The Wisteria House
This was the Demon Slayer Corps' temporary base in Yoshiwara.
At this very moment, the room was filled with clouds of white powder flying everywhere, accompanied by screams that could only be described as inhumane.
"Don't move! You tasteless country bumpkins!"
Uzui Tengen held a powder puff in his hand, veins bulging on his forehead like an irritable makeup artist on the verge of snapping.
"We're going to Yoshiwara! A glamorous battlefield overflowing with love and desire!
With faces like yours, you wouldn't even make it past the front door before being kicked out!"
"B–But why do I have to put this stuff on too?!"
Zenitsu stared at the mirror, looking at his own reflection—two bright red circles slapped onto his cheeks, eyebrows drawn into inverted '八' shapes—and completely broke down.
"This isn't disguise at all! This is disfigurement! It's an insult to my handsome face!"
"Shut up, Ugly Girl Number One."
Uzui mercilessly knocked Zenitsu on the head, then turned to the side and looked at Tanjiro, who stood there obediently.
"Listen carefully. Because you need to cover the scar on your forehead, I've given you some special makeup. From now on, you're called Sumiko."
Looking at the strange black blotch now painted on his forehead in the mirror, Tanjiro felt something was off—but he still nodded politely.
"Thank you, Mr. Uzui! I'll do my best to be a good Sumiko!"
"Hmph. At least that face is barely passable."
Finally, Uzui turned to Inosuke, who had already finished changing.
There was no need for makeup at all.
Inosuke simply let his hair down and tidied it a little. That face—having inherited Kotoha's beauty—paired with a pale purple kimono instantly brightened the entire room.
When he didn't speak, he looked exactly like a peerless, breathtaking young lady who had stepped straight out of a painting.
"Hey, Festival Guy."
Inosuke—now Inoko—shamelessly propped one foot on the table, holding a small mirror and examining himself.
"The fabric on this outfit is so-so, but this hairpin's real gold, right?"
He pointed at the ornament in his hair, emerald-green eyes glittering with calculation.
"Add my appearance fee on top of that. When we sell me later, the money's split ninety–ten. I take nine."
"Fine, fine! You can have it all!"
Uzui waved his hand impatiently.
"As long as you don't open your mouth, you'll be the most glamorous oiran in Yoshiwara!"
At that moment, Rengoku Kyojuro—who had been standing silently in the corner with arms crossed, expression grave—suddenly spoke.
"UMM! Uzui! It looks like everyone's changed! What's my assignment?"
Uzui turned and sized up Rengoku—177 centimeters tall, solid muscles all over, flame-patterned haori billowing behind him.
A bold, extravagant, utterly insane idea was born in his mind.
Without a word, he pulled out an extra-large kimono embroidered with bright red peonies and handed it to Rengoku.
"No! Since we're infiltrating, everyone has to be consistent! You're doing it too, Rengoku!"
Uzui flashed a devilish smile.
"…What?!"
Rengoku's owl-like eyes widened to their limit.
"You want me to wear that? Women's clothing?!"
"That's right!" Uzui said righteously.
"Only women can get deep into the back areas in Yoshiwara! And your hair's way too conspicuous—only by dressing as a courtesan won't you raise suspicion!"
"UMM! I REFUSE!"
Rengoku roared.
"As the Flame Hashira! As an upright man! How can I wear women's clothes?!
This is too strange! I won't do it! Even for the mission, this crosses my bottom line!"
"Oh come on, Owl Uncle."
Inosuke suddenly sidled over, fan swaying, his expression one of bitter disappointment.
"This is where you're wrong. Think about it—if the madams see such a strong woman, wouldn't they find it novel? And novelty means money."
He patted Rengoku's rock-hard chest.
"Besides, if you don't wear it, you'll just be freezing on the streets. Wear it, and you get to eat well inside. What if some man takes a fancy to you?"
"And since you look so… special, you can even help raise my market value. How can you not do the math here?"
"And!"
Uzui added the finishing blow at just the right moment.
"If we don't infiltrate glamorously and end up alerting the demons, what about the people who were taken? What about my wives?"
Rengoku froze.
To save lives… for justice… for innocent people…
Three seconds of silence.
Rengoku Kyojuro suddenly took a deep breath, his face settling into a resolute, ready-to-die expression.
"UMM!
I understand!"
He snatched the peony kimono, his eyes blazing with an indescribable fighting spirit.
"Though it is shameful!
If it allows us to slay evil demons!
If it saves lives!
Then mere women's clothing means nothing! I will wear it! And I will wear it more spiritedly than anyone!"
Ten minutes later.
The streets of Yoshiwara.
The normally noisy crowd fell into an instant of deathly silence, followed by waves of sharp inhalations and whispered murmurs.
At the very front walked a breathtakingly beautiful girl in purple—Inoko—her steps arrogant, her gaze aloof, as if every man on the street were her prey.
Behind her followed a red-haired girl with a black blotch on her forehead, Sumiko, carrying a box.
And then there was a blond "ugly girl" whose face screamed I want to die, with makeup so bad it bordered on a crime.
But none of that was the real issue.
The real issue was the being walking at the very back.
Flame-yellow-and-red hair had been forcibly piled into a high bun, several hairpins wobbling dangerously atop it.
A peony kimono stretched tightly over a body built like solid rock—even the loose fabric couldn't hide his muscles. He walked with heavy, forceful steps.
He didn't look like a courtesan.
He looked like a debt collector.
"Is… is that a woman?"
A drunk on the roadside rubbed his eyes, sobering up halfway.
"S–So burly… what a courtesan…"
"UMM! What are you staring at?!"
Rengoko noticed the gazes and loudly greeted them with his signature sunny grin.
"I'm new here! Please take care of me! Hahahaha!"
Passersby: "......"
"This is too humiliating…"
Zenitsu covered his face.
"Way too humiliating… I'd rather die…"
"Ignore him."
Inosuke walked ahead without even turning his head.
"As long as it sells, it's good merchandise. Maybe some customers with… special tastes will like this type."
Just as this group paraded through the streets like a procession of monsters—
At the top floor of the Kyogoku House.
A pair of gold-green vertical pupils stared intently at the scene below.
Upper Rank Six—Daki.
"That scent…"
Confusion flashed across Daki's beautiful face, quickly turning into shock.
She smelled it.
That pig girl in the purple kimono—beautiful enough to make even her jealous—carried an incredibly complex aura.
Lord Doma's icy lotus scent.
Lord Muzan's demon blood.
And a strange… familiar sense belonging to one of their own.
"That's… Lord Doma's son? That kid named Inosuke?"
Though not the sharpest, Daki did remember things. She recalled visiting Doma's home a few years back.
"Why is he in Yoshiwara? And dressed as a woman?"
She frowned, about to go down and seize this rule-breaking brat.
Then her gaze shifted—to the peony-clad woman behind Inosuke.
A man radiating scorching battle spirit like the blazing sun, despite being dressed as a woman.
And beside him, another man with diamonds on his forehead and an immensely powerful presence—the "madam."
"…Those are… Hashira?!"
Daki sucked in a sharp breath, her body tensing instantly.
The Sound Hashira, Uzui Tengen—and the Flame Hashira, Rengoku Kyojuro?!
"What's going on?! Why are two Hashira on my turf at the same time?! And why the hell is the Flame Hashira dressed like that?!"
She panicked for a moment—then her thoughts took a breathtakingly absurd turn.
Down below, Inosuke was smiling obsequiously as he dragged Uzui and Rengoku into a house, while the Flame Hashira endured his humiliating outfit with forced cheer.
A perfectly "reasonable" explanation formed in Daki's not-so-bright mind.
"Don't tell me…
That double agent thing he mentioned before… was real?!"
She covered her mouth, eyes wide in disbelief.
"That Inosuke… not only tricked two Hashira here…
He even humiliated them?!"
"Unbelievable! As expected of Lord Doma's son! So vicious! So cruel!"
In Daki's eyes, forcing the proud Flame Hashira to wear such ridiculous women's clothes in public was worse than killing him outright.
This was the ultimate method—completely destroying a prey's dignity on a psychological level.
"No wonder Lord Muzan favors him! This kid is a genius at tormenting people!"
"He must be pretending to join the Demon Slayer Corps, gaining their trust, then using this chance to lure the Hashira onto my turf—making them dress as women to lower their guard so we can wipe them out in one go!"
What was this?
This was delivery.
Premium takeout, delivered straight to the door.
Daki trembled with excitement.
"No, this kind of merit must be reported to Lord Muzan immediately!"
She knelt at once, closed her eyes, and connected through her blood to the brilliant Demon King, who was busy with who-knew-what experiments.
Infinity Castle — deep within
Kibutsuji Muzan was in an exceptionally foul mood, poring over ancient texts on the Blue Spider Lily. Lower Ranks were dead, useless ones remained useless.
Then Daki's overly excited voice echoed in his mind.
"Lord Muzan! Lord Muzan! I have great news!"
"Quiet, Daki," Muzan replied coldly.
"It's Inosuke! That Inosuke from the Eternal Paradise Cult!"
Daki's voice trembled with excitement.
"He brought two Hashira to Yoshiwara! The Sound Hashira and the Flame Hashira!"
"…What?"
Muzan frowned.
Two Hashira?
"And! Lord Muzan, you'd never imagine this! Inosuke—he forced the Flame Hashira to dress as a woman!"
"…Hah?"
Even Kibutsuji Muzan, who had lived for a thousand years, was momentarily stunned.
"The Flame Hashira is wearing a bright red peony kimono, lipstick on his lips, smiling like a clown in the streets! Inosuke's dragging them around like dogs!"
"Lord Muzan, this must be Inosuke's tribute to you! He's showing his loyalty and methods! He's treating the Hashira like toys!"
Muzan fell silent.
His plum-red pupils flickered as the image formed in his mind—Rengoku, righteous to a fault, wandering the streets in women's clothing.
"So that's it…
So that's it!"
"Killing without bloodshed. Not just destroying the body, but humiliating the spirit to the extreme."
"No wonder that child keeps straddling both sides. He's playing such a grand game."
"Very good."
Muzan closed the book, his mood instantly lifting. He hadn't felt this happy in centuries.
"Doma that useless fool… but he raised an interesting son."
"Daki, listen carefully. Do not act rashly. Cooperate with Inosuke's actions. Since he's already toying with his prey… wait until he's had enough fun."
"Then eat them all."
"Yes, Lord Muzan!"
After cutting the connection, Muzan cheerfully opened another channel.
In the northern forest, Doma—currently dragging Akaza along—suddenly heard the voice in his mind.
"Doma."
Doma paused, still holding Akaza's arm.
"Oh? Lord Muzan? What can I do for you?"
"You've raised a good son."
Muzan's voice actually carried a trace of rare approval.
"Inosuke has done well. He understands the use of self-harm tactics, the humiliation of a Hashira's dignity—forcing the Flame Hashira to wear women's clothing. Even I wouldn't have thought of that."
"You may grant him more freedom in the future. This child has great potential."
The connection cut.
The forest fell dead silent.
Doma blinked, staring blankly while still gripping Akaza's arm.
"…Huh?"
He looked at the battered, black-and-blue Akaza—who was on his way to becoming a guard dog at the Eternal Paradise Cult—then looked up at the sky.
"What did I teach him?"
"Making the Flame Hashira wear women's clothes?"
Though Doma had no idea what exactly had happened, his clever mind instantly conjured up an extremely ridiculous image.
"Hahahahahaha!"
Doma burst out laughing, fanning himself happily and kicking Akaza twice.
"Did you hear that, Akaza?! Lord Muzan praised me for teaching my son well!"
"That serious, upright Kyojuro wearing women's clothes—oh my, Inosuke really understands me!"
Akaza, freshly beaten again, spat out a mouthful of blood mixed with ice shards, rolled his eyes, and looked utterly done with the world.
"…Madman."
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