When Chika woke up, the morning sun was already streaming through the paper screens, painting soft streaks of gold across the floor.
She blinked blearily, rubbing her eyes. Twelve hours… at least.
"Ahhh~ the more I sleep, the sleepier I get…"
Stretching like a cat, she yawned twice before wandering out of her room—only to find the living area littered with the slumbering bodies of Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, and Nezuko.
What in the world did they do last night?
She crouched beside Tanjiro, debating whether to pat his cheek awake. But after a moment, she decided against it.
Waking up a hardworking person mid-rest felt downright criminal.
If anyone tried that on her, they'd probably eat a "Rising Dragon Fist" before they realized what hit them.
"Keep pushing forward, Tanjiro," she whispered softly. "If you can avoid awakening the Mark, then don't. Trust me—it's not worth the cost."
The Demon Slayer Marks—one of the three greatest "power-ups" in the Demon Slayer world.
A blessing of strength that stole lifespan in exchange for might. Almost everyone would unlock theirs by the final battle… and nearly all of them would die within a few years.
If only there were a way to reach that power without burning through life itself, she thought.
But right now, there was something far more urgent.
The Mugen Train Arc—and the coming death of the Flame Hashira, Rengoku Kyojuro.
Her hands clenched slightly.
No. Not this time.
She decided to go find him immediately.
Yet as fate would have it, she ran into someone else first—Kanroji Mitsuri, the Love Hashira.
Mitsuri sat on a long stone bench, her legs crossed, a plate of pink sakura mochi neatly lined across her lap.
"Nom nom mmm! I'll never get tired of these! They're just too good~"
Her little hums of pleasure sounded so blissful that Chika didn't have the heart to interrupt. She simply watched, smiling faintly.
If Mitsuri noticed her, fine. If not, she'd wait. With how quickly she was devouring those mochi—one bite per piece—it wouldn't take long.
Barely a minute later, the plate was clean. Chika stepped forward, about to greet her… but froze halfway as Mitsuri cheerfully pulled out a three-tiered lunch box from the side.
"Now then~ dessert's done! Time for the real meal!"
The top layer: sticky rice.
The middle: pork cutlets.
The bottom: char siu pork—enough to feed a family.
"I'm digging in!" she declared brightly.
And dig in she did.
Five minutes later, the entire box was polished spotless.
Only then did Mitsuri finally notice Chika standing politely in the distance.
"Ah! When did you get here? I didn't scare you, did I? My appetite can be… a little big sometimes…"
Chika waved her hands. "Not at all! Honestly, I get it. My appetite's huge too. When I really eat, both my little brothers lose to me hands down."
That wasn't just a comforting lie—it was true.
Her enhanced body burned through calories like wildfire. The only ways to recover were sleeping or eating… and she did plenty of both.
Mitsuri's eyes sparkled instantly.
"Really?! You too?"
Finding a "fellow big eater" in the Corps was apparently the best thing that had happened to her all week.
Unlike most Slayers, Mitsuri hadn't joined because of vengeance or grief.
She'd joined the Demon Slayer Corps to find a man stronger than herself—someone she could admire, someone who could protect her.
It was a simple, almost childish wish—but despite that, she had always fought at the front lines, never once retreating in fear.
And now, with Chika beside her, that bright energy doubled.
"Come sit, come sit!" Mitsuri patted the space next to her.
Chika sat down… and immediately regretted it.
From this angle, the view was unavoidable.
The infamous "Love Hashira uniform"—modified by that perverted tailor—was open at the chest, revealing a scandalously generous amount of skin.
When she'd joined, Mitsuri had thought it was the Corps' standard outfit for women.
That illusion had shattered the moment she met Shinobu.
Even knowing the story didn't stop Chika's brain from short-circuiting for a second.
For a fleeting instant, she imagined herself in that same uniform—
—and mentally deleted the thought. Nope. Absolutely not.
She coughed to break the awkward silence. Mitsuri, misreading the gesture, hurriedly produced a bottle of miso soup from nowhere and offered it.
"No need, no need," Chika said, smiling. "Really, I'm fine."
As they talked, their conversation flowed easily—from food to missions to gossip about other Hashira.
In just ten minutes, the two had gone from strangers to something close to friends.
Eventually, they found themselves at a stone table nearby.
Left and right.
Sleeves rolled up.
Hands clasped together firmly.
Their intentions were clear.
On one side: a woman with muscle density eight times that of a normal human.
On the other: a Slayer whose blood carried the strength of demons.
The air between them crackled with anticipation.
The arm-wrestling match of the century—
was about to begin.