Shinobu Kocho pushed the last member of the nursing staff out the door and slid the bolt firmly into place.
The smell of medicinal herbs grew heavier in the sealed underground ward. The lantern flame stood still, casting a lifeless yellow halo across the stone walls.
She turned and looked at the body strapped to the hospital bed.
Yaha's chest rose and fell, his breaths abnormally long and slow. The black cursed markings on his face had faded completely, but no color had returned to his skin. He was as pale as a sheet of unmarked rice paper. Someone from the Hidden Corps had carelessly wiped away half the dark blood at his lips, leaving a trace at the right corner of his mouth that looked, at first glance, like a hairline crack.
Shinobu walked over and tightened her grip on the specially made syringe.
Wisteria alloy. She had specifically asked the swordsmith to forge it at the highest possible density. The needle tip had been honed to the limits of known craftsmanship, dense enough to pierce the skin of a Lower Rank demon in a rage.
She needed a blood sample.
She needed to know what, exactly, was housed inside this shell.
Shinobu leaned over and aimed the needle at the clearly visible vein on the side of Yaha's neck.
Ting.
The sound was as faint as a fingernail tapping porcelain.
The needle broke.
Its tip bent at an almost right angle, leaving a barely visible white dot on Yaha's neck. Not even the slightest redness appeared.
Shinobu stared at the bent needle tip, her hand frozen for a full three seconds.
She held the syringe up to the lantern light and checked the angle of the break again.
An alloy needle tip. Bent. Against human skin.
She reached into a small inner pocket and took out a spare narrow-bladed knife. The same alloy, with a blade two millimeters wide-enough to make an incision for a sample.
A cold hand clamped down on her knife-wielding wrist from the side.
Shinobu's breath caught.
Yaha opened his eyes.
There was no slow awakening from sleep. His eyes simply opened, his pupils fixing on her, their scarlet color making the lantern light seem even dimmer.
His right hand held her wrist, all five fingers tightening. He barely exerted any force, yet Shinobu could not move an inch.
The next second, two restraint straps snapped.
With one hand, he flipped Shinobu over and pressed her back against the bed. The little knife ended up in Yaha's hand, and he casually set it beside the bed. She looked up to find him above her, the almost invisible white dot on his neck catching the light for an instant.
"Putting your hands on people while they sleep," Yaha said, his voice a little raspier, though his tone retained that same bone-deep, lazy indifference. "The Insect Hashira has some unusual hobbies."
He pinned Shinobu's wrists with one hand. Her back lay flush against the mattress, leaving her unable to move.
Her mind was perfectly clear.
She could feel the temperature of his hand-cool, its joints sharply defined. His grip was so effortless it seemed almost careless, yet it felt as though he had pressed her into the bed frame.
She clenched her back teeth and triggered the hidden compartment in her cuff with her index finger.
Blinding poison powder sprayed from her sleeve straight into Yaha's face.
Yaha lowered his head and inhaled deeply.
He paused, like someone tasting tea, and gave a short hum through his nose.
"Too weak," he judged. "No kick to it."
Shinobu's last shred of hope died.
Yaha loosened his hold on her wrists slightly, then changed his grip, pinching her pulse point between his thumb and index finger.
"Your pulse is racing." He leaned a little closer, his voice just loud enough for the two of them to hear. "You're not afraid that I'm a demon."
Shinobu said nothing.
"You're afraid this power will slip out of your control one day," Yaha continued, his tone as level as though he were reading a dull battle report. "You're afraid you won't be able to control it, that the Demon Slayer Corps' rules won't be able to contain it either. And then, one day, it'll turn on someone you know."
Shinobu's lashes twitched.
With a single sentence, he had dragged out what she had buried deepest for years.
Yaha's gaze left her face.
It drifted down to the side of her neck, mostly hidden beneath her uniform collar.
The skin there was very pale. Under the lantern light, a faint blue showed through-the color of the blood vessels beneath it.
Black markings surfaced on Yaha's face, seeping out beside his ear like ink soaking into rice paper and spreading to his jaw.
His Adam's apple bobbed.
The hunger brought on by rebuilding his flesh was not normal hunger. It was not the emptiness of a stomach. It felt as though every bone were collapsing inward, every muscle demanding energy from the source of his cursed energy. His highly concentrated essence had been exhausted. His body was rebuilding itself, but its consumption far outstripped its supply.
Any concentrated essence would do. Any dense energy. Anything, as long as it could fill the void.
A blood vessel in Shinobu's neck pulsed.
Yaha swallowed.
Then he frowned.
No.
He had already smelled this body. It was saturated with wisteria poison accumulated over years; even the fluid flowing through the blood vessels beneath her skin carried the bitter taste of plant alkaloids. His Sukuna instincts had classified that scent as poison-something repellent that must not be eaten.
He tossed Shinobu aside.
Not hard. Her back bounced once before settling onto the mattress, and then he pushed her off the bed.
"Poison, bitter from head to toe." Yaha placed the little knife beside his pillow and rolled over, turning his back on her. "Just looking at you kills my appetite."
Shinobu stood beside the bed, the sensation of his grip still lingering on her wrists.
"Go get me fifty kilos of roast meat," Yaha's voice came from the pillow, muffled and careless. "The sooner, the better."
Shinobu glanced down at her hands.
Her fingers were trembling slightly. Even she had not noticed when it had begun.
She turned, picked up the broken syringe from the floor, tucked it into her inner pocket, and walked out of the ward.
The door closed behind her.
The smell of herbs was a little fainter in the corridor. Only then did she realize how carefully she had kept her breathing even inside.
She stood in the corridor, pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, and steadied her breath.
A thunderous boom rose from the ground in the direction of the outer courtyard.
The stone corridor walls shook. The lantern flames swayed violently, and dust sifted down from the ceiling.
Then came the sharp crack of a door being slapped open, carrying all the way in from the Butterfly Mansion's front entrance.
Footsteps. Two sets. One heavy, the other hurried.
Shinobu slowly lowered her hand and turned.
At the end of the corridor, two figures stopped, silhouetted against the dim lantern light.
Silver hair. The pressure of Wind Breathing had already rolled in from the outer courtyard, scattering most of the lingering herbal smell.
Sanemi Shinazugawa.
Beside him stood Obanai Iguro, the Serpent Hashira.
Neither man restrained his killing intent. It was as biting as the cold wind sweeping in from the outer courtyard, lowering the temperature of the entire corridor by several degrees.
Shinazugawa stared at Shinobu. His voice was very low, but every word fell like a weight. "Where's the monster that eats demons?"
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