Shinobu Kocho had already prepared herself. If Yukishiro's blade couldn't be stopped, she was ready to intervene and save Aoi Kanzaki at the last moment.
But, it seemed that there was no need.
Yukishiro had sensed the change in Aoi's spirit. Once she lost the will to fight, there was no longer any purpose in continuing.
The cold air surrounding his body dissipated as he let his breathing technique fall silent. His wooden sword deflected harmlessly past Aoi's blade and struck the dirt with a dull thunk.
Without another word, Yukishiro straightened his back, turned away, and walked off the courtyard stage toward the corridor. His steps were steady, unshaken, as if he hadn't even considered the possibility of defeat. He didn't glance back once.
Aoi stood frozen, staring at his retreating figure. Heat welled behind her eyes, and before she realized it, tears blurred her vision.
She dropped her wooden sword, the sound of the wood clattering against the stones echoing in the silence, and then she bolted, running away from the yard.
She couldn't even name the feeling flooding her chest—humiliation, grief, anger, or something deeper. All she knew was that the pain did not come from losing to the boy in front of her. It came from losing to herself. She had never won—not then, not now. Not ever.
The three girls of the Butterfly House, who had been watching wide-eyed from the corridor, sat frozen, half-finished snacks on their laps. They exchanged looks of confusion.
"They were fighting… so why did it stop?" one of them whispered.
"Who even won?" another murmured.
"Why did Sister Koi just run away?" the last one asked, voice wavering.
"Sister Koi…" one of them finally said, starting to rise, intent on chasing after her. But Shinobu Kocho extended a hand, barring their path.
"Enough. Stay where you are," Shinobu said softly, her voice gentle yet carrying undeniable command.
"Leave her be. She needs time to herself."
The three girls hesitated, then lowered their heads. The truth had begun to settle among them—that the duel had not ended in Aoi's favor. Their eyes wandered toward Yukishiro, who stood at ease in the corridor, and for the first time, they looked at him not with scorn but with something close to respect.
Yukishiro walked up and offered the wooden sword to Shinobu Kocho.
She accepted it with a nod and, turning slightly, handed it to Naru beside her.
"You three, clean this up. Once you're finished, go get some rest."
"Yes, Miss Shinobu," the three answered in unison.
One girl hurried into the yard to retrieve the sword Aoi had abandoned, while the other two began clearing away the scattered snack wrappers and clutter.
Shinobu reached down, brushing her fingers lightly against Kanao's dark hair. "Kanao, help them tidy up, and then you should rest too."
Kanao tilted her head briefly, studying her sister, then picked up the fruit plate lying on the floor. Without a word, she turned and slipped back into the house.
"Yukishiro," Shinobu said at last, rising to her feet, "come with me."
…
They walked together to the medical wing of the Butterfly Mansion. Shinobu entered the quiet room, donning her white healer's coat in a smooth motion. The air inside carried the faint scent of herbs and antiseptic.
"Take off your shirt," Shinobu said without looking up.
"…What?" Yukishiro blinked, certain he had misheard.
Shinobu turned, eyes curved into an amused smile. "What are you thinking, little brat? Your wounds have torn open again. Let me bandage them properly this time."
Relief washed over Yukishiro. For a moment he had thought—well, something else entirely. He glanced down and noticed, sure enough, fresh blood blooming through the bandages wrapped around his right arm.
"…Oh." He exhaled, shoulders loosening, and began fumbling with the buttons of his uniform.
But before he could finish, Shinobu suddenly leaned close, bending down until her delicate face hovered inches from his own.
Yukishiro startled, jerking backward in surprise, only to bump into the edge of the bed behind him with a loud squeak.
Her violet eyes caught his in that moment—deep, luminous, impossible to look away from. His mind went utterly blank, drowned in their strange, bewitching light. For an instant, it felt as if she might swallow him whole.
"What's there to be embarrassed about?" Shinobu teased lightly.
"When you first came here, your body was in shambles. I bandaged every wound myself. Are you shy now, all of a sudden?"
Her slender fingers brushed under his chin, tilting it up just briefly before she turned away, humming as she began preparing ointments on the side table.
"Now—take off your shirt and sit down. Do you need anesthetic?"
The spell of her eyes broke, and Yukishiro gasped like a drowning man breaking the surface. His pale face flushed crimson.
"N-no… no need."
"What a brave boy." Shinobu smiled faintly. "That suits you."
Yukishiro obeyed, pulling off his blood-stained patient's robe and settling gingerly onto the bed. His body was mapped with bandages, patches of red seeping through. The exhaustion of the last few days came crashing down now that he sat still.
Every wound throbbed, every muscle ached, fatigue pulling him down like lead.
Shinobu approached, deft fingers untying the old bandages one by one.
What lay beneath made her eyes narrow. His body resembled a doll stitched together from rags—scars and sutures everywhere, many torn open, blood sluggishly seeping. His right arm, the one that gripped the sword, was the worst: threads snapped, wounds split wide, skin raw and angry.
"…This is far more serious than I realized," she murmured, her usual calm softening into something closer to guilt. "This is my fault. I was so focused on witnessing your breathing technique that I ignored your condition.
You're just a boy—how could you endure this much? And for a sparring match of all things?"
Her words came softer, almost a reproach to herself, even as she gently pressed medicine-soaked cloth to his skin. The sting burned, but her touch was light.
Yukishiro sat still, listening to the warmth in her voice. The scent of wisteria clung to her, familiar and comforting. For a fleeting second, he thought of his sister—the same blend of scolding and care she gave while binding his cuts in the past.
"I wasn't fighting seriously," he said at last, voice even. "If I had been, she wouldn't have had any chance at all."
Shinobu glanced up at him, her violet eyes gleaming mischievously, and tapped his forehead with a single finger. She smiled but said nothing.
He blinked, unsure of what the gesture meant, but let it pass.
"…Will you take me to see the Stone Hashira tomorrow?" he asked suddenly.
She tilted her head, amusement curling her lips. "Why the rush? Don't want to stay here? Do I make you uncomfortable? Or is it Aoi and the others you dislike?"
Shinobu leaned in again, her voice playful, eyes gleaming.
Yukishiro stiffened, heart hammering, and turned his face aside. "N-no… it's not that. We agreed—you said if I proved my strength, you'd take me to him tomorrow."
"Mm," Shinobu chuckled, securing the last of the cleaned dressings. She picked up fresh rolls of bandage. "Lift your arm."
He did so obediently, and she began wrapping him with practiced precision, her arms occasionally brushing against his as though it were nothing. From his perspective, though, it was unbearable.
Heat rose to his cheeks despite the chill in the room.
"With a body like this," Shinobu said, voice firm but gentle, "even if Master Himejima were to accept you, you wouldn't be able to train right away. And before you can even dream of becoming his disciple, you need to actually join the Demon Slayer Corps. Without passing the Final Selection, you lack the qualification."
Yukishiro's chest tightened. "…That will take too long." His tone betrayed impatience.
Shinobu met his gaze, softer now. "I know. You want to rescue your sister. But rushing ahead won't save her. You can't do it alone. Stay here a while. Heal. I'll arrange training for you. You know nothing right now—how can you fight a demon? But rest assured—I've already distributed your sister's likeness among the Corps. If any Slayer encounters her, we'll be notified immediately."
Yukishiro hesitated, then gave a small nod. She was right—running blind was meaningless. Training, knowledge, allies… he needed all of them.
By the time Shinobu tied off the final knot on his bandages, night had already deepened. She offered him a small smile, and he excused himself, bowing politely before heading back to his ward.
…
The next three days passed quietly. Yukishiro had no duties but recovery, and Shinobu lent him volumes detailing the Corps' breathing techniques, demon lore, and the Corps' history. He pored over them hungrily, absorbing what he could.
By the third night, a message came. Shinobu herself delivered it:
"Pack your things," she said with a knowing smile. "Tomorrow morning, I'll send you to a trainer. Your path begins there."
Yukishiro closed the book in his lap, his fingers curling tightly around its cover. His heart burned with anticipation. The time for idling was over.