Inosuke and the others didn't stay long at the inn.
When night fell, they set out together onto the streets of the Entertainment District.
At night, Yoshiwara was as bright as day.
"Hahahaha!
Charge! Gonpachirō! Monitsu!"
Inosuke held several sparklers that sprayed crackling sparks, running wildly at the front like a child who had never grown up.
"Anyone who blocks the way gets their butt burned!"
"Boss! Be careful! Don't set your clothes on fire!"
Zenitsu chased after him, panting, while also watching out for sparks raining down from above.
Tanjiro held two sparklers as well, smiling helplessly but indulgently.
"Inosuke, slow down a bit—don't bump into people."
Behind them—
Dōma wore a yukata that Kotoha had just bought for him, holding a skewer of takoyaki, sticking to her side like an oversized tail.
"Kotoha-chan~ this is tasty! Ah~ open up~"
Kotoha blushed and took a small bite, her eyes curving into a smile.
"Lord Dōma… people will see…"
Daki walked beside them, one hand tugging on the hem of Kotoha's clothes, the other holding Nezuko's hand.
Two beautiful girls strolling together—turning heads at a two-hundred-percent rate.
"Hmph! What are you staring at?! Keep looking and I'll gouge your eyes out!"
Daki bared her teeth at passersby, then immediately turned back to Kotoha and clung to her affectionately.
Gyutaro stayed hunched in the shadows as usual, carrying piles of bags—most of them Daki's purchases.
Though he muttered about how troublesome it was, his eyes never stopped scanning the surroundings, wary of anyone who might bump into their group.
The most miserable one was Akaza.
He'd been forced into a pink yukata, his face black as the bottom of a pot.
"Why do I have to wear this?!"
Veins popped on Akaza's forehead.
"And why am I the one carrying all the fireworks?!"
"Well, because you're strong, Akaza-dono~"
Dōma laughed as he looked back.
Bang! Pop!
Brilliant fireworks burst open in the night sky.
Everyone stopped and looked up.
Multicolored light washed over their faces.
Demon or human—it didn't matter.
The light in their eyes was the same.
"So beautiful…"
Kotoha murmured.
Dōma gazed at her profile, illuminated by fireworks, his eyes so gentle they seemed ready to melt.
"Yes… truly beautiful."
Just then—
Inosuke, who had been darting around up front, suddenly stopped.
As if he'd discovered a new continent, he pointed at a shabby-looking shop by the roadside and shouted:
"Hey! Look at that! What is it?!"
Everyone gathered around.
It was a photo studio.
In the display window were several yellowed black-and-white photographs—people sitting upright, expressions stiff and solemn.
"Is this… a soul-capturing machine?!"
Tanjiro pressed his face to the glass.
"It sucks people's souls into paper?! Amazing!!"
"Pfft."
Zenitsu couldn't help but retort.
"Tanjiro, that's a camera. It's from the West. It lets you keep someone's likeness."
"Keep… it?"
Tanjiro froze.
He turned and looked at everyone behind him.
At Dōma's smiling face.
At Aunt Kotoha's gentle eyes.
At Uncle Akaza's awkward scowl.
At Inosuke, smiling right back at him.
An inexplicable impulse surged in his chest.
Inosuke saw the longing in Tanjiro's eyes.
"I wanna take one!"
He shoved open the studio door and strode inside.
"Boss!! Give this young master the biggest family portrait you've got!!
Everyone in it!! One copy per person!!"
The studio owner was an elderly man who looked eighty or ninety years old, wearing thick reading glasses.
His hearing seemed poor, his movements slow.
Hearing Inosuke's shout, he adjusted his glasses and squinted for a long while.
"Ah… taking a photo?"
The old man stood up shakily.
"Sure… sure… not often so many people come…"
"A family? That's wonderful… so lively…"
The words a family made everyone freeze for a moment.
"That's right!"
Dōma reacted first, cheerfully throwing an arm around Akaza and Kotoha.
"We're family!
A loving family!"
Akaza: "Get lost! Don't touch me!"
The photo shoot itself, however…
"That pink-haired young man, stop moving around—stand closer to the middle."
The owner directed Akaza.
Akaza ground his teeth. "I'm not a young man! I'm hundreds of years old!"
"Oh dear, my hearing's not so good,"
the owner chuckled.
"That pretty child, squat down in front."
Inosuke obediently shuffled forward.
"That white-haired gentleman, don't smile so stiffly—be more natural."
Dōma: "Eh? I'm very natural?"
Kotoha reached out and gently pinched Dōma's cheek.
"Lord Dōma, relax a little."
Dōma instantly smiled like a fool.
At last—
Everyone was in position.
Kotoha and Dōma sat in the middle, Nezuko in Dōma's arms.
Akaza and Gyutaro stood on either side.
In front squatted Inosuke, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Daki.
"Alright… everyone look here…"
The owner ducked under the black cloth, holding up the bulb-like flash.
"Smile.
One, two, three—"
BANG!!!
Magnesium powder ignited, erupting in a blinding white flash.
"Enemy attack?!"
Akaza and Gyutaro instinctively moved to strike, only to be dragged back by Inosuke.
"Not an attack! It's the flash!!"
The photo was taken.
But the owner said developing it would take time.
"Probably… until tomorrow morning,"
the old man said slowly.
"My hands aren't quick. If you're not in a rush, you can wait…"
On any other day, this impatient bunch would've left immediately.
But today—no one said a word about leaving.
"Then we'll wait."
Inosuke plopped down on the floor and yawned.
"Nothing else to do anyway."
And so—
In this tiny photo studio,
they waited from deep night until dawn,
and from dawn until full morning.
They sat together, listening to Tanjiro tell stories of the countryside, listening to Zenitsu complain about harsh training, listening to Dōma recount bizarre former followers.
Even Akaza was forced to tell a few painfully bad jokes.
The owner occasionally brought them hot tea, smiling warmly as he watched.
Time seemed to stand still here.
…
Finally—
As the first ray of sunlight broke through the sky,
the owner emerged holding a still-dripping sheet of photo paper.
"All done… all done…"
"It's developed."
Everyone crowded around.
On the crisp black-and-white photograph—
Everyone's expressions were a little awkward, a little stiff.
But—
In everyone's eyes
was unmistakable joy.
That happiness spilling off the page was something no color could ever replace.
"How wonderful…"
Kotoha murmured, eyes wet.
"Hmph. Came out ugly."
Akaza turned his head away, yet quietly reached out to touch the corner of the photo.
Inosuke looked at the picture—at himself, at everyone.
He carefully tucked the photo into his chest pocket, pressing it close to his heart.
Infinity Castle
Kibutsuji Muzan sat upon his lofty throne.
He was reading Shōzaburō's memories from before his death.
Images flickered through his mind—shaky, chaotic.
He saw the ruins of Yoshiwara.
He saw Shōzaburō hurl himself toward Kotoha, desperate to complete his mission.
Then—
He saw a figure both familiar and unsettling.
Dōma.
In the memory, Dōma tossed Shōzaburō aside like trash, throwing him toward the gun-wielding Demon Slayer.
"Hey, kid… kill him, and you can go to the Pure Land too."
Dōma's mocking voice echoed.
Muzan frowned.
"Dōma… discarded my Lower Rank for a human woman?"
"Tch. Lower Moons are disposable anyway."
The scene shifted.
Muzan saw the other side of the battlefield—
A sight that made his pupils quake.
Inosuke and Dōma.
Father and son, taking turns beating a Demon Slayer—
The Wind Hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa.
The memory was brutally vivid.
Dōma's fists.
Inosuke's whipping kicks.
Their methods were merciless.
Perfect coordination—beating the Wind Hashira until he was a bloody mess, utterly helpless.
Sanemi fell again and again, coughing blood, his life flickering like a candle in the wind.
Finally—
The memory froze at the instant Shōzaburō detonated himself.
Just before the explosion swallowed everything,
Muzan saw clearly—
The Wind Hashira lay motionless on the ground.
And Inosuke stood over him, face cold, as if preparing the final blow.
BOOM.
The memory ended.
That was the moment Shōzaburō's soul scattered.
Within Infinity Castle—
Muzan snapped his eyes open, his crimson slit pupils gleaming with near-maniacal excitement.
"Dead?!"
"That Hashira is dead!!"
He stood and paced the hall, unable to stop smiling.
"Hahahahaha!!"
"Inosuke did it!"
"And together with Dōma! Father and son slaughtered a Hashira!"
"What a delight! What a surprise!"
Muzan stared at his own palm, laughing almost hysterically.
"For centuries, I couldn't find the Blue Spider Lily, couldn't wipe out the Demon Slayer Corps."
"But Inosuke—how old is he? And he's already accomplished what so many Upper Moons couldn't!"
However—
As he laughed, the sound abruptly cut off.
His expression darkened, his eyes filling with deep wariness—almost… fear.
"But…"
"Why did my Lower Rank Six die too?"
"Why is it that every time Inosuke appears, my pieces die inexplicably?"
Muzan replayed Shōzaburō's memories—
From being thrown to Genya, to the final self-destruction.
It all looked like coincidence… and yet, like something guided by an unseen hand.
"Inosuke's mind… is terrifying."
Muzan murmured inwardly.
"He can hear my heartbeat. He can see through my body's structure."
"And now he's playing the Demon Slayer Corps in the palm of his hand—
even making Dōma, that emotionless lunatic, obey him."
"Everything seems to be unfolding according to his design."
"If one day… his blade were to point at me…"
Muzan shuddered.
He remembered the day his secret—seven hearts, five brains—had been exposed in public.
"No."
Muzan clenched his fist.
"This won't do."
"That blade is too sharp."
"I can't let him grow freely like this."
He sat back down on his throne, eyes sinking into darkness.
He began to scheme.
"I must… obtain an absolute leverage over Inosuke."
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