The next morning, Cold Cry woke early and changed into a brand-new white haori that Shinobu Kocho had sent over the night before. Wisteria flowers were delicately embroidered across the back, while six-petaled snowflakes adorned the front.
He wasn't sure whether the wisteria pattern had been part of the original design or something Shinobu had specifically requested. Either way, he liked it very much.
Wisteria had been his older sister's favorite flower. Wearing it now felt like carrying a piece of her with him. Somehow, it gave him a quiet sense of comfort—as if it might bring him luck.
As the saying goes, clothes make the man.
After several days of rest, a faint color had finally returned to his previously pale face, and his weakened spirit had mostly recovered. Now, clad in the pristine white haori, he looked like a completely different person—refined, composed, almost like a noble youth from a distinguished family.
Cold Cry neatly folded the patient garments he had changed out of and placed them by his pillow. Then he carefully hung the pendant his sister had left him around his neck.
Once everything was in order, he stepped outside.
Shinobu had told him to pack his belongings, but he had nothing to pack. He had arrived with nothing—and now, he was leaving with something.
It was still early. The Butterfly Mansion was quiet, its usual liveliness yet to awaken.
Cold Cry sat on the wooden steps, just as he had done in the days prior, gazing silently at the courtyard gate.
Over the past few days, he had grown fond of this place—the peaceful environment, the gentle atmosphere. Even the constant chatter of the attendants, which had once annoyed him, now felt strangely… comforting.
Before long, soft footsteps echoed from the corridor behind him.
Even without turning, he knew who it was.
Kanao Tsuyuri.
Since his arrival, Kanao had been a quiet but constant presence. At times, he suspected she had nearly counted every strand of hair on his head.
Sure enough, she walked up beside him and began idly playing with his white hair, as if nothing had changed.
Cold Cry didn't mind. On the contrary, he found her silence soothing.
"Kanao… that's a beautiful name," he said softly, glancing back at her. "I'm leaving today. You'll have to find something else to keep you busy."
Kanao paused.
It seemed she understood.
Cold Cry didn't know what she had gone through, but he always felt as though something within her had been sealed away—like a soul locked behind invisible walls.
---
That morning, even the usual chatter of the attendants felt subdued. The three girls exchanged occasional glances at Cold Cry during breakfast, making the atmosphere strangely quiet.
After the meal, Shinobu prepared to escort him to meet the cultivator.
As they crossed the courtyard, Cold Cry caught sight of Aoi Kanzaki peeking at him from behind a corner. The moment their eyes met, she quickly ducked out of sight.
Ever since their clash three nights ago, she had been avoiding him.
Shinobu noticed as well—but said nothing.
Only after they had left the courtyard did she finally speak.
"Aoi's family was killed by demons," Shinobu said calmly. "She joined the Demon Slayer Corps to avenge them. But during her first mission, she witnessed her comrades die… and experienced the true terror of demons."
Her tone remained gentle, but her words carried weight.
"Since then, she's stayed at the mansion to assist with recovery. She hasn't returned to the battlefield."
Cold Cry said nothing.
He had already sensed it that night—her instability, her fear.
"She wants to be brave," Shinobu continued. "To face danger like the others. But reality isn't so kind. She lacks the strength to decapitate a demon. If she returned to the front lines, it would likely cost her life."
She paused, then added softly,
"She probably has something she wants to say to you."
Cold Cry kept walking, head lowered, offering no reply.
Suddenly—
Shinobu slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper.
"Maybe she has a crush on you."
Cold Cry stiffened instantly.
"D-Don't say nonsense!"
His face flushed as he quickly pulled away, clearly flustered.
Shinobu smiled, amused.
"Oh? Getting shy now?"
She reached out and pinched his cheek lightly.
"I've already arranged a room for you. Whenever you're not on missions, you can stay at the mansion."
"…Mm."
"That's it?" she teased. "No 'thank you'?"
She tugged him closer again, clearly enjoying his reaction.
"And don't forget—this haori isn't a gift. Once you start earning, you'll pay me back."
"I will… you stingy woman."
"Stingy?" Shinobu raised a brow. "I haven't even charged you for food, lodging, or treatment."
"…" Cold Cry wisely chose silence.
---
Around noon, they arrived at the foot of a mountain. A distant rumbling—like thunder—echoed faintly through the air.
"This is White Dragon Mountain," Shinobu explained. "There's a waterfall here that resembles a white dragon descending from the heavens."
She pointed toward a narrow, winding path.
"Follow this trail. Near the summit, you'll find the cultivator waiting."
She glanced at him, her expression turning slightly more serious.
"Don't underestimate him. He's the mentor of Gyomei Himejima."
Cold Cry's earlier disappointment vanished instantly.
"I understand."
Without another word, he began walking up the path.
Shinobu called out behind him,
"His name is Aoe Yanrobei! Be respectful when you address him!"
Whether he heard her or not, his figure soon disappeared into the shadows of the forest.
Shinobu sighed, shaking her head.
"What a strange child… not even a proper 'thank you.'"
With that, she turned and began her journey back.
---
Hidden within the shade of the trees, Cold Cry stood silently, watching her retreating figure.
For a moment, Shinobu resembled a butterfly dancing under sunlight—light, fleeting, untouchable.
Only after she had completely vanished did he turn and continue climbing the mountain.
---
Deep within the forest—
A demon crouched over the carcass of a wild boar, its claws tearing through flesh as blood soaked the ground beneath it.
Suddenly, it froze.
Its nostrils flared.
Slowly, it lifted its head and sniffed the air.
A new scent.
Fresher. Richer.
More… enticing.
Its dull, yellowish eyes lit up with hunger.
With a low, guttural growl, it abandoned the boar and leapt into the trees, moving swiftly toward the source of the scent.
A far more delicious prey had entered its territory.