"Ah, welcome back, Yoriko-sama." A maid, Hana, greeted him with a respectful bow as he stepped inside the house.
"Thank you, Hana-chan," he replied.
Underneath the black haori he had worn was a deep blue kimono. He had taken off his mask and haori before arriving home, folding them neatly and tucking them into the sack on his back. The only remaining evidence of his night's work was the sword at his waist. All that was visible was the hilt—the blade itself was gone.
"Yagami-sama was looking for you," Hana said, lifting her head.
My father? What could he want?
"I see, thank you. Do you know where he might be?"
"I'm right here, Yoriko!" his father's voice boomed from behind him, cold and sharp. His gaze was fixed on Yoriko's long purple hair. "I thought I told you to change the color of your hair to black."
Yoriko's mouth opened, then closed again. He bowed respectfully. "My apologies, Otōsan."
Like hell I would ever do that.
"Lift your head, fool. We are having guests later today. The entire family will be present, do you understand? Do not be sneaking out at night, hanging out with women or whatever it is you do," his father said coldly before walking away.
Guests, huh?... Whatever. It is none of my concern.
"Uh… Yoriko-sama, are you alright?" Hana asked, a look of worry on her face.
He quickly put on his familiar mask of polite cheer. "Ah, yes, I am. I'm sorry to have worried you."
After every hunt, it was a habit for him to walk through the Entertainment District with Hana, exploring the city a bit before coming home. It was a ritual he followed despite his exhaustion.
"Shall we go?" he said, offering her a smile.
She nodded her head.
The Entertainment District was as dazzling by day as it was by night, but no less bustling. Merchants' shouts, sweet and savory, cut through the clamor of the crowd, vying for attention.
"Ah, Yoriko-san. How is your father faring?" a passing man asked, his voice polite.
Yoriko paused his stroll with Hana and offered a practiced smile. "He is as well as ever, thank you."
"That is good to hear. You take care, now," the man said before continuing on his way.
"Yoriko-sama," Hana began, her voice low and hesitant as she walked beside him. "If you don't mind me asking… where is it that you wander off to during the night?"
He was tempted to answer with a jest, something about the district's women, but he knew better. That would too inappropriate for his public face. He could not, of course, let anyone know of his true purpose.
"The hilt of my sword here," he said, gesturing to the blade at his waist. "I work on improving it."
There was truth in that statement. On some nights, he did indeed take a break from hunting to focus on perfecting his gear. It was a lie built on a partial truth, a specialty of his.
The tension in Hana's shoulders eased, and she nodded, accepting his answer.
"So then... can I come with you, Yoriko-sama?" Hana asked, her voice quiet but firm.
"Oh... uh..." Yoriko's smile faltered. The question was a dagger of ice to his practiced calm. He had not been prepared for this—for her to be so bold.
He quickly put his hands on her shoulder, his smile becoming strained. "Hana-chan, I appreciate your enthusiasm. But I'm sure your family and my father would not want you to come with me. It is not a place for a young lady."
He had not expected her to be this persistent. She shook her head, her gaze fixed on him. "My family is fine, and I can take care of myself. I want to see how you are working. I want to see the real you." Yoriko's mind raced. What did she mean, "the real you"? Was his act slipping? Or was she just a simple girl with a naive fascination?
"Hana-chan, you—"
He stopped speaking as his eyes caught sight of unexpected newcomers to the Entertainment District. They wore the familiar deep brown uniforms of the Demon Slayer Corps, a stark, unwelcome sight in this world of color and light.
What are they doing here?
His mind, which had been on autopilot, snapped to full alert. The cheerful mask on his face didn't waver, but his smile became fixed. His grip on his sword's hilt tightened ever so slightly.
"Yoriko-sama?" Hana asked, noticing his sudden silence.
He ignored her, his gaze locked on the approaching figures. There were three of them, and their faces were serious, a world away from the easygoing crowd. One of them, a tall man, was speaking to a merchant.
The merchant's hand pointed back toward Yoriko's home. The three Demon Slayers bowed in thanks and began walking in that very direction, their pace steady and purposeful.
Could it be… that the guests his father spoke of were them?
No. That couldn't be right. His father wouldn't invite them. They were an organization of fanatics who lived and died in the shadows. They didn't attend high-class gatherings.
And yet, his gut told him otherwise. A cold dread settled in his stomach, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. His carefully constructed world—the charming persona, the prestigious family, the hidden life—was about to collide with the very people he despised.
"Yoriko-sama?" Hana's voice brought him back to reality. She was looking at him with concern."What is it?"
"Nothing," he said, the lie tasting like ash on his tongue. He grabbed Hana by the arm. "Hana-chan, we must hurry."
There was only one reason a Demon Slayer would be here in the heart of the city.
A demon was walking among them.