace, and you spent your free hours pulling weeds from the medicinal herb beds and tending to the vibrant butterfly-weed flowers. The vibrant colours and the fresh air provided endless inspiration for your art.
You kept your promise to him. You painted.
Using the meagre supplies you carried from the Yoshiwara, you sat on a stone bench under the sprawling branches of an old pine tree. You painted the landscape first, capturing the elegant swoop of the mansion's roof, the lush green of the foliage, and the delicate purple clusters of the wisteria blooms.
Yet, the landscape still felt incomplete. Your brush hovered over the paper, guided by an unseen force. Instead of adding another butterfly, you began to trace the lines of a human face.
You poured your longing onto the canvas. You sketched the firm, stoic set of his jaw. You drew the unruly, spiky strands of his hair, remembering how the wind caught them during your carriage ride. You worked with meticulous care, ensuring every stroke conveyed the quiet strength you admired in him.
The most challenging task lay in capturing his eyes. You resorted to your previous method, gathering specific blue flowers from the garden edges. You crushed the petals in a small ceramic dish, blending the natural pigment with a drop of water. You applied the vivid azure colour to the paper, holding your breath as the ink settled.
The result stole your breath. The painting mirrored his essence with striking accuracy. The solemn line of his mouth, the broad shoulders draped in the mismatched haori, and those beautiful, sad blue eyes staring back at you. It was just a small token, a humble offering from a runaway, but you hoped it would convey the vast ocean of gratitude you held for him. You planned to present it to him the moment he walked through the gates.
While you focused on your canvas, a chaotic energy brewed on the opposite side of the courtyard. Three young slayers occupied the training grounds, swinging wooden swords and running through gruelling endurance drills.
They had noticed you, of course. You were a new face in a closed ecosystem.
Tanjiro, the boy wearing a checkered black and green haori, paused his sword swings to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He observed you sitting on the stone bench across the yard. You kept to yourself, always polite but remarkably quiet. You possessed an aura that fascinated him. You knelt in the dirt to tend the flowers with a grace that belonged in a royal palace. You held your posture with an elegant, contained authority. To Tanjiro, you resembled a hime-sama—a noble princess—who somehow wandered into a house of warriors.
His keen sense of smell picked up a scent that fueled his curiosity. Beneath the floral aroma of the garden and the clean soap on your skin, Tanjiro detected a familiar, underlying note. It smelled of cold rain, crisp pine, and sharp steel. It was Tomioka-san’s scent.
The scent faded a little more each day, but its presence remained undeniable. Tanjiro knew the Water Hashira. He knew Giyu avoided social interaction, preferring the solitude of his own company. For you to carry his scent so distinctly, the two of you must have shared a significant amount of time together. The implication made Tanjiro burn with curiosity, but his inherent politeness kept him from marching over and prying into your personal affairs.
His blonde companion possessed no such restraint.
Zenitsu slumped against a wooden training post, gasping for air. He turned his head, his tear-filled eyes scanning the garden for an excuse to escape the brutal workout. Then, his gaze landed on you.
Zenitsu stopped whining. His eyes enlarged to comical proportions as he stared at the gentle slope of your neck, the soft smile on your lips as you painted, and the vibrant flower tucked behind your ear.
"Tanjiro," Zenitsu whispered, his voice trembling with sheer awe. "Who is that?"
"She’s a new helper," Tanjiro replied, adjusting his grip on his wooden sword. "Shinobu-san took her in two weeks ago. Leave her be, Zenitsu. She’s focusing on her work."
"Focusing on her work?!" Zenitsu shrieked, his volume escalating to an ear-piercing pitch. "She is a goddess! She descended from the heavens to bless this miserable, dusty courtyard! Look at her! She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!"
The third boy, wearing a hollowed-out boar's head over his face, snorted loudly. "She looks weak! I bet I can beat her in a headbutt contest!"
"You will do no such thing, Inosuke!" Tanjiro scolded, waving his hands frantically.
"I must speak to her!" Zenitsu declared, ignoring them both. He dropped his wooden sword into the dirt. "I must introduce myself! I must ask for her hand in marriage before a demon eats me!"
Before Tanjiro could grab the back of his yellow haori, Zenitsu sprinted across the courtyard. He moved with staggering speed, a blur of lightning and desperation.
You sat on the bench, putting the final touches on Giyu's haori when the peaceful silence of the garden was shattered.
"PLEASE MARRY ME!"
You gasped, jumping in your seat. A blonde boy slid across the gravel on his knees, coming to a halt just inches from your feet. Tears streamed down his face in waterfalls, and he reached his hands out toward you, begging like a starving man offered a banquet.
"My name is Agatsuma Zenitsu!" he wailed, staring up at you with wide, frantic eyes. "You are an angel! Please, save me from my miserable, lonely existence! Promise you will be my wife!"
You froze, clutching your wooden painting board to your chest. Your heart hammered against your ribs. The unhinged energy radiating from the boy triggered your defensive instincts, and you pressed your back against the trunk of the pine tree, unsure if you should run or call for Aoi.
"Zenitsu!"
A second boy arrived, his checkered haori billowing behind him. Tanjiro didn’t hesitate. He raised his hand and delivered a swift chop to the back of Zenitsu's neck.
Zenitsu's eyes rolled back. He crumpled forward, his face planting directly into the gravel with a soft thud.
Tanjiro bowed at the waist, bending so far forward his forehead nearly scraped the ground. "I am so sorry! Please forgive my friend! He lacks manners and self-control! He did not mean to frighten you!"
"Fight me!" Inosuke bellowed, charging into the garden and pointing a wooden sword at your face. "I challenge you, woman!"
"Inosuke, stop it!" Tanjiro yelled, grabbing the boar-headed boy by the waist and hauling him backwards. "She is not a slayer! You cannot challenge the staff!"
You watched the chaotic scene unfold. The blonde boy lay unconscious at your feet. The boy in the boar mask thrashed against the grip of the polite, checkered-clad boy. The absurdity of the situation cracked the tension in your chest. They weren’t threats; they were just eccentric, loud children.
You relaxed your shoulders, letting out a soft sigh. "It’s fine. You don’t need to apologise. He just startled me."
"I swear he is harmless," Tanjiro insisted, maintaining his deep bow. He hauled Zenitsu up by the collar of his uniform, dragging the unconscious boy upright.
As you shifted your weight to stand up, your grip on the wooden board loosened. A stray breeze swept through the garden. The thick sheet of pressed paper slipped from beneath your fingers. It fluttered through the air, drifting toward the three boys.
You lunged forward, swiping your hand through the space, but you were a fraction of a second too late.
The paper landed face-up on the gravel, right beside Tanjiro's sandals.
Tanjiro glanced down at the fallen artwork, intending to retrieve it for you, and his maroon eyes widened at what he saw.
Inosuke stopped thrashing, and he leaned over Tanjiro's shoulder, with the snout of his boar mask hovering over the paper.
Zenitsu groaned, blinking his eyes open. He rubbed the back of his sore neck, looking down at the ground to see what captured his friends' attention.
The three boys stared at the vibrant, meticulously detailed portrait of Tomioka Giyu.
"Is that—" Tanjiro started, his voice trailing off into a squeak of disbelief.
"The Water Hashira?" Zenitsu finished, his jaw dropping so far it practically unhinged.
"Mismatched-haori!" Inosuke grunted, recognising the stoic face immediately.
A volcanic heat erupted across your face. Your cheeks burned with the intensity of a blazing furnace, and you scrambled forward, dropping to your knees on the gravel. You snatched the paper from the dirt, pulling it securely against your chest to hide the artwork from their prying eyes.
"I must go!" you blurted out, your voice trembling with mortification.
You did not wait for a response. You gathered your bamboo brushes and your small dish of crushed petals in a frantic rush. You hiked up the hem of your yukata and scurried away, fleeing down the stone path toward the safety of the kitchen.
Tanjiro stood frozen in the garden, watching you retreat. His mind raced, connecting the dots. The lingering scent of cold rain. The secretive, quiet demeanour. The undeniable affection poured into the flawless portrait of the most unapproachable man in the Demon Slayer Corps.
Tanjiro was more curious now than ever.
High above the courtyard, seated gracefully on the polished wooden planks of the engawa, Shinobu took a slow sip from her porcelain teacup.
She observed the entire spectacle.
She watched Zenitsu's dramatic slide, Tanjiro's swift intervention, and the fluttering descent of the paper. With her keen eyesight, she easily recognised the subject of your painting before you snatched it away. She watched the vibrant blush consume your face and witnessed your desperate, flustered sprint toward the back of the mansion.
Shinobu lowered her teacup to her lap. A slow, highly amused smile stretched across her lips, reaching all the way to her multifaceted purple eyes.
"Oh my," Shinobu murmured to the empty veranda. "You have it very bad for our stoic swordsman, do you not?"
She chuckled softly, the sound resembling the tinkling of silver bells. The situation was simply too rich to ignore. The aloof, unbothered Water Hashira had a beautiful woman painting romantic portraits of him in her garden, and the woman in question possessed a crush just as severe as his own.
Shinobu looked up at the sky, noting the position of the sun. It dipped lower toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the estate.
There was a mandatory Hashira meeting scheduled for this evening at the Ubuyashiki estate. Giyu would be in attendance.
Shinobu hummed a cheerful melody, picking up her teacup once more. She could not wait to see him tonight. The opportunity to tease him with this newly acquired information was a gift she intended to exploit to the fullest.
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That Evening…
Giyu travelled beneath a sprawling canopy of cedar branches, his sandals crunching against the dirt path. Moonlight bled through the leaves, casting long, fractured shadows across the road. He just wrapped up a demon hunt near a remote mountain village, severing the creature’s neck with an effortless strike. Now, he needed to reach headquarters. The mandatory Hashira meeting loomed, and he refused to incur a reprimand for tardiness.
Kanzaburo circled overhead, flapping his black wings and ruining the quiet night air. The crow squawked relentless warnings about the time, scolding Giyu for his moderate pace. The old bird’s memory operated on a fractured, unpredictable logic. Kanzaburo forgot the location of the previous mission halfway through their trek, yet he recalled every single detail about you.
"Are we visiting the Butterfly Mansion tonight? Caw! We need to see the pretty lady!" Kanzaburo yelled, diving low to brush the fabric of Giyu's haori. "She likes Kanzaburo! We should go see her right now!"
"Quiet," Giyu muttered, keeping his gaze fixed on the winding road. "We're going to Oyakata-sama's estate. Don't distract me."
"You miss her! Caw! Giyu misses the pretty lady!" the crow teased, soaring higher into the night sky to avoid any retaliatory swats from his master.
Giyu didn't voice a response. He didn't want to admit it, but he shared the crow's impatience. He hadn't stopped thinking about you for two weeks. Your absence left a strange, hollow ache in his chest. He spent his lonely nights in the wild worrying about your adjustment to the demanding chores at the Butterfly Mansion. He wondered if the lingering trauma of the entertainment district kept you awake, or if the loud, chaotic nature of the young slayers frightened you.
He forced those anxious thoughts aside, relying on cold logic to soothe his nerves. Shinobu ran a secure and guarded compound. If anything threatened your safety or if you fell ill, the Insect Hashira would send a messenger immediately. No news meant good news. He trusted her medical expertise and her fierce protectiveness over her staff.
Still, logic couldn't extinguish the longing in his blood. He missed you terribly. He missed the soft cadence of your voice. He missed the shy, radiant smile you gave him in the clinic when he called you a friend. He told himself he was merely checking on a civilian he rescued, but the flutter in his stomach exposed the lie. He was happy knowing you were safe, but he selfishly wanted to see you thrive with his own eyes.
The crunch of his footsteps triggered a memory from two weeks ago. After he left you in Shinobu's care, he travelled straight to headquarters to deliver his mission report to Oyakata-sama.
He knelt on the tatami mats before his master, the scent of wisteria incense filling the quiet room. He laid out the facts of his delayed arrival. He explained the rainstorm, the disguise, the Yoshiwara mercenaries, and the trunk of yen he utilised to sever your chains. He braced himself for a severe lecture. A Hashira's duty belonged to the eradication of demons, not intervening in civilian financial disputes.
Instead, Ubuyashiki smiled. The gentle leader radiated a soothing warmth that settled the nervous tension in Giyu's shoulders.
"You did well, Giyu," Ubuyashiki said softly, his blind eyes crinkling at the corners. "The Demon Slayer Corps exists to protect human lives. You didn't face a demon of the night, but you rescued her from the demons of her past. You gave a frightened soul a second chance at life. Despite her origins, she deserves peace. I'm very proud of you."
Giyu exhaled a breath he didn't know he held. He bowed deeper, pressing his forehead toward the floor. "Thank you, Oyakata-sama."
A brief silence stretched across the room before Ubuyashiki spoke again. A quiet, knowing amusement laced his tone.
"I must confess, my child, I was quite concerned earlier this week," Ubuyashiki murmured. "A rather scandalous rumour reached my ears before your arrival. The Kakushi whispered that you emptied your personal vaults to purchase a prostitute from the entertainment district for your own pleasure."
Giyu froze. The blood drained from his face, only to rush back in a scorching wave of mortification. The rumour hadn't just infected the Water Estate and the Butterfly Mansion. It breached the walls of the Ubuyashiki estate. It reached the ears of the man he respected most in the world. Anger flared in his chest toward his senile Kasugai crow, mingling with his profound embarrassment.
"That isn't true!" Giyu blurted out, losing his usual stoic composure. He gripped the fabric of his uniform pants, his knuckles turning white. "My crow delivered a mangled message to the estate. I didn't buy a companion. I bought her freedom. I did my best to quell the gossip, but the Kakushi spread it faster than a wildfire. I swear on my blade, Oyakata-sama, my intentions were honourable."
Ubuyashiki chuckled. It was a melodic, bright sound that eased the panic in Giyu's throat. "I know, Giyu. Your testimony clarified the situation, and I'm relieved to hear the truth."
The master tilted his head, resting his chin on his hand. "Though, it remains an extraordinary occurrence. You rarely extend your hand so far for a stranger. You spent a fortune and rearranged your life to ensure her safety. Tell me, Giyu, are you developing romantic feelings for this young woman?"
Giyu felt his face ignite. His cheeks burned with the heat of a roaring forge. He was immensely thankful his master lacked eyesight, because his blush rivalled the crimson fabric of his own haori.
"No," Giyu lied, his voice tighter than a stretched bowstring. "She just needed help. I felt a duty to assist a civilian in peril. There is no… feelings involved. I'm simply a slayer doing my job."
"I see," Ubuyashiki murmured, the smile never leaving his lips. "Well, whatever your reasons, I'm thrilled you found someone who brings a bit of light into your world. You deserve companionship, my child."
Giyu left that meeting feeling exposed, certain his master saw right through his flimsy denial. In the two weeks that followed, he threw himself into his missions. He hunted demons with relentless efficiency, using the thrill of combat to distract his racing mind. Yet, during the quiet moments of the night, his thoughts drifted back to the garden at the Butterfly Mansion. He wondered if you actually painted the landscape for him. He hoped you did.
Now, as the sprawling walls of the Ubuyashiki estate loomed in the distance, Giyu solidified his plans for the evening. He would endure the Hashira meeting. He would deliver his strategic updates, listen to his peers, and slip away the second Oyakata-sama dismissed them. He intended to visit the Butterfly Estate tonight. He wanted to spend some time with you, away from the chaos of the outside world. If you were already sleeping, he would rest in the courtyard until the morning sun woke you.
Giyu stepped through the wooden gates of the headquarters. The courtyard buzzed with a quiet energy. He was the last to arrive. The other eight Hashira already stood in the gravel yard, waiting for their master to appear on the veranda.
The crunch of his sandals drew their attention. Eight pairs of eyes locked onto his approaching figure.
Rengoku stood tall, his fiery hair catching the glow of the paper lanterns. Mitsuri fidgeted with her braided pink hair, whispering something to Obanai, who sat perched in the branches of a nearby pine tree. Muichiro stared at a passing cloud, lost in his own world. Gyomei rubbed his wooden prayer beads together, silent tears tracking down his broad cheeks. Sanemi crossed his scarred arms, glaring at the ground with his usual hostility. Tengen leaned against a wooden pillar, adorned in glittering jewels that caught the moonlight.
And Shinobu stood near the front, wearing a smile that spelt impending doom.
Giyu spotted the wicked glint in her purple eyes. She knew something. She observed the incident in the garden with the young slayers, and she planned to use it to tease him tonight. She thrived on utilising an audience to maximize his discomfort. He braced himself for it, keeping his face an unreadable mask as he joined the semicircle of elite warriors.
But before Shinobu could open her mouth to deliver a remark, a blur of silver and gems rushed across the yard.
"Tomioka!" Tengen shouted, his voice booming through the quiet night.
The Sound Hashira threw a sturdy, muscular arm over Giyu's shoulders. The force of the enthusiastic embrace nearly tipped Giyu off his feet. He stumbled, catching his balance just before he face-planted into the gravel.
"I didn't believe it when I heard the whispers!" Tengen laughed, squeezing Giyu's shoulder with a vice-like grip. "I thought you were far too plain for such a flamboyant move! But my wives heard the Kakushi gossiping in town, and they swear it's true!"
Giyu pushed Tengen's arm away, scowling at the taller man. He swatted at his uniform to smooth the wrinkles. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play coy with me!" Tengen cheered, pointing a dramatic finger at Giyu's chest. "You bought yourself a woman from the Yoshiwara! And not just any cheap streetwalker! They say you bought an Oiran! An actual, top-tier Oiran! You emptied your vaults for a night of unbridled passion! I'm impressed by your flashy taste!"
The courtyard went dead silent.
The wind stopped blowing. The crickets ceased their chirping. The other Hashira stared at Giyu in a state of unadulterated shock.
"A Yoshiwara Oiran?!" Rengoku boomed, his golden eyes wide with astonishment. "That is an expensive investment, Tomioka! I did not realise you possessed such extravagant desires!"
Mitsuri gasped, covering her bright red face with both hands. "Oh my goodness! Tomioka-san went to the red-light district? That's so scandalous!"
"Disgusting," Obanai hissed from the tree branch, his dual-colored eyes narrowing with disdain. His snake, Kaburamaru, hissed in agreement. "To think a Hashira would stoop to mingling with the filth of the entertainment district. It makes my skin crawl. You bring shame to your rank."
Gyomei rubbed his beads faster, bowing his head. "Your soul, led astray by the fleeting desires of the flesh. I pray for your spiritual recovery."
Muichiro blinked, tearing his gaze away from the clouds. "What is an Oiran?"
Giyu stood frozen in the centre of the yard as his mortification flared into a bright, stinging irritation. Kanzaburo's stupid mistake refused to die. The rumour mutated, growing more extravagant and distorted with every retelling. He glared up at the sky, wishing he could pluck his crow from the air and roast him over an open fire.
"Uzui," Giyu started, his voice a low, dangerous warning. "You're speaking nonsense. I didn't buy a companion."
"Don't lie to us, Tomioka," Sanemi sneered, stepping forward. The Wind Hashira cracked his knuckles, a cruel smirk twisting his scarred face. "I always knew you were a quiet, arrogant freak, but I didn't peg you for a desperate pervert."
Giyu turned his glare toward Sanemi. "Watch your mouth, Shinazugawa. You don't know the facts."
"I know enough," Sanemi shot back, his voice rising in volume. He stepped closer, eager for a confrontation. His hand hovered near his sword hilt. "You paid for a Yoshiwara whore. You tainted your honour as a Hashira for a filthy streetwalker who sells herself for coin. She belongs in the gutter, like the trash she is."
The words struck Giyu like a drawn blade.
A blinding rage ignited in his chest. He pictured your kind smile. He remembered the terrified tears tracking through the dirt on your cheeks, and the gentle, hesitant way you painted his portrait using crushed flowers. You weren't filth. You were a survivor forced into a nightmare, fighting for a scrap of freedom. He would not let this scarred loudmouth degrade you in front of the entire corps.
Giyu snapped.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Sanemi in a fraction of a second. His hand gripped the wrapped hilt of his Nichirin sword. He didn't draw the blade, but the lethal pressure he unleashed washed over the yard. The temperature dropped. The gravel crunched under his sandals as he leaned in, his blue eyes burning with a cold, murderous fury.
"Say another word about her," Giyu threatened, his voice dropping to a freezing, guttural whisper that promised violence. "Say one more word, Shinazugawa, and I'll break your jaw."
Sanemi's eyes widened in genuine surprise. He never saw the Water Hashira display this level of raw emotion. But his aggressive nature took over instantly. His own hand flew to his sword hilt. "Try it, you pathetic bastard! I'll cut you down right here!"
"Stop this at once!" Rengoku shouted, stepping between the two furious men with his arms raised.
But before Rengoku could intervene further, clapping echoed across the yard.
Shinobu stood on the edge of the group, a serene smile plastered across her face. "My, my. It seems the rumour mill has caused quite a stir. Please release your weapons, gentlemen. Oyakata-sama will arrive soon, and he frowns upon bloodshed in his garden."
Giyu didn't move his hand. He kept his lethal glare locked on Sanemi, refusing to back down while you were being insulted.
Shinobu sighed, shaking her head. Her butterfly haori fluttered in the night breeze. "Shinazugawa-san, you're operating on false information. Tengen-san, your flamboyant sources failed you. Tomioka-san didn't purchase a prostitute."
The tension in the yard wavered. Sanemi frowned, shooting a confused glance at the Insect Hashira. "Then where did these rumours come from?"
"They came from Tomioka-san's incompetent crow," Shinobu explained. "Tomioka-san encountered a civilian hiding in a tree during a storm. She had committed ashinuke to escape a horrific life she inherited from her mother. She was hunted by mercenaries, and Tomioka-san intervened. He marched into the district, paid off her legal debts to sever her contract, and brought her to my estate for sanctuary. She isn't a lady of the night. She is a refugee, and she works in my gardens. She is a kind, hardworking girl."
Silence returned to the courtyard. The Hashira absorbed the truth, reevaluating the stoic man standing among them.
Tengen rubbed the back of his neck, looking mildly embarrassed for jumping to conclusions. "A rescue mission? You spent your own fortune to buy a girl's freedom from a brothel?"
Mitsuri clamped her hands over her heart, her green eyes shining with fresh tears. "Oh, Tomioka-san! That's the most romantic, heroic thing I've ever heard! You're a knight in shining armour! You saved her from a terrible fate!"
"It wasn't romantic," Giyu muttered, finally dropping his hand from his sword hilt. He stepped away from Sanemi, his anger cooling into a weary frustration. "She needed help. I did what was required."
Obanai scoffed from the tree, though the venom left his voice. "A foolish waste of money. But slightly less disgusting than the alternative. Try keeping your crow on a tighter leash."
Sanemi unhanded his weapon, clicking his tongue in annoyance. He refused to apologise, but he took a step back, breaking the hostile standoff. "Whatever. Next time, tell your stupid bird to learn how to speak properly before he causes a riot."
Giyu ignored the Wind Hashira. He turned his gaze toward Shinobu. She offered him a knowing, teasing wink. She saved him from a brawl, but he knew she planned to collect on this favour later. She possessed a weapon now, armed with the knowledge of your secret garden portrait, and she wouldn't hesitate to use it against him.
The sliding doors of the main estate opened. Two young girls with stark white hair stepped out onto the veranda, holding glowing paper lanterns.
"Oyakata-sama has arrived," they announced in unison.
The nine Hashira dropped to one knee, bowing their heads in unison. Giyu forced his erratic heart to calm down. The meeting would begin now. He needed to endure the strategy discussions, report his recent patrol, and bide his time.
The meeting commenced with the standard strategic reports. Rengoku delivered a booming summary of demon activity near the eastern rail lines, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Tengen outlined an upcoming infiltration mission, boasting about the flamboyant tactics his wives planned to employ. Sanemi grumbled about uncooperative local magistrates hindering his patrols in the western mountains.
Throughout the discussions, Giyu maintained a rigid posture. He kept his eyes locked on the pebbles beneath his sandals. He felt the burning curiosity of his peers directed at him. They knew the truth now. The scandalous rumour regarding a purchased Yoshiwara companion died in the dirt, replaced by a reality they found far more fascinating. The solitary, unapproachable Water Hashira harboured a runaway civilian at the Butterfly Mansion. He felt their sidelong glances, the unspoken questions hanging in the crisp night air. He ignored them, focusing solely on the cadence of his master's voice.
His turn arrived. Giyu delivered a concise report of his recent kill in a remote mountain village. He detailed the demon's blood art, the terrain, and the clean severance of its neck. He offered no superfluous details, keeping his tone flat and professional.
Eventually, the reports concluded, and Uuyashiki praised their collective efforts, his blind eyes crinkling with a warm, serene smile that eased the tension in the courtyard. He dismissed the group, signalling the end of the formal gathering.
Before the Hashira could rise to their feet, Ubuyashiki turned his gentle face toward the end of the line.
"Giyu," Ubuyashiki said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the yard.
Giyu kept his head bowed. "Yes, Oyakata-sama."
"You pushed yourself quite hard these past few weeks," Ubuyashiki noted, a quiet amusement lacing his tone. "Your mission logs show a relentless pace. You travelled vast distances without taking a single night to recover."
"It is my duty," Giyu replied, his throat tightening.
"Duty sustains us, but rest heals us," Ubuyashiki countered, his smile widening a fraction. "I am granting you two days off. You need to take a break. I suggest you head over to the Butterfly Mansion to rest up. The gardens there are beautiful this time of year, and I hear the company is quite pleasant."
A scorching heat surged up Giyu's neck, flooding his cheeks and ears crimson. His master was playing matchmaker in front of the entire Demon Slayer Corps. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the gravel would open up and swallow him whole. He tried to hide his burning face, keeping his forehead pointed toward the ground, but the reaction was impossible to conceal.
The courtyard erupted in hushed, chaotic reactions.
Mitsuri squealed, slapping both hands over her mouth to muffle her delighted giggles. Tengen snickered loudly, the jewelled ornaments on his headbands clinking together as his shoulders shook. Rengoku offered a booming, hearty chuckle that rattled the paper lanterns.
Gyomei pressed his wooden prayer beads between his palms, tears streaming down his face. "Ah, the blossoming of young affection. It warms my soul to see a lonely heart find solace. I shall pray for their happiness."
Obanai scoffed from his spot near the veranda. His dual-colored eyes narrowed with palpable disdain, and his white snake hissed in agreement. "Taking time off to play house with a civilian. How pathetic. The demons don't take holidays."
"Leave him alone, Iguro-san!" Mitsuri scolded softly, her green eyes shining. "It's wonderful! Tomioka-san deserves to smile!"
Sanemi clicked his tongue, crossing his scarred arms. "He deserves a wooden training sword to the head. We are at war. This isn't a romance novel."
Muichiro blinked at a moth fluttering near a lantern. "Who is in a romance novel?"
Giyu wanted to draw his blade and sever his own ears. He pushed himself off the gravel, standing up with a swift, jerky motion. He bowed rigidly to his master.
"Thank you, Oyakata-sama," Giyu choked out, his voice strained. "I will take my leave."
He pivoted on his heel, eager to escape the suffocating yard and the prying eyes of his peers. He intended to sprint all the way to the Butterfly Mansion. He needed to see you. He needed to escape this chaotic interrogation.
"Hold on, Tomioka-san."
A small, firm hand grabbed the sleeve of his uniform. Giyu stopped in his tracks. He turned his head, glaring down at Shinobu. The Insect Hashira stood beside him, a serene, predatory smile plastered across her face.
"Let go of me, Kocho," Giyu warned, keeping his voice low.
Shinobu released his sleeve, smoothing the fabric of her butterfly haori. "You are in a rush. I assume you are heading to my estate?"
"That is my destination," Giyu confirmed, glancing toward the open gates.
"You will be disappointed," Shinobu chirped, her purple eyes sparkling with mischief. "She is already sleeping. I checked on her right before I left for the meeting. She was tucked into her futon, sound asleep."
A sharp pang of disappointment struck Giyu's chest. He missed you. He spent the last fourteen days visualizing your face, wondering if the trauma of the Yoshiwara still haunted your dreams. He wanted to sit on the engawa with you, sharing the quiet night air.
"I will wake her," Giyu decided, taking a step forward.
"You will do no such thing," Shinobu scolded, stepping into his path again. "She works hard, Tomioka-san. Harder than you realise. You aren't going to ruin her rest just because you lack patience."
The other Hashira, possessing exceptional hearing, shamelessly eavesdropped on the conversation. They abandoned their own departures, inching closer to listen to the drama unfold.
"What kind of work does she do?" Mitsuri asked, leaning in with wide, sparkling eyes.
Shinobu turned to address the group, clearly relishing the audience. "She is incredibly helpful. She isn't used to any manual labour, given her previous life, but she possesses a fierce determination. She scrubbed the wooden verandas until her palms blistered. She washes the linen sheets. She assists Aoi with the meal preparations for the recovering slayers. She learns fast, and she never complains."
Giyu listened to Shinobu detail your daily life. A swell of protective pride bloomed in his chest. You survived a gilded cage, and now you were building a real, honest life with your own two hands. You were stronger than anyone gave you credit for.
"A hardworking woman!" Rengoku shouted, nodding his head in firm approval. "A strong work ethic is the foundation of a good spirit! You chose well, Tomioka!"
"I didn't choose her," Giyu muttered, his face heating up again. "She is just a friend."
Tengen threw an arm around Giyu's shoulders again, leaning in close. "A friend who cleans and cooks for your coworker? That is a flamboyant step toward domestic bliss. You should buy her some flashy jewellery to reward her efforts."
Giyu shoved Tengen's arm away, scowling at the Sound Hashira. "I don't need your advice."
"She doesn't want jewellery," Shinobu interjected, steering the conversation back to her preferred topic. She looked directly at Giyu, her smile widening into a teasing grin. "She prefers her art supplies. She was painting today in the garden."
Giyu's heart skipped erratically in his chest, and his breath hitched in his throat. You painted today. He remembered the promise you made in the clinic, your radiant smile as you swore to paint the landscape for his next visit. You kept your word.
"Ohhh, she is an artist!" Mitsuri gasped, clasping her hands over her heart. "That is so elegant! I want to meet her! Do you think she would paint a portrait of me and Iguro-san? I would love to make a new friend!"
Obanai scoffed from the background, though the tips of his ears turned pink at the mention of a couple's portrait.
"I am sure she would love to meet you, Mitsuri-san," Shinobu replied warmly. Then, her tone shifted, adopting a dramatic, cautionary edge. She focused her multifaceted eyes back on Giyu. "Though, she did have quite a chaotic afternoon. She had a rather startling encounter with three of our junior slayers."
Giyu's muscles coiled tight. His hand drifted instinctively toward the hilt of his Nichirin sword. "Who?"
"Kamado, Agatsuma, and Hashibira," Shinobu listed, ticking the names off on her slender fingers.
A spike of irritation pierced Giyu's calm exterior. He knew those three. Tanjiro possessed a good heart, but the blonde boy and the boar-headed menace attracted chaos like a magnet.
"What happened?" Giyu demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble.
Shinobu recounted the spectacle with vivid, theatrical detail. "She was sitting on the stone bench, focusing on her canvas. Agatsuma spotted her from the training yard. You know how he gets around women. He sprinted across the gravel, slid on his knees, and begged her to marry him at the top of his lungs. He terrified the poor girl."
Giyu's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. He pictured the loud, obnoxious blonde boy harassing you, invading your peaceful space in the garden. A fierce, territorial spark ignited in his blood. He decided right then and there to assign Agatsuma gruelling, unending evasion drills the next time they crossed paths. The boy needed to learn manners.
"I will discipline him," Giyu stated flatly, his fingers tightening around his scabbard.
"Kamado already handled it," Shinobu laughed, waving a dismissive hand. "He chopped Agatsuma on the neck and knocked him unconscious. Then Hashibira charged in, waving his wooden swords and challenging her to a duel. It was a spectacular mess."
"Is she unharmed?" Giyu pressed, ignoring the amused snickers from Tengen.
"She is fine," Shinobu assured him. "She realised they were just foolish boys. But during the commotion, she dropped her painting on the gravel."
Shinobu leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper that easily carried to the listening Hashira.
"It wasn't a landscape, Tomioka-san," Shinobu teased, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "It was a portrait. A very detailed, very flattering portrait of you. The boys recognised your grumpy face immediately. She snatched it up and ran away, blushing."
The courtyard erupted again. Tengen whistled a loud, piercing note. Rengoku cheered. Mitsuri practically swooned into Obanai's side.
Giyu stood frozen, trapped in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He felt a deep, profound mortification at having his personal life broadcast to the nosiest warriors in Japan. But beneath the embarrassment, a radiant joy expanded in his chest. You didn't just paint the garden; you spent your free hours committing his face to paper. You thought about him, just as he thought about you.
He didn't care about the teasing anymore. He just wanted to see you.
"I am going to the estate," Giyu declared, stepping around Shinobu.
"Stop by in the morning," Shinobu advised, her teasing tone softening into genuine instruction. "She wakes up at sunrise to help start the kitchen fires. You will find her in the courtyard. She will be pleasantly surprised to see you, assuming you don't scowl at her."
Giyu paused. He weighed his options. Waking you in the middle of the night was selfish. He needed you to be rested and happy. Plus, waiting until sunrise gave him time to retrieve the gift he secured during his travels.
"I will come in the morning," Giyu agreed. He bowed his head slightly to the Insect Hashira. "Thank you for the update, Kocho."
He didn't wait for another round of jokes from Tengen or complaints from Sanemi. He turned his back on his peers and strode out of the Ubuyashiki courtyard, his pace brisk and determined.
The walk to his own estate offered a quiet reprieve. The cool night wind brushed against his heated cheeks, slowly calming the frantic rhythm of his heart. He navigated the familiar dirt roads, his mind occupied by the prospect of tomorrow.
He had something he wanted to give you.
Two days ago, after tracking a demon through a bustling coastal merchant town, he stumbled upon a high-end artisan market. He spotted a vendor selling specialised art supplies imported from the capital. He remembered your meagre tools—the single block of cheap ink, the frayed bamboo brushes, the desperate way you crushed flower petals just to find a trace of colour.
He spent a ridiculous sum of money at that stall. He bought a polished wooden box lined with velvet. Inside, he packed ceramic dishes filled with premium, vibrant pigments. Lapis lazuli for a true, striking blue. Malachite for rich greens. Cinnabar for vivid reds. He purchased fine brushes crafted from wolf and badger hair, designed for delicate, precise strokes. He didn't know much about painting, but he knew you deserved the best tools money could buy.
Giyu arrived at the Water Estate. The wooden gates groaned as he pushed them open. The sprawling compound sat in total darkness, silent and empty. He lived alone, employing Kakushi only for daytime maintenance. The isolation usually felt comforting, a quiet sanctuary away from the blood and noise of his profession. Tonight, it just felt cold.
He slid the front door open, discarding his sandals at the threshold. He walked through the dark corridors, his bare feet padding softly against the polished wood.
He intended to draw a hot bath to wash the grime of his mission away. He intended to eat a simple dinner of cold rice and fish. He needed to rest, just as Oyakata-sama instructed.
Instead, he walked directly to his private quarters and sat on the centre tatami mat.
He reached inside the breast pocket of his dark slayer uniform. His fingers brushed against a folded square of pressed paper. He pulled it out, handling it with extreme, delicate care.
It was the portrait you painted at the inn. The crushed-flower masterpiece.
He unfolded the paper, holding it up to catch the pale moonlight filtering through his window. The paper bore several creases now. The edges felt soft and worn. He looked at it multiple times a day during his travels. He stared at it while sitting near campfires, while resting in the branches of tall trees, and while enduring the endless, lonely hours of the night.
He studied the ink lines forming his jaw. He traced the vibrant, sapphire blue petals you mashed to capture his eyes. He cherished this piece of paper. It was tangible proof that someone in this world looked at him and saw something worthy of preservation.
He thought about the new painting waiting for him at the Butterfly Mansion. He thought about Agatsuma making you blush, and the fierce urge he felt to stand between you and the rest of the world.
He carefully folded the paper, tucking it safely back into his pocket, right against his chest.
Giyu looked toward his window, staring at the dark sky, waiting for the first hint of dawn. For the first time since he was a young boy, a genuine, thrilling excitement coursed through his veins.
He couldn't wait for the sun to rise.
To Be Continued...
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