Butterfly Mansion
In the days following the Hashira Assembly, the air in the Butterfly Mansion held less of the usual metallic scent of blood—and instead carried an undercurrent of whispered plotting.
"Listen up, you little ones."
Inosuke crouched behind a hedge, holding a twig and sketching a complicated relationship chart on the dirt.
"The Demon Slayer Corps right now is way too scattered."
He stabbed several circles on the ground with the twig.
"These Hashira—every one of them is strong like a monster, but none of them use their brains. This lone-wolf fighting style is extremely inefficient."
"Um, Inosuke-kun…" Tanjiro raised a hand, trying to ask something.
"Shut up, Gonpachiro."
Smack!
Inosuke snapped his iron fan shut and lightly bonked Tanjiro on the head.
"As the future boss of the Demon Slayer Corps, I've decided to launch the Internal Consolidation Plan!"
Zenitsu hugged his knees nearby, trembling.
"B-Boss… what does 'internal consolidation' mean? It sounds like you're planning to eat the Hashira or something terrifying!"
"It means making them get along, idiot!" Inosuke kicked Zenitsu in the butt.
"If two people with a good relationship fight together, their survival rate goes up—and the chances of them paying back debts go up too! Got it? Like us! Got it?!"
Of course, as a transmigrator, Inosuke knew how the future would unfold.
Even though he talked nonstop about money, he didn't want to see those regrets repeat themselves.
If he could make these awkward people speak honestly before the final battle… maybe the ending would change.
And hey—he could charge matchmaking fees on the side.
"First target…"
Inosuke's gaze pierced through the bushes and locked onto a large tree on the other side of the courtyard.
Under the tree, Kanroji Mitsuri—pink-and-green hair glowing in the sunlight—was resting her chin in her hands, gazing dreamily at the sky.
In the tree above, a white snake coiled around a branch. Iguro Obanai pretended to admire the scenery, though his eyes were glued firmly to Mitsuri.
"That pair of indecisive idiots."
Inosuke grinned maliciously.
Operation Code Name: Feeding Sakura Mochi to the Snake.
"W-What?! Really?! Iguro-san actually said that?!"
Mitsuri covered her flaming red face, staring at Tanjiro in delight.
Tanjiro was drenched in sweat, eyes darting everywhere. As an honest boy who couldn't lie to save his life, he'd been forced—under Inosuke's debt threats and the banner of everyone's happiness—to become a messenger.
"Y-Yes!"
Tanjiro stammered.
"Iguro-san said that… um… today's sakura mochi was very delicious, b-but… if he could eat it with Kanroji-san, it would be sweeter than the clouds in the sky!"
"Kyaa—!!!"
Mitsuri let out a piercing squeal, blushing like a ripe tomato as she twisted back and forth.
"Iguro-san is so bold! Saying something like that! It's embarrassing—but I'm so happy!"
Up in the tree, Iguro Obanai's brain had completely short-circuited.
His mismatched pupils shook violently.
When did I ever say something like that?!
Sure, that's exactly what he thought—but saying it out loud?! Impossible! What if Kanroji thought he was a frivolous man?!
Just as he was about to jump down and demand to know whether the charcoal boy had a death wish—
"Hey. Snake guy."
A lazy, aristocratic voice sounded beside him.
Iguro whirled around.
Inosuke was squatting on the branch next to him, somehow balancing a mountain of sakura mochi in his hands.
"That's…"
Iguro recognized them instantly—the famous shop's sakura mochi. Limited supply. Three-hour wait.
"Want some?"
Inosuke shook the stack slightly, the sweet aroma drifting straight into Iguro's nose.
"You've been staring at that pink-haired woman forever. What—can't afford a gift? Or too shy to give it?"
"You bastard!"
Iguro slammed his hand on his sword hilt, killing intent flaring beneath the bandages on his flushed face.
"Don't spout nonsense! She's a comrade!"
"Drop the act."
Snap.
Inosuke closed his fan and propped his chin on it, flashing a face prettier than most women.
"She's waiting for you to give her these. If you go down right now, hand them over, she'll be so happy she'll roll around on the ground."
"And if you don't—"
Inosuke opened his mouth dramatically as if to devour all the mochi at once.
"I'll eat them all in front of her and tell her you thought she ate too much, so you asked me to destroy the evidence."
"You wouldn't dare!"
Iguro completely lost it.
That was Mitsuri's favorite food! How could this idiot ruin it?!
And if she misunderstood and thought he disliked how much she ate—that would be worse than death!
"Then pay up."
Inosuke extended one elegant hand and rubbed his fingers together.
"Errand fee. Waiting-in-line fee. And Young Master's consultation fee. Total: five thousand gold pieces. No credit."
Iguro: "..."
He was rich—but he had never met someone this shameless.
But this wasn't about money anymore.
He'd been grabbed by the weakness.
"…Deal."
Inosuke immediately produced a prewritten IOU and a pad of red ink.
"Sign and fingerprint. Interest follows my rules—one day late, ten percent increase."
Grinding his teeth, Iguro pressed his thumbprint onto the paper.
"Give them!"
He snatched the mochi, straightened his haori, took a deep breath, fixed his expression—
—and jumped down.
Watching Mitsuri's delighted squeals below, and Iguro's stiff yet blissful figure, Inosuke flicked the IOU with satisfaction.
"One couple down. Snake Hashira's officially on my pirate ship."
"Listen up, poker face."
Inosuke swaggered up to Giyu Tomioka, holding a huge tray with a steaming bowl of salmon-and-daikon stew.
Giyu turned around, dark blue eyes flicking from Inosuke to the radish.
"…For me?"
His eyes brightened just a tiny bit.
"Dream on."
Inosuke rolled his eyes.
"This is a prop. A prop, got it?" He shoved the tray into Giyu's hands.
"You stand around like a wooden post all day. No social skills whatsoever. I'm generously teaching you how to socialize so you don't die alone someday."
He pointed toward Himejima Gyomei, who was arguing with Sanemi nearby.
"Go. Carry this bowl of your favorite food and offer it to them. Smile and say, 'We're all brothers, have some radish to cool off.' As long as you share food, they'll treat you like one of their own. Got it?"
Giyu stared at the radish, deep in thought.
Sharing food = improving relationships…
It sounded… logical. He really didn't want to be disliked.
"I understand."
He nodded and walked stiffly toward them.
From the bushes—
"Please work!"
Tanjiro clenched his fists nervously.
"Giyu-san is actually very gentle—if everyone could just eat together—"
"No chance,"
Zenitsu covered his face.
"I can already see the disaster."
Disaster Scene
Sanemi was wiping his Nichirin Blade irritably.
"That brat who brought a demon—next time I see him, I'll kill him!"
A shadow fell over him.
Sanemi looked up to see Giyu Tomioka standing there, holding a massive bowl of radish, expressionless and looming.
"What?"
Sanemi's temple twitched.
"You wanna fight?"
Giyu remembered Inosuke's instructions.
"Smile."
So he tried—forcing his mouth into an incredibly stiff expression that somehow looked more like a mocking smirk.
Then he pushed the bowl forward.
"…Eat."
Sanemi: "..."
"…Huh?!"
Giyu thought it sounded too curt and added:
"For you."
To Sanemi, this looked like an infuriating man holding a random bowl of radish, wearing a condescending sneer, offering charity.
A provocation.
A blatant provocation.
"Tomioka…"
Sanemi's grip on his sword creaked.
"Are you looking down on me?! Think I can't afford food?!"
Giyu froze.
He didn't understand why Sanemi was angry. Maybe it wasn't enough?
He pushed the bowl forward again.
"Not full?"
"YOU BASTARD!!!"
Sanemi exploded and swung his arm to knock the tray away.
"Take your stupid radish and get lost—!"
"STOP!!!"
A white figure shot between them.
At the last second, Inosuke twisted his body into an impossible angle and caught the tray perfectly.
"Whew—"
Then he blew up.
Holding the radish in one hand and pointing his iron fan at Sanemi's nose with the other, he shouted:
"You scar-faced hedgehog! Do you know how much this radish costs per pound?!
Do you know where this salmon came from?!
I paid for this! You can hit him—but you don't waste my food!"
Sanemi: "..."
Giyu: "..."
"And you!"
Inosuke spun around and kicked Giyu in the shin.
"I said smile—not cold-smirk! That face looks like you're attending a funeral! Who wouldn't get mad?!"
Giyu looked innocent.
"I… smiled."
"Smile my ass!"
Inosuke jammed the tray back into Giyu's arms, grabbed a pair of chopsticks, picked up a piece of radish, and stuffed it into his own mouth.
"Mm. Not bad."
He looked at the two men and then at the other Hashira who'd gathered around.
"Listen up."
Standing between them, Inosuke wasn't tall—but his presence was massive.
"I don't care what grudges you've got. But once you eat this bowl of radish, you're giving me face. And if anyone flips the table again—"
He patted the serrated sword at his waist, flashing his small fangs.
"I'll go tell the Master you're bullying a minor new recruit."
Dead silence.
Using the Master as leverage—was this kid made of steel?!
In the end, Shinobu mediated the situation. Sanemi left cursing under his breath.
Giyu stood there with the remaining radish, looking a little lonely.
"I failed,"
he said quietly.
"No shit."
Inosuke rolled his eyes and stole another piece of salmon from his bowl.
"But at least nobody fought."
"And besides—"
He pointed to the Hashira dispersing nearby. Even Sanemi glanced back once before leaving, still grumbling, but not attacking.
"You showed up in their field of vision. That counts."
Inosuke patted Giyu's shoulder.
"Negative fame is still fame. Better than being invisible."
Giyu looked at Inosuke chewing his radish, then at Tanjiro and Zenitsu watching anxiously nearby.
Suddenly, he felt the radish tasted… better than usual.
"…Yeah."
Giyu nodded and quietly kept eating.
Inosuke watched the socially awkward child with satisfaction and pulled out his little notebook.
"Social skills consulting fee, radish fee, and emotional damages for almost getting beaten with you."
"Half-and-half haori—you owe me three thousand gold. Pay up when you get your salary."
Giyu paused mid-chew.
But he didn't argue.
"…Okay."
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