The nightmare of Hachijo Island faded into the distance. Rengoku Shinjuro, ever the dutiful Pillar, sent word to the Master via Kasugai Crow, detailing the mission's success and the discovery of two exceptional recruits. The response from the Ubuyashiki Estate was swift and welcoming.
The journey toward headquarters took them through the lush suburbs of the Imperial Capital. But for Tendo Feiyuzhen, the scenery was secondary to the crisis occurring within his own midsection.
"Food... I need fragrant, steaming food... not these sawdust crackers!" Tendo groaned, his stomach emitting a low, predatory growl that could be heard from ten paces away.
He turned his starry, desperate eyes toward his companion. "Obanai... my brother... do you have anything left?"
Obanai Iguro, his lower face now intricately wrapped in white surgical bandages, shot Tendo a look of pure, unadulterated disdain. Now that he wasn't being hunted by a snake demon, his natural "Poison Tongue" attribute had blossomed.
"You're nothing but a walking Rice Bucket, Tendo," Obanai hissed, the words muffled but sharp. "You've already scavenged every scrap of my travel rations, you idiot."
Despite the insult, Obanai's hand drifted to a hidden pocket in his tattered robes. Having spent his life in a dungeon, the habit of hoarding food was a survival instinct he couldn't shake. He pulled out a single, crumpled piece of dry bread—his absolute last reserve.
With a silent sigh, he handed it over.
Tendo snatched it like a drowning man grabbing a life preserver. He inhaled the bread in two bites, looking as if he might actually weep with joy. "Obanai! You're a saint! A true brother!"
"I'm not close with you, you bottomless pit," Obanai muttered, turning his head away. Beneath the bandages, however, the corners of his scarred mouth twitched into a faint, hidden smile.
"Lads! Look!" Shinjuro's booming voice shattered the moment. He pointed toward a cluster of rooftops shimmering in the distance. "A town! Real kitchens! A feast awaits, Hahaha!"
"Uncle, don't tease me!" Tendo's eyes practically turned into shimmering stars.
In a heartbeat, a cloud of dust was all that remained on the road. Shinjuro and Tendo had vanished, fueled by the primal urge for a hot meal. Obanai stood alone for a moment, stroking Kaburamaru's head as the white snake flicked its tongue in confusion.
"Is the Demon Slayer Corps actually a professional organization?" Obanai sighed, beginning the long walk toward the chaos.
When Obanai finally reached the restaurant, he found a scene that defied logic. Beside Shinjuro sat a modest stack of seven empty bowls. Beside Tendo, however, was a literal fortress of porcelain—forty-five bowls, stacked so high they threatened to topple onto the neighboring tables.
"Boss! Another bowl! Keep 'em coming!" Tendo shouted, waving his chopsticks like a conductor's baton.
The other diners were staring, their mouths agape. Tendo spotted Obanai and didn't miss a beat. "Make that two bowls, Boss! My friend is here!"
Every head in the room swiveled toward Obanai. He felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment wash over him. He sat down opposite Tendo, making sure Kaburamaru was tucked securely inside his haori. If they see the snake, they'll kick us out, and I'll never hear the end of Tendo's crying, he thought.
"Young men, I've located a Fuji House nearby," Shinjuro said, leaning back with a satisfied pat of his stomach.
"A Fuji House?" Obanai asked, tilted his head.
"The Wisteria Crest Houses," Tendo explained between mouthfuls. "Families saved by the Corps who offer us free food and rest. It's our sanctuary in the civilian world."
After the meal, they retreated to the quiet, wisteria-scented halls of the estate. While Obanai stayed behind to pester Shinjuro for more sword forms—desperate to bridge the gap between his current weakness and Tendo's terrifying strength—Tendo himself slipped out into the night.
The town was bathed in the dim, amber glow of early electric streetlights. The scent of charcoal and sugar hung in the air.
"Boss, I'll take every Sanshoku Dango you have!" Tendo announced, slapping a handful of coins onto a street vendor's counter.
The vendor jumped, his eyes darting to the sword at Tendo's hip. "Y-yes, young man. Just a moment."
"Don't worry, Boss. I'm one of the good guys," Tendo said, trying to look wholesome. The vendor nodded frantically, clearly unconvinced that a child carrying a lethal weapon in the middle of a sword ban was "one of the good guys."
Suddenly, someone crashed into Tendo's side.
Because of his rock-solid stance, Tendo didn't budge. Instead, the other person bounced off him and hit the dirt. Before Tendo could even offer a hand, the figure scrambled up—a small girl in coarse, dirt-stained clothes—and bolted into a dark alleyway without looking back.
Three rough-looking men followed hot on her heels, shouting curses that turned the warm night cold.
"Stop, you brat!" "Pay back what you owe, or we're selling you to the red-light district!" "Don't think your sister can protect you just because she knows a few herbs!"
The vendor leaned in, whispering urgently. "Don't look, kid. Those are the local debt collectors. Even the police look the other way."
Tendo began to turn away, intent on his dango. But then, a name echoed from the alley—a name that acted like a lightning strike to his brain.
"Kochou Shinobu! Get back here!"
Tendo's body locked up. The playful glutton vanished instantly, replaced by a focused predator.
"Young man? Your dango?" the boss asked, holding out the skewers.
"Hold those for me, Boss," Tendo said, his voice dropping an octave.
Before the vendor could blink, Tendo had already vanished into the shadows of the alley, trailing the three men.