This battle had inflicted severe damage. The three of them would need to recuperate at the Butterfly Estate for quite some time.
Clang!
A delicate porcelain bowl was slammed heavily onto the bedside table. The plain white porridge inside rippled outward in circles, a few pitiful grains of rice bobbing up and down in the watery soup.
"What is this supposed to be?" Inosuke pointed at the bowl, veins bulging on his forehead, his handsome blue hair practically standing on end with rage.
"If you're short on money, you can borrow from me—why are you feeding me pig slop? Even Gonpachiro wouldn't eat this!"
"After I nearly died chasing off that striped basketball, saved your Hashira, and saved so many people, this is what you give me?!"
"No tempura, fine—but not even a single piece of meat?!"
Tanjiro, sitting beside him and obediently sipping his porridge, looked up with a grain of rice still stuck to his lips and tried to reason gently:
"Inosuke, Shinobu said our internal organs were badly damaged, so we can only have liquids for now. And this porridge is cooked with medicinal herbs—it's good for the body…"
"Shut up, Gonpachiro!" Inosuke snapped, cutting off the peacemaker mid-sentence.
"This dishwater taste is an insult to me! Back at the Eternal Paradise Cult, even the dogs guarding the gate eat better than this!"
He turned his head toward the next bed.
There, the Flame Hashira, Rengoku Kyojuro, was holding the same bowl of plain porridge. Despite having one eye wrapped in bandages and being unable to move at all, he still radiated that blazing enthusiasm, loudly praising it:
"UMM! Delicious! Though it's light, you can taste the natural sweetness of the rice! Delicious! Another bowl, please!"
Inosuke rolled his eyes. He decided there was no point communicating with an owl whose taste buds were clearly broken.
"No. This won't do."
He rubbed his flat stomach. The wound there still ached faintly—but what hurt more was the sense of loss. After fighting so hard, he had to make up for it.
"Stripe-itsu!" Inosuke suddenly shouted.
Zenitsu, who was cowering in the corner checking in the mirror to see if his face had been ruined, jumped so hard he nearly dropped it.
"It's Zenitsu!
B-big bro, what do you want?!"
"Go get me some ingredients," Inosuke ordered imperiously.
"There should be fish, shrimp, and oil in the kitchen. Swipe all of it."
"Huh?!" Zenitsu's eyes bulged as he screamed.
"Are you insane?! This is the Butterfly Estate! If Kanzaki Aoi or—worse—the terrifying Insect Hashira finds out, we'll die! We'll absolutely be turned into anatomical specimens!"
"What's there to be afraid of?" Inosuke pulled out his slightly chipped serrated blade from under the pillow, twirling it casually and flashing two sharp little canine teeth.
"If something goes wrong, just say the owl told us to do it. He's a Hashira—he definitely has privileges."
Rengoku, who was mid-sip, paused—then burst into hearty laughter.
"Hahaha! How clever! While I don't recommend stealing, if it's for recovering one's strength, I can close one eye!"
"Just remember to fry me a few extra shrimp!"
"See? Even the Hashira agrees," Inosuke said righteously.
"That's called being accomplices! Totally!" Zenitsu wailed.
...
Half an hour later.
The Butterfly Estate's back kitchen was at its quietest of the day. Kanzaki Aoi and the three little girls had gone to the back mountain to dry sheets, leaving the place unguarded.
Three sneaky figures slipped inside.
Or rather—one swaggering figure, with two sneaky lackeys trailing behind.
"Wow… so much good food…"
Inosuke stared at the fresh river fish laid out for dinner prep and the large barrel of cooking oil. His emerald-green eyes turned into shining stars—he could practically sense the protein and fat within the fish.
"Move out!"
At his command, Inosuke leapt straight onto the stove.
"W-wait! Inosuke!"
Dragged along against his will, Tanjiro still tried to salvage the situation.
"You don't know how to cook! What if you burn the kitchen down?
If we really have to do this, I should—"
"What's so hard about cooking?" Inosuke snorted. He grabbed a fish and tossed it into the air.
Clang—!
Twin blades flashed.
"Watch closely, Gonpachiro. Cooking is just like fighting!"
Total Concentration · Breath of Ice · Chaotic Stew Slicing!
Slashslashslash!
Cold flashes filled the air—not with delicate slicing sounds, but brutal tearing noises.
The poor fish hadn't even hit the ground before it was violently descaled, gutted, and its bones severed by the serrated blades. The cuts were uneven—like something chewed by a wild beast—but the efficiency was terrifying.
"A-amazing…" Tanjiro stared in awe.
"It looks brutal, but it's actually very cleanly processed!"
"Of course." Inosuke kicked the fish chunks into the pot.
"Stripe-itsu! Light the fire! Pour all the oil in!"
"All of it?! That's three days' worth!" Zenitsu screamed—but his body obeyed anyway as he twisted open the oil barrel. After all, if he didn't comply, Inosuke might process him next.
Whooom!
The flames roared to life.
Inosuke had no idea what heat control was. He only believed that big fire made miracles. Using his Nichirin blades as spatulas, he stirred the pot like a madman.
"Salt! Sugar! And pour in that sauce that looks expensive too!"
"Inosuke! That's black vinegar!"
"Doesn't matter! Black is black! Pour it!"
The kitchen instantly filled with smoke, a bizarre stench spreading—burnt aroma, fishy odor, and excessive seasoning blended into something indescribable.
Just then—
Soft footsteps stopped at the doorway.
The three froze.
Kanao Tsuyuri stood there, wearing the Butterfly Estate uniform, holding a basket of freshly washed radishes. Her pale violet eyes quietly took in the disaster-zone kitchen, her face still wearing that unchanged, doll-like smile.
She didn't speak.
She didn't change expression.
"…We're done for," Zenitsu went pale, already mentally preparing for ritual seppuku.
Tanjiro panicked too, his face flushing.
"Um… Kanao-san, we—"
But Inosuke wasn't panicked at all.
He picked up the large basin of dark cuisine, walked up to Kanao, speared the biggest, blackest piece of fried fish with his oil-smeared blade tip, and shoved it toward her.
"Hey, smiley girl."
He lifted his chin, looking like he was bestowing a favor.
"This is the Supreme Golden Fried Fish made by yours truly. Since you didn't go tattling just now, I'll reward you with this piece. Free of charge."
Kanao blinked. She said nothing.
She pulled out a coin, flicked it lightly with her thumb.
Ding.
The coin flipped through the air and landed on the back of her hand.
Heads.
She put the coin away. Her smile seemed—just a little—more real.
She opened her mouth and obediently bit into the fish.
"Is it… good?" Tanjiro asked nervously, terrified that Inosuke's cooking might poison her.
Kanao chewed twice. She didn't answer—only looked at Tanjiro, blinked again, and then nodded gently.
"See? I told you it was good!" Inosuke snorted smugly.
"Even a mute can be conquered by my cooking!"
"Inosuke! Don't call her that!" Tanjiro sighed helplessly, though seeing that Kanao wasn't angry did calm him down.
...
Back in the infirmary.
"Delicious!!! UMM! This is truly delicious!"
Rengoku held the large basin, completely unconcerned with the appearance of the food, eating with gusto, oil all over his mouth.
"This wild, powerful flavor! It makes even my wounds rejoice! Inosuke boy—if you ever stop slaying demons, you could open a restaurant! I would dine there every day!"
"Really?" Tanjiro tried a bite too, his eyes lighting up.
"It looks dark, but the flavor is rich! It goes great with rice!"
"Waaah… as long as it's meat, it's good…" Zenitsu cried while stuffing his mouth.
"Even if it's poison, I'll accept it…"
Inosuke sat cross-legged on the bed, gnawing on a giant over-fried shrimp, looking at these uncultured fools.
"Hmph. A bunch of country bumpkins."
He sneered outwardly, but inside he was already calculating.
This meal used about five hundred mon worth of ingredients.
Sell one portion to Rengoku—charge a thousand.
Sell one to Gonpachiro—put it on tab for five hundred.
As for Stripe-itsu, he counted as free labor—and if they got caught, it would all be Stripe-itsu's idea anyway.
"Profit."
Inosuke licked the oil from his fingers, utterly satisfied.
Just as the impromptu infirmary feast reached its peak—
Creeeak—
The door slowly, very gently, opened.
A chill colder than winter snow instantly froze the lively atmosphere.
Rengoku's basin stopped midair.
Tanjiro forgot to chew the fish in his mouth.
Zenitsu rolled his eyes and fainted on the spot.
Only Inosuke, still holding his fried shrimp, remained clueless—his back to the door, completely unaware of the murderous aura behind him.
"Hey, why did you all stop eating?" Inosuke asked, puzzled.
"If there's leftovers, Stripe-itsu and Gonpachiro have to finish them."
"Oh my… it seems everyone has quite the appetite."
That gentle voice—sweet enough to drip poison—echoed behind him.
"Seriously injured, yet secretly gathering in the infirmary to eat oily, unhygienic food that can easily cause inflammation…"
That voice felt… familiar.
Inosuke's neck stiffened as he slowly turned around.
Standing there was Shinobu Kocho, smiling like a spring breeze—while holding a snapped syringe in her hand.
Behind her stood Kanao, who had eaten the fish earlier, still wearing that unreadable smile, calmly enjoying the show.
"Since you're all so energetic…"
Shinobu raised a massive syringe filled with yellow liquid, still dripping.
"How about… we add another course?"
"This medicine is three times more bitter than the last one."
"WAAAH—!!! Help! The poison woman is killing people! I want to go home! I want my dad!"
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