"Can I walk in the sunlight now…? Then will future rewards let that grindy-headed guy live in the sun too…?"
In his sleep, the delicate-looking boy suddenly murmured.
...
Inside the Butterfly Estate's infirmary, that familiar, nose-tingling scent of disinfectant filled every corner.
"My money—!!!"
A shrill, heart-rending scream instantly shattered the morning calm, startling the sparrows outside into flapping straight into the window.
On one of the beds, Inosuke—wrapped head to toe in bandages like a silkworm cocoon—shot upright without warning.
"Ow ow ow!"
The sudden movement tugged violently at his broken ribs, as well as his badly burned arms—injuries left by forcibly using both Ice Breathing and Sun Breathing at the same time. The pain shot through him like electricity, but Inosuke didn't care.
Panicked, he fumbled at his waist.
That was where his most beloved possession had been—the money pouch embroidered with gold thread.
Gone.
Not only was the pouch missing, even the priceless brocade haori he'd custom-made in the Eternal Paradise Cult was gone. Instead, he was wearing an unbearably plain patient's robe.
"Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!"
Inosuke's face went deathly pale, cold sweat pouring down his forehead.
"Did that poison-scorpion woman take it again?! I'm ruined! Completely ruined! Who touched my treasury?! That was my burial money!"
"So early in the morning, and you're already wailing like a dying ghost?"
A voice drifted in from the doorway—gentle enough to melt bones, yet instantly making Inosuke's scalp tingle.
Like a duck grabbed by the throat, Inosuke's scream cut off mid-sound. He stiffly turned his head.
Standing at the door was the Insect Hashira, Shinobu Kocho, holding a tray and smiling sweetly.
Backlit by the light, her smile looked… uncannily like Death itself, scythe in hand.
"P-poison… poison-scorpion woman?" Inosuke swallowed and instinctively shrank under the blanket.
"I'm warning you—don't come any closer! I may be injured, but my—my Breathing is still really strong!"
"Oh my, you seem quite energetic."
Shinobu walked in and placed the tray down hard on the bedside table with a crisp clank.
"If you're feeling that lively, then drink this medicine."
She lifted a beaker filled with a thick, ominous liquid—so green it was bubbling. A nauseatingly bitter stench wafted out.
"This is specially prepared to treat the arms you nearly ruined.
Not just your arms—your internal organs were on the verge of failing too."
Her smile only grew brighter.
"The taste might be a little… distinctive, but the results are immediate."
"I'm not drinking that!" Inosuke shook his head violently.
"That's definitely poison! You're trying to assassinate the sole heir of the Eternal Paradise Cult! I'm telling my dad!"
A cheerful vein popped on Shinobu's forehead.
Somehow, she produced a massive syringe—thicker than Inosuke's arm.
"Then which will it be?" she asked pleasantly. "Drink the medicine… or take the injection?"
One look at the syringe and Inosuke instantly caved.
"I—I'll drink it…"
Tears in his eyes, nose pinched shut, he downed the green liquid with the resolve of a man marching to execution.
"Ghh—!"
Bitter! Too bitter! Bitter enough to eject his soul!
Just as Inosuke felt he was about to meet his ancestors on the River Sanzu, a thunderous laugh erupted from the neighboring bed.
"UMM! Though it is bitter! A good medicine is bitter! But delicious! Another cup!
UMM! Though it is bitter! A good medicine is bitter! But delicious! Another cup!
UMM! Though it is bitter! A good medicine is bitter! But delicious! Another cup!"
Inosuke snapped his head around.
On the bed beside him, the Flame Hashira—Rengoku Kyojuro, who'd nearly been turned into a sieve the night before—was cheerfully downing the same potion like a victory drink.
One eye was wrapped in thick bandages, and his body was immobilized, yet his vitality made it hard to believe he'd nearly died.
"Owl?!
You're alive?!" Inosuke stared wide-eyed.
Only then did it truly sink in.
"Hahahaha! I am alive!" Rengoku set down the beaker and looked at Inosuke with his remaining eye, flashing that trademark, sun-bright smile.
"Thanks to you, Inosuke boy! And Kamado boy, and the blond boy as well! You all created a miracle!"
At the words alive, the tension in Inosuke's body finally drained away.
But instead of being moved, his expression instantly shifted to that of a debt-collecting landlord.
"Since you didn't die…" He stretched out his still-bandaged hand, palm up, utterly shameless.
"Pay up."
"Hmm?" Rengoku tilted his head. "Pay what?"
"Don't play dumb!" Inosuke jabbed at his own injuries.
"Last night we agreed! Bodyguard fee! Life-saving fee! And weapon wear-and-tear fee! I risked my life to snatch you back from that striped basketball freak! Do you know how much my blades are worth?! They're Nichirin blades, sure—but after I use them, they're priceless!"
Rengoku blinked, then burst into hearty laughter.
"Hahahaha! I see! So you're worried about compensation!"
He nodded solemnly. "Indeed! Without you last night, I might have already gone to see my mother!"
"Obviously! I never do business at a loss!" Inosuke declared.
"Rest assured!" Rengoku tried to pat his chest, only to realize he couldn't move. He laughed and raised his voice instead.
"I, Rengoku Kyojuro, never default on debts! Though I don't have money on me now, once I recover, I'll pay you in installments from my salary—until it's fully repaid!"
"Tch, salary?" Inosuke clicked his tongue. "How much can a Hashira even earn? Fine. Since you seem honest enough, I'll say you owe me one hundred million gold marks."
"One hundred million?!"
Tanjiro, who had just pushed the door open, nearly dropped the washbasin in his hands.
Clang!
"Inosuke! That's extortion! That's absolutely extortion! One hundred million gold marks could buy a country!
Rengoku-san would never finish paying that in his lifetime!"
"Shut it, Gonpachiro!" Inosuke snarled. "What do you know?! Is the Flame Hashira's life not worth a hundred million?! Or are you saying he's worthless?!"
"UMM! It is very expensive!" Rengoku nodded seriously. "Looks like I'll have to work even harder—to repay a hundred million gold marks!"
"Rengoku-san, please don't indulge him!" Tanjiro wailed.
As the room descended into chaos, someone who'd been lying stiffly in the corner finally stirred.
"Grandpa…"
Zenitsu groggily opened his eyes. Through blurry vision, he saw a white ceiling—and that fierce-looking big brother.
Memory came flooding back.
The terrifying Mugen Train.
The rain of light.
That monster of an Upper Rank.
"WAAAAAAAH—!!!"
A scream tore through the Butterfly Estate.
"A demon! There's a demon! Help! Am I dead?! Is this hell?! Why is there a gangster in hell?! I don't want to die! I'm not married yet! I haven't even held a girl's hand!"
Zenitsu sprang out of bed trying to flee—only to discover his leg was in a cast. He immediately face-planted onto the floor.
"Ow ow ow ow! My leg! My leg's broken!"
"Shut up, Stripe-itsu!"
Irritated to the core, Inosuke grabbed an apple from beside the pillow and hurled it with pinpoint accuracy.
Smack!
The apple hit Zenitsu square on the forehead.
"Keep screaming and I'll throw you out to be fed to the poison-scorpion woman!" Inosuke threatened.
Clutching the swelling bump, Zenitsu looked up tearfully. When he saw Tanjiro, Rengoku, and Inosuke—grumpy but undeniably alive—he froze.
"Everyone's… alive?"
Sniffling, Zenitsu suddenly hugged Tanjiro's leg and burst into tears.
"Waaah! Thank goodness! Tanjiro! I thought we were all going to die! That Upper Rank was terrifying! I was so scared I nearly wet myself—no, I passed out! How did I survive?!"
"You saved everyone, Zenitsu," Tanjiro said gently, helping him up.
"If you hadn't blocked those final attacks, Rengoku-san might have—"
"Hehe… really?" Zenitsu instantly stopped crying, his face lighting up dreamily as a snot bubble inflated and deflated.
"So I'm that strong…? Then Nezuko-chan will definitely see me differently now! I'll go tell her! I'm a hero!"
"Keep dreaming," Inosuke snorted. "She's my third underling. My private property. Don't even think about it."
Leaning back against the headboard, Inosuke looked at the sunlight streaming through the window, then at the noisy, battered group filling the room.
Rengoku was loudly teaching Tanjiro some bizarre theory about stopping bleeding through sheer willpower.
Zenitsu was drooling while fantasizing about married life with Nezuko.
Tanjiro was helplessly wiping Zenitsu's nose.
"Hey, Gonpachiro," Inosuke suddenly said.
"Hm? What is it, Inosuke?" Tanjiro turned, eyes clear.
"My blade's chipped." Inosuke pointed at the Nichirin sword in the corner, now little more than jagged scrap.
"You're paying half the repair fee."
"Huh? Why me again?" Tanjiro looked stunned.
"Because it chipped saving you!" Inosuke said shamelessly.
"And when I'm healed, we're going out for a good meal. The kind that's stupidly expensive. Tempura. You're treating."
Tanjiro looked into Inosuke's tired emerald eyes and sighed, smiling. He understood—this was Inosuke's way of saying we're all okay.
"Alright," Tanjiro nodded with a smile. "My treat. All of us."
Sunlight fell across Inosuke's face. He snorted softly and pulled the blanket over his head, hiding the faint, barely noticeable smile at the corner of his mouth.
He hadn't managed to sell that striped basketball guy for cash.
And he hadn't gotten Rengoku's one-hundred-million IOU.
But this sleep…
He should finally be able to rest in peace.
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