The wind stopped.
The shriek of that slash still seemed to echo in everyone's ears, yet the courtyard itself had already fallen into a deathly hush.
Shinazugawa Sanemi stood frozen in place. His pupils slowly dilated, reflecting the boy's calm, unruffled expression.
That flash of steel from a moment ago had branded itself into his mind—so deeply that even now, it refused to fade.
…He lost?
As the Wind Hashira—after striking with everything he had—he'd been disarmed in a single move by a brat who didn't even have a uniform?
"You've got to be… kidding…!!"
A low, strangled growl clawed its way out of his throat.
Humiliation. Rage. And a primal fear of overwhelming power—all of it spread through his chest like poison.
"Sanemi!"
Just as he teetered on the brink of snapping and charging in barehanded, a gentle voice—soft, yet impossible to defy—cut through the tension.
"That's enough. Calm yourself."
Though Kagaya Ubuyashiki could not see, the moment his voice rang out, the beast that was about to erupt was soothed into stillness.
In an even tone, he said, "The outcome is decided. Tanjirō had no intention of harming you. Step back."
"My lord!!"
But Sanemi whirled around, eyes red with indignation, his voice dark and tight.
"This kid's swordsmanship is strange, sure—but that proves nothing…! The box on his back contains a demon!"
"As long as it's a demon, it will eat humans. That is an absolute law!"
Tanjirō's sister had become a demon, and yet this boy still believed—without wavering—that his sister would not harm anyone.
Sanemi could not accept it. Not ever.
If he admitted that a demon could refrain from eating humans, then everything he had sacrificed to kill demons—everything… even the agony of killing his own mother after she turned—what would it all mean?
Agony and turmoil packed his chest until he could barely breathe. Sanemi glared at Yoriichi, vicious enough to bite.
"Even if he's strong—strong like some kind of monster… that still doesn't guarantee that demon won't lose control!"
This time he didn't hesitate.
He grabbed at his own arm. His nails tore through skin.
Spurt.
Blood sprayed out.
He roughly squeezed the wound, letting the "rare blood"—irresistible to demons—spill freely, dripping onto the white gravel and releasing a thick, sweet stench.
Staring straight into Yoriichi's eyes, he said coldly, "If you're claiming she won't eat people… then prove it to me."
He didn't believe any demon could stay rational in the face of his blood.
Yet in the face of this near-mad, almost senseless display, Yoriichi did not move to stop him.
He only watched the man's distorted expression in silence. In those clear, dark-red eyes, the pity deepened.
"If you don't do this," he asked softly, "will your heart never know peace?"
With a quiet sigh, Yoriichi turned slightly, stepping aside and clearing the path in front of the wooden box.
"If that is what you need… then go ahead."
"But I hope you understand—my sister is unlike any demon you have ever encountered."
Sanemi didn't hesitate for a heartbeat.
He strode toward the box, holding his bleeding arm out.
Thump. Thump.
As if catching the scent of blood, a faint movement came from within.
Then the heavy wooden door creaked open. A pale hand gripped the edge.
Nezuko slowly crawled out. Her body rose and fell with her breathing—and the instant she touched the air steeped with blood, her pink pupils contracted sharply.
Her nostrils twitched.
She smelled it…
The scent of rare blood.
To a demon, it was the finest delicacy—a temptation so extreme it could shatter reason in an instant.
A hungry, yearning sound rumbled in her throat. Saliva welled uncontrollably.
Her gaze locked onto Sanemi's bleeding arm. Veins stood out on her forehead—an ugly sign of ferocious restraint.
"See? That's a demon's true nature!"
Sanemi's eyes lit with a more frenzied gleam as he shoved his arm even closer.
"Come on! You want it, don't you? You can't stand it, can you?! Then lunge at me already!!"
He wanted to prove it to everyone: a demon was a demon.
There were no exceptions.
The atmosphere in the courtyard tightened to the breaking point.
At that moment, most of the Hashira had already passed a silent death sentence on the demon girl.
Even Kanroji Mitsuri—who had only just been drawn to the boy's swordsmanship—covered her mouth, unable to bear what she thought would come next.
These were Hashira—people who lived and fought among demons. They all understood what the Wind Hashira's blood meant.
Rare blood among rare blood.
To a starving demon, it was like placing a cup of sweet water before a traveler dying of thirst in the desert.
Iguro Obanai's hand was already on his sword hilt, muscles taut.
If Nezuko made the slightest move to attack, his Serpent Breathing would strike instantly.
And Shinobu Kocho—an expert in medicine—let out a small sigh in her heart.
No one understood better than she did: instinct was absolute. A greed carved into every cell. Not something willpower could simply overcome.
No one believed a miracle would happen.
No one—except the boy named Yoriichi, who stood to the side, silent as ever.
Just as Nezuko tilted forward, about to be swallowed by instinct—
Something brushed her face.
It wasn't wind.
It wasn't sound.
It was warmth.
Yoriichi remained where he was. He didn't draw his blade. He didn't rush forward to restrain her.
He only watched his sister—no worry in his eyes, only acceptance and trust.
In Nezuko's senses, his presence expanded without limit.
If Sanemi's blood was a maddening night—
Then her brother, standing not far away, was the sun that drove away every shadow.
That gentle, scorching warmth pierced the fog of blood-scent temptation and awakened the last trace of humanity in her muddled consciousness.
She was… Nezuko Kamado.
His little sister.
Her breathing quickened.
But what happened next was something no one expected.
Just when everyone thought she was about to lose herself, the feral distortion slowly drained from her face.
Under Sanemi's disbelieving stare—
Nezuko knitted her brows, as if she'd seen something filthy. With a huffy, stubborn little hmph, she snapped her head sharply to the side.
The motion was forceful, petulant—almost like a child sulking in defiant disgust.
Eyes shut, she snorted through her nose in open contempt, as though silently mocking him:
Like I care about your blood.
Compared to my brother's scent, yours is unbearably foul.
"…"
The courtyard seemed to freeze solid.
No one spoke. No one drew a blade.
Only a feeling—something like sheer absurdity—spread through every Hashira's heart.
A demon…
Rejected a human's rare blood?
Only Yoriichi watched quietly. At last, a gentle smile surfaced on his otherwise calm face.
He looked toward Shinazugawa Sanemi—still rooted in place, unable to move—and said softly,
"It seems… she's already given you your answer."
-------
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