Not long ago, she'd worn something similar in Morioh.
But that jūnihitoe had been far more elaborate and oppressive than this—Inori had suffered through every minute of it. Still, the experience had given her a foundation; even without help she could manage Japanese-style garments. The real challenge right now wasn't the layering itself, but coaxing all those red and yellow trailing strips of the Goldfish Outfit into the inner lining. That part was genuinely tedious.
There was one thing to be grateful for: Inori had discovered that the Nameless Monster could contract at her will, compressing itself into a skintight half-body suit—all the dangling pieces tucked neatly away. Getting dressed in other clothes was far more practical like this.
And because the Nameless Monster was pulled in, layering another garment over it didn't add any visible bulk. The sash tied snugly at her waist still showed off Inori's curves—slender and faintly youthful, still developing, her chest modest but shapely, her hips gently rounded, her waist narrow. Nearly perfect proportions.
"Thank you, Kanae~"
Inori lit up with genuine pleasure. The effect was better than she'd hoped. The black-and-red kimono suited her so well it was almost as if it had been made for her.
"Is this yours?"
"It is," Kanae said with a soft smile and a nod. "Something I wore two years ago... but I can't wear it anymore now. So please don't worry—keep it."
"Why can't you wear it?"
Inori blinked, tilting her head.
"That's... a little awkward to explain, but I'm only seventeen, and I'm still developing. A garment made two years ago doesn't quite fit the same way anymore."
Kanae had chosen the most roundabout phrasing she could manage, but between girls, some topics are exquisitely sensitive no matter how carefully they're broached. Inori understood perfectly what she meant.
The smile froze on her face. A heavy silence settled over the room.
Inori glanced down at her own chest—then leveled a long, measuring look at Kanae's.
...There was, undeniably, a certain difference.
—Didn't think I'd ever be on this end...
She remembered Yasuho once envying her hip measurements and slim waist—that felt like yesterday. What goes around comes around. Now it was her turn to take a quiet, unintentional blow to the ego over someone else's figure. Damn. So what if there was more there. It wasn't as though Inori could do anything about it anyway—she was an artificial human, her proportions set at creation. No amount of effort would change that one and only shortcoming.
Not that she was completely flat, either. There was definitely something there, enough to fill a hand. But with such a slender frame, it simply couldn't compare to truly full-figured girls. Hare Menjou came to mind... and in this world, the Love Hashira—Mitsuri Kanroji—was exactly that type: the kind of woman whose weight was substantial but distributed entirely in chest, hips, and thighs.
—At the end of the day, this is Mana's fault. If your genes had been even a little better, none of this would be an issue!
—I can't believe you're blaming me for this. Truly~
The voice in her head had answered earnestly enough—but by the sound of it, Mana was fighting back laughter.
That Inori was so powerful, yet so often made to look foolish by pretty girls—getting tickled on the stomach, losing the chest comparison, getting knocked over by her. Hehe~
"Oh, I'm so sorry—I really didn't mean to put you down... but please don't be discouraged, Inori. You're born with it. Neither of us had any say in it."
Kanae noticed Inori go quiet and immediately understood why, rushing to smooth things over with an apologetic smile.
But that only reminded Inori: her body had been built to match Mana Ouma's frame, and now, having transformed into whatever unknown entity she'd become in this state, it would probably be locked this way forever. The dream of a full, mature figure was just that—a dream.
"It's fine. I'm not bothered."
Inori raised her face and offered a valiant smile.
—Absolutely. Not. Bothered.
"Haha—let's not dwell on it then. How about I design a hairstyle for you?"
Kanae seized the opening to change the subject just as quickly, resolving then and there never to raise this particular topic again.
"Oh?"
Inori blinked first, then instinctively reached up to touch her own hair.
"Hair as lovely as yours deserves more than just hanging loose."
Kanae's eyes curved into a warm smile, hands balled into little fists at her chest—the picture of barely-contained enthusiasm.
"That's... probably not necessary."
For some reason—even though Kanae's intentions were nothing but kind—there was something about that sweet smile that gave Inori a quiet, uneasy premonition. That she wasn't purely in this for Inori's benefit.
"I'd rather not have people fussing with my hair, actually."
A convenient excuse, off the top of her head.
"Oh, Inori-chan—surely you don't doubt my skill?"
Kanae murmured, something shifting beneath her usual sweetness.
"I style Kanao-chan's hair nearly every day~ You're in perfectly capable hands."
"Kanao?"
Inori's ears pricked up.
—That name sounds familiar.
"Ah—a poor little girl who came here about two months ago. She'd been put up for sale by traffickers, and I bought her from them and took her in."
"Come and meet her with me later~"
"...Sure."
Inori nodded.
Kanao... that had to be Kanao Tsuyuri—the Tsuguko who appears later in the story; Shinobu's hand-picked successor. A Tsuguko was a prodigy personally trained by a Hashira to eventually take their place—and typically, the Tsuguko would go on to become the next Hashira in their stead.
"Then come with me to my room~! It's too cramped here—I have all the proper grooming tools there, and I can find you some pretty hair ornaments too."
With that said, refusing would have seemed ungracious—especially after being looked after so generously. Inori couldn't bring herself to decline, and in the end, reluctantly dipped her proud head in a nod.
...
...
Though barely seventeen, Kanae Kocho was the most mature girl Inori had encountered across all the worlds she'd passed through. That had everything to do with her history. The other worlds Inori had visited had at least maintained some form of order and peacetime, but this world was rife with man-eating demons—a moment's carelessness could cost you your life.
And yet the weight of protecting people fell on a civilian organization that the government refused to even acknowledge. Inori found the premise baffling—with demons roaming for so many centuries, had no authority truly noticed?
The Kocho sisters came from a family of pharmacists, but had set aside comfortable careers as healers to join the Demon Slayer Corps. There had to be a reason that ran deeper than ambition. That, Inori supposed, was why Kanae carried herself with a warmth and gravity far beyond her seventeen years.