The headquarters of the Demon Slayer Corps was hidden deep within the mountains, its location known only to the highest-ranking swordsmen and the support divisions.
Only the Swordsmith Village could rival its secrecy.
It was there that Tomioka Giyu and Kocho Shinobu brought Chika and the others — both because Chika had slain a member of the Twelve Kizuki, and because Nezuko was a demon.
As soon as they arrived, the Hashira were already assembled, their gazes sharp and heavy as they turned toward the small demon girl in the group.
No one's stare was sharper than that of the Wind Hashira — Shinazugawa Sanemi.
"A demon that doesn't eat humans? What a joke!"
Sanemi's voice was a snarl.
If not for the Master's prior command to stay his hand, he would've cut her down where she stood.
Everyone in the Corps carried hatred for demons — most had lost family or friends to them.
Even among those people, Sanemi's hatred was unmatched.
His face bore three long scars, his white hair stood like blades of grass in the wind, and over his uniform hung a white haori emblazoned with the single, violent character — "Kill."
He had once lived a simple life with six younger siblings and a cruel, violent father.
After his father's death, Sanemi swore to protect the rest of his family.
But one night, their mother went missing. He left his younger brother in charge while he went to search for her.
By dawn, he returned home—only to find a nightmare.
His mother, turned into a demon, was slaughtering his siblings.
Sanemi fought her desperately through the night, and as the first light of dawn crept in, he finally saw her face clearly.
The demon he'd been fighting… was his own mother.
When the sun rose, her body disintegrated to ash before his eyes.
And his younger brother—who had just arrived—saw only Sanemi standing over their mother's corpse.
He thought Sanemi had murdered her.
That was the day Sanemi's world shattered.
And from that day on, his hatred of demons was absolute.
He swore to kill every last one.
Now, years later, that hatred had not softened. If anything, it burned brighter.
Sanemi's glare could have cut steel. Nezuko, intimidated, shrank behind Chika.
Chika glanced up at the faint light of dawn breaking through the clouds and murmured, "It's almost morning. Nezuko, back in the box for now."
Nezuko nodded obediently and crawled into the box, escaping the suffocating stares.
Once inside the main hall, the eight Hashira were assembled:
Rengoku Kyojuro, Flame Hashira
Uzui Tengen, Sound Hashira
Tokito Muichiro, Mist Hashira
Kanroji Mitsuri, Love Hashira
Iguro Obanai, Serpent Hashira
Shinazugawa Sanemi, Wind Hashira
Kocho Shinobu, Insect Hashira
Tomioka Giyu, Water Hashira
The most powerful generation since the age of the First Hashira.
As they stood in respectful silence, the sliding doors opened.
The Master of the Demon Slayer Corps stepped forward.
His frail figure and gentle voice startled Tanjiro, who immediately recognized the aura of command.
"Master!"
The Hashira dropped to one knee in unison. Chika followed suit without hesitation.
One knee — not both. A bow of respect, not subservience.
To Chika, this man deserved it.
In another world, he would sacrifice his life and family to trap Muzan with explosives, choosing death to fulfill his duty.
Tanjiro, seeing everyone kneeling, quickly copied them — though within seconds, the Master softly gestured for all to rise.
"You all know the situation regarding Nezuko," he said gently. "I ask that you place your trust in her. The former Water Hashira sent me a letter, staking his life—and the life of our current Water Hashira—on her innocence."
That statement sent ripples of disbelief through the room.
Giyu, staking his life? The Hashira turned toward him in astonishment.
"Master," Sanemi growled, gripping the hilt of his Nichirin Blade, "I still can't trust her! Allow me to test this so-called 'innocence' myself!"
He sliced his forearm, letting blood spill freely.
Sanemi's blood was marechi — "rare blood."
For demons, even a single drop was worth fifty humans' worth of sustenance.
But Sanemi's was beyond rare — a super marechi.
Most demons would lose all reason from the scent alone. Even Lower Moons could grow delirious, and Upper Moons would feel its intoxication.
As droplets of blood fell onto the floor, the air grew thick with metallic sweetness.
Inside the wooden box, Nezuko's fangs clenched.
Saliva welled in her mouth, her body trembling from the scent.
"Give me the box," Sanemi said, waving his bloodied hand toward Tanjiro. "I'll prove what she really is."
He wanted to tempt her—maybe even wound her—to see if the demon girl would succumb.
But Tanjiro stepped between them, eyes blazing. "Never."
He wouldn't let Sanemi near her.
When Sanemi moved to snatch the box by force, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.
"That's enough," Chika said quietly. "Blood alone will do."
Her grip tightened — deceptively strong.
Sanemi's brow twitched. What the hell…? Her strength rivals Mitsuri's? When did the Corps get so many muscle monsters?
The Master spoke again, his calm voice cutting through the tension.
"Sanemi, she only needs the temptation of your blood. Nothing more. We all know how dangerous your marechi is."
After a pause, Sanemi exhaled roughly through his nose and backed down.
He might have been impulsive, but he respected the Master too much to disobey.
Tanjiro gently placed the wooden box in the center of the room.
Sanemi raised his arm over it, letting the crimson drops fall.
The scent filled the chamber.
It seeped through the cracks of the box—onto Nezuko's face.
Even the smallest whiff could make a demon insane.
Now the blood was dripping directly onto her skin.
Her hands clenched. Her jaw trembled.
Her mouth flooded with saliva.
The scent screamed eat.
But she didn't.
She forced her mouth shut, fists shaking as her nails dug into her palms.
When the scent finally faded, she still hadn't moved.
The room fell silent.
Every Hashira who had doubted—every one of them—watched in quiet awe.
Nezuko Kamado, the demon who refused to drink blood.
Even Chika had to admit… the scent was almost too much. She swallowed hard, pretending not to.
Super marechi… no kidding, she thought wryly. That stuff's intense.