The spatial dust had settled.
The last few dark fragments drifted in the night breeze, spun twice, and sank into the dirt. The sky above the Butterfly Mansion's courtyard was clear and black, without a trace of any cracks.
Tanjiro sat at the foot of the wall, a strip torn from a sleeve wrapped around the web of his hand. Blood seeped into the cloth, staining it dark. He left it untreated, simply clenching his hand and staring up at the night sky.
The path of that slash had replayed in his mind more than once.
The strike he had put everything into had not even reached the edge of the rift. That man had leaned against a corridor pillar, finished his apple, and casually swung once.
Inosuke lay on the ground, pulling off his three broken fingernails one by one and tossing them into the dirt, silent the entire time.
Zenitsu clung to a corridor pillar, his legs still weak. He had long since stopped crying; he simply lacked the strength to stand.
At the western end of the corridor.
Yaha yawned.
He casually tossed the remaining apple core into the courtyard. It traced an arc through the air and landed an inch from Inosuke's head. Inosuke did not even move.
Yaha glanced around the courtyard. Nine people, in all sorts of positions, were all stealing looks at him.
He ignored their gazes. Sliding both hands into his trouser pockets, he turned, stepped into the corridor, pushed open the guest room door, and went inside.
The door closed.
The footsteps stopped.
Outside in the courtyard, no one moved.
The instant the door closed, Yaha's step faltered.
It was barely noticeable. Just half a step's hesitation before he moved again, heading toward the bed.
He pulled his right hand