Zenitsu had actually been awake for the past half hour—but after opening his unfocused eyes for a moment, he'd let them close again.
A long period of unconsciousness usually required more than one surfacing before true awareness returned. The early rounds were like drifting through a dream, no real memory attached. Only the final awakening counted.
Inori understood this from personal experience. Those days right after she'd first come to and escaped the research facility... she'd spent night after night unable to sleep. After all, waking up inside an anime girl you'd always liked—that wasn't something you just accepted overnight.
—Couldn't sleep at night, couldn't sleep well during the day. That stretch was rough. Hare had school every morning, and Inori hadn't wanted to disturb her in the evenings. Only King Crimson had kept her company.
Kanae's predicted three days had landed almost precisely. When Zenitsu stirred and recovered, the young girl assigned to watch him was already on her way to fetch help—until Inori intercepted her in the corridor. She sweet-talked the girl into resting early, claiming she'd personally pass the word along to Shinobu, then slipped off to Zenitsu's room alone.
No real agenda. She was just bored, looking for something different. You could only stay in one place so long before novelty became a necessity—and how often did she get to meet a character straight out of the source material? Teasing boys who'd never seen the wider world? She had experience there.
As a bonus, she could give him the kind of practical lesson his long-suffering Jii-chan had been trying to deliver for years. Maybe it would help him grow up a little sooner.
Besides, it was too late to go back and do anything useful. No smartphones, no game consoles in this era. Nights meant either talking with Mana or sneaking sweets from the kitchen. Playing the part of the kind-hearted big sister who nudged a wayward boy onto the right path—honestly, not a bad way to pass the time.
—Come to think of it... the anime never covered what happened to Zenitsu's teacher, Jigoro Kuwajima, in the end. His flashbacks only ever showed "Jii-chan"—and one senior disciple who looked down on him.
The Hannya Mask had been a spur-of-the-moment idea. She'd just wanted to see what kind of expression of sheer terror this boy would produce—and then use the opening to suggest that slackers went to hell when they died, that kind of thing. She hadn't expected him to basically confess everything himself and save her the trouble.
Self-judgment.
Inori really hadn't been able to hold back the urge to laugh. When she'd watched Demon Slayer, she'd always thought Zenitsu was practically the show's designated comic relief. Seeing him in person confirmed it.
"Th-that's terrible! You're a terrible person! How could you do something like that!"
The yellow-haired boy wiped his tears, complaining like a sulking little wife.
He knew he'd been played.
Only now did he realize he'd broken into a cold sweat. A false alarm—but nothing had ever scared him this badly. It wasn't just the Hannya Mask. It was the pressure... the crushing aura that woman had radiated was something beyond description. It had nearly knocked him off his feet just standing in her presence. If she'd said a few more sentences, he probably would have wet himself.
"Sorry, sorry, Zenitsu-chan."
Inori knew this had been genuinely awful of her. She couldn't help it.
—Whoops. Doing it again next time.
She slowly lifted the mask away. Her pink hair, bleached white by the moonlight, lifted with the motion and cascaded down like scattered blossoms. What it revealed was a face of flawless, almost unreal delicacy—and those crimson eyes, unchanged... but no longer carrying that earlier edge. Only a warm, amused glint remained.
Honestly, Zenitsu had never in his life encountered a girl this beautiful. Every compliment he'd ever learned could be applied to her in full, and then some. Every girl he'd met before her was nothing by comparison—country bumpkins, not worth mentioning.
"W-wait, is this actually heaven? Hahaha."
His mood turned on a dime. Every last trace of resentment for how she'd scared him vanished—in fact, he wanted her to do it again.
"Stop grinning like that."
Inori knew his type. The kind of boy who lost all higher functions around girls—a girl-crazy little fool. But that exact quality was what made him receptive to what she had in mind.
Jii-chan's efforts, Zenitsu understood in his heart. His body just never followed through. The simple truth was that he lacked motivation. And Inori could fill that gap.
—Same principle as Shinobu encouraging Zenitsu to train Total Concentration: Constant in the source material, when he couldn't find it in himself to push through. This is what they call "playing to his interests."
"Lie back down, don't move. I'll go get the nursing staff."
"W-wait!"
Zenitsu's mind had cleared. He called out urgently to the pink-haired Onee-san as she turned to leave.
"Onee-san, who exactly are you...? Where am I? And Jii-chan—my Jii-chan is Jigoro Kuwajima, the retired Hashira! Is he here too?"
"My name is Inori."
She glanced back over her shoulder with a smile and offered her name.
"This is the Butterfly Mansion, facility of Flower Hashira Kanae Kocho. You were struck by lightning and knocked unconscious. Your Jii-chan went to a great deal of trouble to bring you here for treatment." Inori gave him the short version. "You've been asleep for three days. Your body is stiff, so behave."
"Jii-chan..."
Zenitsu remembered what had happened before he lost consciousness. His mood dropped sharply.
He'd been trying to dodge training again. This time he'd climbed a tree, but Jii-chan had still found him effortlessly. They'd been at a standoff when the sky darkened without warning and a bolt of lightning struck—he was the one who got hurt, but he knew he'd wounded Jii-chan's hopes for him once again, without meaning to.
Guilt flooded through him, gnawing at his conscience. He hated this useless version of himself. Why... why couldn't he just be stronger?
He was staring at the floor in dejection when an odd shade of amber-gold crept into the corner of his eye. He didn't think much of it—probably just hair—and started to dismiss it... until a beat later something clicked.
"M-my hair??"
Zenitsu grabbed the bangs at his forehead and yanked them in front of his face. He wasn't seeing things. That straw-yellow tuft was absolutely, unmistakably his own hair.
"Bad news, I'm afraid. The lightning didn't kill you, but it did tweak your genes a little. You're blond now."
Inori stood in the doorway, in no rush to leave, watching him with perfect composure.
Since she'd chosen to be the first person he saw when he woke up, it was only right she take responsibility for delivering the facts.
"I don't want this! This looks like... like some delinquent who dyes his hair! I hate standing out. I don't want people treating me like I'm strange!"
Zenitsu whined pathetically, scratching at his own head.
"If you're strange, what does that make me?"
Inori pursed her lips, curling a strand of her own pink hair around her pale fingers and holding it in front of her chest, letting it spin.
"N-no... Onee-san is beautiful no matter what, she'd be popular whatever her hair looks like. But me... I'm just a coward without any courage..."
Even pitch-black hair wouldn't have diminished Inori's looks in the slightest. If anything, the gradient fade from pale pink to deep crimson—paired with those garnet eyes that had so recently terrified him—gave her an indescribable, otherworldly quality.
As he talked, Zenitsu felt, against his will, a wave of envy wash over him. If only he were a beautiful girl like this—then that terrible woman never could have swindled him into debt, and Jii-chan wouldn't have to keep suffering for a hopeless student.
"You're the Rumble Hashira's disciple, so you train in Thunder Breathing, right?"
"Yeah." Zenitsu nodded, then added quietly, "But I've only managed to learn one move..."
"That's fine. I only know one trick too."
True enough—in her current state, all she was really good for was tossing a few feathers.
"Don't you think lightning and your new hair color suit each other perfectly? Maybe it's a sign—an omen from heaven. A blade needs to be struck a thousand times before it takes its true form. And you, Zenitsu? You've been struck by lightning yourself. Your training from here on might just go smoother than anything before."