A Pleasant Meeting!

Tanjiro inhaled deeply, drawing the peculiar scent into his lungs. It swirled around him, thicker and more pungent than before, as if he were immersed in a fog of fragrance. His mind raced to analyze each nuance - the bitterness reminiscent of demons, yet lacking their foul stench of malevolence. An unusual aroma, both foreign and familiar, disconcerting in its allure.

He slowly released his breath, brows furrowed. "This scent... it brings demons to mind Did we already find the one lurking in the district?" He was about to feel a bit relieved, yet the back of his mind said otherwise until it convinced him. "But something is different." A glimmer of hope and relief flickered within him.

But then a niggling doubt took root in the back of his mind. Something nagging and uncertain. The aroma swirling around him, though demonic in nature, differed subtly from the demons he had fought before. An imperceptible yet crucial distinction that his trained senses perceived.

The grim concern crept back into his thoughts. His hands slowly unclenched as a sense of calm descended upon him.

"None of the demons I've encountered smelled quite like this... Then what it might be?"

He scanned the crowd intently, scrutinizing each face for some clue to the scent's origin. Revelers milled about, laughing and chatting, figures coming in and out of focus as lanterns swayed overhead. A sea of colors and sounds threatened to overwhelm his senses, but Tanjiro remained focused. He tuned out the din around him, listening instead for any voice or movement that seemed a match for that compelling fragrance.

Nothing and no one appeared out of the ordinary at first glance. Tanjiro moved slowly through the throngs of people, watching and waiting for some subtle sign to catch his eye. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, ready to strike at the first hint of danger. Though this smell lacked the sweetness of typical demons, something disconcerting about its allure put him on guard.

He wove skillfully between patrons, following the invisible trail of scent as it rose and fell around him. Stronger near a pillar where it seemed to pool before dispersing into the air. Fainter as a passing group caused it to waver for a moment. But always persistent, coiling around Tanjiro like an invisible tether drawing him farther into the entertainment district.

The aroma intensified with each step until it transformed from a wisp of curiosity into a thick miasma as if its source were moving through the crowd to taunt him. Tanjiro quickened his pace, using the fluctuations in fragrance to track its origin, to hunt his peculiar prey with the skills honed from years of training. He slipped deftly between clusters of revelers, stalking the scent's twists and turns, chasing the images his mind conjured of a figure just out of sight.

At last, the scent grew so overpowering that its source had to be nearby. Tanjiro rushed forward, his eyes scanning for that first glimpse to confirm what his nose already knew to be true. The sea of faces and sounds seemed to fall away as he focused solely on following this invisible tether to its end. His breaths came fast and shallow, the strange aroma filling his lungs until it was all he could perceive.

"There - just up ahead. It must be him!" He thought as his eyes fixated on the person.

An immense figure towered above the crowd, standing head and shoulders above the other revelers milling about. As Tanjiro drew closer, subtle details came into view. Features that seemed distinct in a way that marked this man as somehow different, foreign. Though dressed as a gentleman, something in his dignified stance and manner of dress suggested origins elsewhere as the individual's back did not wish to say anything else to this matter.

This had to be the one. The scent emanated from him in an almost tangible haze, its alluring bitterness swirling around Tanjiro as confirmation. His hand tightened on the hilt of his blade as he steeled himself to confront the source of that mysterious fragrance. It was almost too nostalgic to him, The night he met Muzan Kibutsuji, surprisingly without any major consequences.

The memories of that fateful night when he first encountered true evil in human form.

Anger and horror rose within him now, warring with the numb disbelief he had felt back then. How could one man possess such malice, such profound cruelty? How had Tanjiro survived that night, when others had not been so lucky?

He remembered Muzan's eyes - swirling pools of bloodlust and madness. They had bored into Tanjiro's very soul that night as if measuring his worthiness to live or die by a demon's whim. He had been helpless, powerless before such absolute evil.

But now things were different. Tanjiro was no longer that terrified boy. He had trained and honed his body and will into a weapon against demons. And the man before him, though his scent brought those painful memories flooding back, would soon learn that Tanjiro was not so easy to dismiss anymore.

The revelation of this stranger's true nature was at hand.

Until...

The swarm of people suddenly stirred into restless motion, jostling and shuffling in place as if gripped by an invisible force. An eerie buzz arose from the crowd as hundreds of indistinct voices overlapped in confusion, creating a dull roar that reverberated through the air.

Tanjiro stood frozen in place, taken aback by the abrupt chaos unfolding around him. People on all sides lurched haphazardly into one another, their flailing limbs knocking into him as they were swept along by the churning masses. He felt shoulders ram into his own, elbows collide with his ribs, and strangers' breath on his neck as faces flashed briefly into view before disappearing once more into the murky sea of humanity.

Despite the gloom pervading the area, the enormous figure towered above the multitudes, his fedora hat and a nasty scar on his right cheek seeming alight amidst the shadows. His bulky frame shifted ponderously through the whirling throngs as if parting a turbulent sea.

Suddenly, the giant man clapped his hands together, the sharp sound cutting through the buzzing din. "Oh, is it finally happening?" he exclaimed jubilantly, his voice booming and distinct even amidst the chaos. "You really know your way around here, don't you?"

"Well, I had to be sure my studies were indeed true," answered another voice besides the man, this one softer yet somehow piercing. He turned to find the speaker, a slender man gazing out at the masses. "Look at the multitude gathered here!" The fedora'd man's frame shifted ponderously as he surveyed the roiling masses.

He continued. "The Matsushima and Kikuyaya houses joining for an oiran parade - now that is a rare spectacle indeed. Outside of the annual Flower parade, I cannot recall the last time multiple brothel houses collaborated in such a fashion, considering how competitive they are to each other, even using some cutthroat tactics to gain more fame. That's the main reason I came here..."

Jiacheng chuckled, slapping the slender fellow on the back, whose eyes widened at the sudden pressure on his back. "Rare as it is, no one would miss this! The finest courtesans in the pleasure quarters are on display for all to see - what a treat! I've even heard about them back in my homeland." He swept his arm out, indicating the seething crowds. "And the people have turned out in droves to witness the spectacle. What an event this shall be!"

As the burly man's booming laughter faded, a hush fell over the swarming crowds. Heads swiveled as murmurs rippled through the throng, pointing to some spectacle in the distance. Then, drifting above the ocean of spectators came the melodious strains of shamisen and koto, followed by the rhythmic tapping of choreography geta on cobblestone.

As the music swelled to a crescendo, the first ranks of oiran came around the corner in a blaze of color and grace. Their tall geta allowed them to seemingly float above the ground, stepping in perfect rhythm to the beat. Their long, elegant kimono shone like beacons, dyed in vibrant hues of crimson, saffron, and indigo. Complex obi hugged their tiny waists, tied in intricate knots.

Their faces were painted in the oko-oya style, whitened with ceruse and beni, and with tiny red dots on their lower lips. Their eyebrows were drawn in high, elegant arcs, and their eyes were lined with kohl, giving them an otherworldly look of sophistication and mystery.

As they came into view, the crowds let out a collective sigh at the glorious sight. The oiran glided forward slowly, deliberately, their perfectly placed steps tapping out a melodious accompaniment to the music. With choreographed elegance, they lifted their sleeves, revealing palms sprinkled with incense powder, filling the air with a heady perfume.

The burly man gaped openly as the courtesans spun and twirled atop their wooden clogs, never breaking form or missing a beat. The slender man watched with a smile, enchanted by their evident mastery.

Tanjiro found himself involuntarily jostled forwards as the crowd's restless fidgeting and shuffling propelled him toward the front lines. Suddenly, he stumbled into an open space amidst the heaving masses of onlookers, granting him an uninterrupted view of the spectacle unfolding before him.

Oh, if you would know how many men would kill to take your place... Khm, especially a blondie.

Tanjiro attempted to maneuver his way back through the thronging mass of onlookers, hoping to get closer to that mysterious man from the middle lines. However, as he nudged and squeezed against the dense press of bodies, they remained immovable - like an impenetrable wall against which the sea relentlessly dashed.

As the parade drew nearer, the cheers grew louder and more passionate. Festival-goers chanted joyfully, adding their voices to the sound of shamisen, koto, and tapping geta. The crowd became one with the performers, swept up in the spectacle of floating silk, graceful gestures, and painted faces that seemed to glow from within.

The gliding oirans came into clear focus - the vibrant colors of their kimonos now vivid against his eyes, the elegant arcs of their painted eyebrows sharply defined. You could look at the sun, but not at them. The perfume rising from their scented palms washed over him in a heady wave, nearly intoxicating in its richness.

Yet surrounding the oiran, like celestial attendants, was a cohort of kamuro and hangyoku. The kamuro, young apprentices in simple but elegant kimonos, scurried to and fro, always close should an oiran require anything. The hangyoku, journeymen courtesans in their prime, danced and twirled alongside the oirans, accentuating their grace through harmony of movement and gesture.

As the oiran twirled, the kamuro clapped in joyful rhythm, their high voices piercing the din. As they glided, the hangyoku mirrored their steps, never faltering yet never drawing attention from their illustrious charges. Their sylphlike forms weaved an invisible tapestry against which the splendor of the oiran was thrown into sharper relief.

The tapping of their raised geta reached his ears with startling clarity, weaving in perfect counterpoint to the plucked notes of shamisen and koto that accompanied their choreographed steps. As they twirled, the courtesans' slender forms became crisp silhouettes against a backdrop of blurred motion, their graceful flourishes performed with mesmerizing precision and poise.

For a moment, Tanjiro found himself caught up in the otherworldly splendor of the oiran parade, his troubles forgotten, as both of them took some glances at him, followed by a sweet smile. Yet even as he watched, enraptured, a part of his mind remained detached, observing the scene from a distance. A reminder of the urgent task that lay before him, the unchosen path he must continue down no matter what dazzling diversions crossed his way.

The music swelled to a crescendo once more as the oirans reached the apex of their elaborate choreography. With languid grace, they spun in place, kimonos blooming outwards like colorful blossoms unfurling in springtime. Their sleeves traced delicate arcs through the air, releasing sprays of perfumed powder that hung suspended in golden sunbeams on both sides.

Stepping in perfect synchronicity, the courtesans stamped their raised geta in a rapid, staccato rhythm. Their painted faces shone with serene satisfaction as they executed twirls and flourishes of mesmerizing precision, bodies curving and arching in poetic lines of effortless beauty and balance.

As the final notes faded, the oiran stilled their dance and glided forwards in unison. The kamuro and hangyoku rushed forward, extending trays laden with spectators' gifts- silk pouches of coins, floral arrangements, boxes of sweet delicacies.

The spectators surged forward in a rush to offer gifts to their favorite courtesans, shoving and jostling one another in their haste. Pandemonium erupted as people tripped and stumbled, trampled by those behind them in the melee. Cries of dismay arose on all sides, along with curses in several dialects, as the people were knocked to the ground or found themselves pinned in place by the crush of bodies.

Tanjiro struggled in vain to maintain his footing, shoved this way and that by the seething mass of humanity. The oirans watched on serenely, seemingly unperturbed by the chaos unfolding before them, elegant and aloof as always.

A rotund man barreled past, almost bowling Tanjiro over in his haste to thrust a bundle of peonies into the arms of a willowy hangyoku. As he pivoted to present his humble offering, the man's sandal caught on the hem of her kimono. The hangyoku let out a surprised squeak as the man tumbled forward, grasping her waist for balance as the peonies slipped from his grasp.

Crimson blossoms rained down upon the cobblestones, their velvet petals crushed underfoot by the milling spectators. The rotund man stammered out a profuse apology, cheeks flushing as red as the scattered flowers. The hangyoku smiled graciously, assuring him that no offense was taken, even as her kamuro rushed forward with brooms to sweep away the ruined peonies.

Tanjiro winced in sympathy at the man's embarrassing blunder and the hangyoku's benevolent composure in the face of such a gaffe. His gaze traveled upwards to find the burly foreigner and his slender companion, still visible above the churning sea of revelers. The large man was laughing uproariously at the spectacle below. The slender man watched on with an enigmatic smile, as if privy to some secret joke.

Tanjiro stood on his toes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the strange man or his burly companion amidst the sea of revelers. Yet they seemed to have vanished, slipping away unnoticed during the escalating chaos. His nostrils flared as he sorted through the mingled scents surrounding him, trying to find that peculiar aroma from before as the smell of the perfume completely masked the smell of the giant man. Even though he looked suspicious, there were absolutely no signs he would be a demon.

He is honest and pure - a trait that he had never before encountered in a demon. He really admires the humans and he could feel no hatred towards them. His keen senses could even detect the sincerity in the man's actions, a rare quality that set him apart from the rest.

As Tanjiro searched for the peculiar scent amidst the cacophony of the festival, he felt a sudden gust of wind, followed by a wave of that strange aroma. He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto the burly foreigner and the slender man standing just a few paces away from him, some people still running in between them.

"There they are!" Tanjiro exclaimed in his mind, determination filled his heart as he watched the man who was still looking at the beauty of the Oirans "I have to question him!"

Tanjiro paused, taken aback by the sense of unease stirring within him. Though the sight of the hefty foreigner and his companion had initially filled him with determination, a strange disquiet now arose as he gazed upon the men.

At first, the sight of the large man and his companion had filled Tanjiro with determination - an eagerness to confront them and demand answers about the peculiar scent.

But now, doubt wormed its way into his thoughts. Tanjiro stood frozen, eyes locked on the mysterious stranger. An unease rose within him, gripping his heart like a vice.

"After everything I've witnessed, everything I've endured, why does this man make me hesitate?"

Memories flashed through his mind - the blood, the carnage. Fights that pushed him to the brink, leaving him battered and broken. A Comrade lost, never to return.

He remembered all too clearly the horrors and terror he had witnessed when battling demons. The cruelty, the bloodlust, the callous disregard for human life. Even as he became stronger through his training, those memories remained - seared into his mind like scars that would never fully heal.

Those battles had nearly cost Tanjiro his life, especially on the Mugen train, testing his resolve to its limits. There had been moments when he wondered if he would survive if his strength would be enough. Only through sheer force of will and the support of his comrades had Tanjiro prevailed. Tanjiro could not silence the small voice of doubt within.

"What if I am not strong enough?" it whispered.

He had steeled his heart against such horrors and vowed to never falter in his mission to slay demons. And yet now, face to face with this unassuming man, all his training seemed to fail him. His resolve wavered like a flickering flame threatened by the slightest breeze.

"Why?" he demanded of himself. "I have witnessed an Upper Moon, a demon beyond imagining! Why do I feel then like this?"

But even as the thought came, he knew the answer. For all his strength, for all the battles he had survived, a part of Tanjiro remained that frightened boy from so long ago. The boy who had watched his family slaughtered before his eyes, helpless to save even one. That trauma remained a raw nerve always close to the surface, reigniting old fears that training could not quell... Especially as that stranger slowly turned to face him, a smirk twisting his lips, as if he knew exactly what dark memories his mere presence and aura had awakened.

Tanjiro's heart beat faster, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, to shake off this fear and run from the threat before him. But Tanjiro stood his ground, fists clenched at his sides. Though his knees trembled and his head swam with terror, though every fiber of his being urged him to turn away, he refused to back down.

Tanjiro stood his ground, fists clenched at his sides. Though his knees trembled and his head swam with terror, though every fiber of his being urged him to turn away, he refused to back down.

"I will not run. Not again." Tanjiro thought, breathing deeply in an effort to steady himself. "I could not save my family... But I can save others from danger! And this danger now... This man!" The familiar resolve he had found since that tragic night began to build within him once more.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, then another. Slowly, his rapid heartbeat began to ease, the chilling fog of panic starting to lift.

"All this training has prepared me, ironed me! I am no longer that weak, frightened boy..." Tanjiro reminded himself, strengthening his will.

As Tanjiro lifted his gaze once more to meet that cruel smirk, his fear did not vanish. But an iron resolve had entered his heart as well, born from his memories of love and loss.

"I will face this man, human or demon. And I will ask him about that strange scent." Tanjiro vowed silently. "Whatever happens, I will not back down."

Whatever this man was - human or demon - Tanjiro would face him and ask this question. And though terror still gripped him, he vowed that fear would not govern him... Until a familiar voice echoed across the district.

When suddenly, a familiar voice ripped through the festive din of the district:

"GOMPACHIROOOO!" Inosuke bellowed as Tengen carried him on his back, ensuring he didn't go on lose as before, making even bigger chaos than before.

"Is he doing this on purpose?" Tanjiro thought as Inosuke said his name wrong this time as well. He thought he already grew out of that habit of his. The tense aura quickly faded away, making it more comical

Tengen's voice rang out sharply, "Will you shut up! You, moron! You're going to burst my eardrum with your mindless yelling! Also, didn't I say: "Don't do anything that will make you stand out?" Tengen's voice quickly followed as they arrived at the scene. Inosuke paused for a moment as his brain cells try to recall such an occurrence.

"Wait, did you?" said Inosuke cluelessly only served to further exacerbate Tengen's irritation, who only looked at him with utter disgust and disappointment.

Tengen sighed deeply, meeting Inosuke's clueless gaze with utter disgust and disappointment. His eyes bored into Inosuke's mask as if piercing right through into the void that lay beyond.

In an emotionless tone, weighed down with resignation, Tengen answered "You... You're beyond saving."

"Wha-?" Inosuke answered cluelessly once more, not even knowing what he meant.

Tengen failed to consider that perched atop his back, Inosuke could not see the crowd now staring at them, drawn by the commotion.

A fiery blush spread across Tengen's cheeks as he realized- to his horror- that he had done the very thing he'd cautioned Inosuke against, drawing unwanted attention to themselves.

"Get off me, you idiot!" Tengen snapped, roughly dumping Inosuke to the ground. His words came out in a hissed rush, laced with irritation. "This is exactly what I meant by 'Don't stand out'! But of course, common sense is lost on a clod like you."

Scowling, Tengen turned to face the lingering gazes of the crowd. He bowed low, uttering in a smooth, contrite tone,- "Please carry on. This buffoon means no harm."

As the crowd gradually lost interest and resumed their activities, Tengen rounded on Inosuke once more. His voice throbbed with irritation as he admonished, "Idiot! What part of 'Don't make a scene' did you not understand? Thanks to your idiocy, I feel like a complete fool in front of all these people."

Suddenly, a miracle seemed to occur as Inosuke's brain cells began to at long last register function. He remembered what Tengen had told him that very morning, confusion now writ large across his features.

Turning to Tengen, Inosuke said in honest bewilderment, "Wait, didn't you say you like to stand out-"

Before he could finish, Tengen cut in hurriedly, cheeks flushing anew as he sensed the direction of Inosuke's thought,

"First, I love standing out, and second, not in the way that makes me look like a bloody laughingstock!" Tengen's voice rose an octave in his mortification, words pouring out in a flustered rush.

Inosuke just stared back blankly, clearly not comprehending Tengen's discomfiture. Seeing the futility of further rebuke, Tengen pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled deeply. His words came out wearily as he spoke again: "Forget it. Just... try to stay quiet for once, will you?"

As Tengen rounded on Inosuke Tanjiro took note of his comrades' antics with the fond exasperation of one who had long grown used to them.

Yet before Tanjiro could even greet his friends, Tengen spun to face him, brandishing an accusatory finger.

"And as for you!" Tengen scolded, poking Tanjiro roughly in the forehead. "Running off without a word, not even knowing where you will go! Do you have any idea how reckless that is? Any one of these festival-goers or people around could have been the demon in disguise, waiting to ambush you."

Tanjiro bowed his head sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Too right you should be sorry!" Tengen snorted. "Honestly, I leave you alone for two minutes and you're rushing headlong into trouble." Tengen fixed Tanjiro with a stern gaze, his tone reproachful.

Tanjiro met Tengen's eyes, seeing concern mingled with exasperation. "You're right. I should not have rushed off alone. I apologize. But-"

"There's no 'but's," Tengen sighed.

"Wait," Inosuke then quickly spoke up, cutting off Tengen as he sensed something ominous as well, but he could not tell its source.

"Didn't I say to shut up, boar head! I have a moment! Are you this stupid on purpose or what?" Inosuke fell silent, though a look of confusion remained on his face as well as on his mask. "Augh, Anyway," He turned his head toward Tanjiro, continuing where he left off. "It's fine this time. But don't-"

His words were cut short once more as Tengen noticed the giant man gazing intently at their group through the chaotic crowd. An ominous aura seemed to emanate from the stranger, setting Tengen's senses on edge.

Tensing, Tengen discreetly motioned for Tanjiro and Inosuke to be on alert. He kept his companions in his peripheral vision, ready to defend them at a moment's notice.

The man made no obvious threatening moves, yet his gaze remained fixed on the trio. As a predator sizing up its prey, calculating...

Tengen maintained his casual stance with difficulty, all his senses now focused on the stranger. Tengen fought to keep his anxiety from showing. The aura emanating from the man was unlike anything he had sensed before. Far more sinister and potent than any other demons he had faced before.

Then, the giant man began to walk slowly toward them, after he changed some words with the slender man. His black clothes - a greatcoat and fedora hat - gave him an imposing silhouette.

As the giant man slowly walked toward them, Tengen discreetly signaled Tanjiro and Inosuke to prepare for anything while keeping an eye on the stranger. It was unlikely he would do a thing in the minds of people, but be safe than sorry.

The giant man stopped a few feet away, his towering frame and imposing black clothes - a greatcoat and fedora hat - giving him a dominating presence. Yet his expression seemed almost curious rather than openly hostile as his gaze fell upon Tengen and the others.

After a moment of silent appraisal, the giant man, Jiacheng spoke. His voice, while deep and loud to match his size, was even and polite.

Coming to a stop a polite distance away, the man observed them for a moment, eyes roving over their distinctive Demon Slayer uniforms. His gaze finally settled on Tengen. "Interesting attire," he remarked. "A special occasion?"

Tengen answered evenly. "You could say that." His tone was neutral but guarded, giving nothing away.

The stranger nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I meant no offense. Merely curious." He gestured at his own clothes. "When one dresses differently, it invites questions. I just considered breaking the ice."

Tengen relaxed imperceptibly. The giant man's manner, though unusual, seemed sincere. "These are our uniforms," he explained. "We are... security personnel of a sort."

The man considered this. "Hmm. Highly specialized, I'd wager." His gaze moved to Tengen's sword hilts peeking out behind his back even though it was wrapped around in clothes. "Rather well-armed for simple security. Might I ask what organization you belong to? I have not seen clothing like that before."

A flash of keen perception - this man was more observant than he first appeared. Tengen was careful with his words. "We should not spill too much information about this. But for short, our job entails... unusual hazards,"

The giant man's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Ah, Unusual, you say?" He glanced at Tanjiro and Inosuke, taking in their wary yet collected stances.

Tengen remained silent but alert, maintaining a respectful yet guarded demeanor. The giant man stroked his chin reflectively.

"Your discipline, your weapons, your specialized uniforms, all suggest a level of training and capability far beyond normal security personnel." He focused his keen gaze on Tengen once more. "Am I mistaken? Or is there more to your work than you've stated?"

"He is sharp, way too sharp." Tengen thought, a sense of unease creeping in. This man's perceptiveness and probing questions felt like a test, one Tengen was not sure he wanted to pass.

Tengen paused, meeting the man's curious gaze with a searching look of his own. A silent assessment passed between them.

Tengen sensed no detectable ill intent from the stranger, only genuine curiosity mixed with keen intellect... even though his ominous aura still emitted from him.

The faint brush of a breeze ruffled Tengen's hanging beads as he drew a measured breath.

"While our training and duties often demand unique skills," Tengen began cautiously, "the less said of our work, the better. For the safety of all."

A glint of comprehension entered the giant man's eyes. He bowed his head in acknowledgment. "I see. Some matters must remain veiled, even to the curious."

Yet as he raised his gaze once more, a curious gleam entered his eye. "Pardon my inquisitiveness," he began in a smoothly amiable tone, "but I could not help to question did you come to see this rare Oiran parade?" He gestured vaguely towards the crowd.

Tengen remained silent, wary of what Jiacheng was implying.

The stranger continued. "A lovely spectacle to be sure, what with the colorful kimonos and ornate palanquins." His voice took on a wistful tone. "The ladies themselves are no less beautiful, in all their adornments and poise. Like delicate blossoms come to life."

Tengen tensed almost imperceptibly. Though the giant man's description seemed harmless enough on the surface, something about his manner sent a ripple of unease through Tengen.

Noticing Tengen's guarded posture, the stranger smiled politely. "Forgive me, I did not mean to pry into your affairs. A chance remark, nothing more."

He bowed his head once more. "Please, go about your duties. I wish you success in your work, keeping the peace in these days." With that, he and his companion retreated into the crowd next to the slender man.

Tengen let out a subtle breath. "A wary one, that man," he remarked quietly. "Best we remain vigilant around such sharp eyes and spirited tongues."

Tanjiro and Inosuke nodded in solemn agreement. Tanjiro had remained silent and observant during the interaction, processing everything he had observed. Now he spoke carefully.

"His words seemed harmless enough on the surface, yet his manner and the way he watched us so closely put me on edge." He frowned thoughtfully. "It felt like he was probing, testing us through his questions and remarks. Gauging our reactions and responses and what they might reveal."

"Indeed, nice observation," Tengen said appreciatively. "That's precisely what he was doing."

Tengen's gaze turned back to where the tall stranger had disappeared into the crowd. "His manner was courteous yet his questions cut deeply. And though he claimed innocent curiosity, his aura belied a sharp, ominous, and calculating intellect, he did not seem to be a demon."

"His scent was similar to that of a demon, that's why I followed it. I couldn't tell if he actually was one, but there was something off-putting about it. Maybe because of all the perfumes around..."

"Wait," He turned to Inosuke for confirmation as he was sure he heard it wrong. "Did he say he can smell demons?"

Inosuke did not respond, and only looked at Tengen, who did not appreciate that. "Why is that look?" However, Inosuke remained stubbornly silent. "Why aren't you speaking boar-boy?!"

Inosuke's eyes narrowed. "Hmph. You demand answers but then get annoyed when I speak. Make up your mind, old man!" He yelled furiously.

Tengen clenched his fist, a vein popping in his forehead. "Old man?! I'll have you know I'm in the prime, the flamboyance of my youth!"

Inosuke crossed his arms. "You sure act like an old man. All wishy-washy."

"Khm!" Tengen cleared his throat, seeking to redirect the conversation into more productive waters, as well as saving the already sinking ship. "Nevertheless, your sense of smell remains a valuable weapon, Tanjiro. No wonder you were on edge around that man, even before he spoke."

Tengen's expression hardened with resolve. "We face foes both seen and unseen. It is our duty to confront all threats, however subtle." He met Tanjiro and Inosuke's gazes firmly. "Remain vigilant. Trust your instincts. And above all, speak with caution around such keen observers, lest our true mission be revealed prematurely."

"Now, come, we should regroup in the wisteria house around and commence with my plan."

"Didn't we forget something?" Inosuke said with a bit concerned tone.

Tengen replied dismissively. "If it's so unflashy as to slip my mind, then it cannot be that important. Now, go!"

Tanjiro questioned, "Where's Zenitsu? Didn't he come with you?"

Both Tengen and Inosuke turned to look at one another, exclaiming in unison, "Uhhhh..."

x-x-x

In one of the brothel houses, nervous laughs escaped its windows. Zenitsu sat amid the geishas in a state of euphoria, feeling as though he had stumbled into a fantasy world.

The elegant geisha surrounded him, their tinkling laughter like the ringing of crystal bells as they refilled his sake cup with graceful, fluid motions of silk-clad arms. He was forced to drink as he could not say no to such beauties. His probably first serious drinking in his lifetime and it would be quite a shame to lose consciousness between such beauties after the fifth round.

It was already time, to be honest...

Their vividly hued kimonos cascaded like flower petals, hair ornaments glittering in the warm lamplight like dewdrops caught in a spider's web. The heady scent of perfumes and incense - plum blossom and sandalwood - filled his nostrils in the most delightful way.

Zenitsu's cheeks burned crimson from the sake, but his face betrayed utter contentment. He blushed fiercely and stumbled over his words as one lovely geisha leaned low before him, revealing the pale smooth skin of her graceful neck and shoulder.

As the geisha sang and played the shamisen and koto, Zenitsu gazed around in wonder at the delicate paintings on silk walls, the flowering cherry trees decorated with paper lanterns outside the window, and ornate vases filled with plum blossoms in full bloom. It felt like a dream, an elegant fantasy of delicate beauty and feminine grace.

The geisha tittered softly again at Zenitsu's clumsy jokes, gently patting his hand and assuring him he was charming in voices like the sound of wind chimes. Zenitsu beamed, completely at ease in this tranquil paradise far removed from the brutal reality of hunting demons. For this surreal, blissful moment, he was simply an awkward young man enjoying the company of beautiful women in a place of peace and refinement.

Zenitsu sat contentedly, savoring this all too rare-moment of peace.

'How long will this heaven endure,' he wondered, 'in a world of neverending conflict?'

The delicate geisha surrounding him seemed more like ethereal apparitions than mortal women, their graceful movements delicate like the beating of butterfly wings. Their kimonos flowed around them in vivid hues, like blossoms scattering on a spring breeze. As they poured his sake and tended to his every need, Zenitsu felt like a prince attended by handmaidens in a Persian palace.

'Their laughter sounds like the tinkling of wind chimes,' he thought dreamily, 'and the fragrance of their hair wafts around me like incense, transporting my spirit to realms beyond this world.' said as he is losing himself in the euphony of koto and shamisen, the notes weaving a spell that arrested his senses.

'For now,' he said to himself, 'I choose simply to savor every blissful moment, surrounded by these charming nee-san in this garden of silk and flowers.' The women's gentle touch and soothing voices offered respite from his weary soul, healing wounds left by battle and bloodshed.

Zenitsu sighed contentedly. 'How I wish I could stay here forever, wrapped in heavenly music and sweet fragrances, far from the neverending pain and strife.' He knew such paradise could not last, yet for now, he embraced it fully, surrendering himself to the geisha's tender care and magical gifts.

"Thank you, Nee-san," Zenitsu bowed low, cheeks flaming like Mount Fuji as she ran delicate fingers through his blonde hair. His heart raced faster than a hare on the run. "This moment... nothing else matters right now." Closing his eyes, he inhaled the chamomile perfume that lingered on those slender fingers as they refilled his sake cup once more, the textures of silk against his skin and the softness of skin filling his senses with utter bliss.

"So, little boy... Where is our payment?" purred a silky voice.

Zenitsu's eyes flew open in alarm. "Eh?!" he squawked, only now noticing the sly smiles and gleam of greed in the geisha's eyes. The once soothing music now took on a sinister tone and the heady scent of incense turned chokingly thick. He realized with dread that this dreamlike paradise had been an illusion, crafted to lure him in - and now the bill had come due.

The Geishas giggled at Zenitsu's shocked expression. "Payment, dear boy! We don't work for free you know."

Zenitsu's eyes flew open in alarm. "Eh?" he stammered, only now noticing the sly smiles and gleam of covetousness in the geisha's eyes. The once soothing music now took on a sinister tone and the heady scent of incense turned cloyingly thick. He realized with dread that this dreamlike paradise had been an illusion, crafted to lure him in - and now the bill had come due.

Zenitsu's eyes flew open wide in panic. "Payment?! But I don't have any money!"

The geishas tittered like mockingbirds at Zenitsu's shocked expression. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to work off your debt some other way, dear boy," the lead geisha purred, her eyes glinting dangerously followed by the sinister gleams from the others, sending a chill down his spine.

Zenitsu felt like a mouse trapped by cats, desperately searching for an escape. "W-what do you mean work it off?" he stammered, hating how even meek and mouse-like his voice sounded.

One of the geishas sauntered over and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. "Oh there are plenty of ways a cute young man like you could be... useful to us," she purred silkily. Zenitsu's face turned bright red at her implications.

Then one of them takes Zenitsu's katana out of his clothes. "We can accept that as well," she said like a viper trying to finish off his prey. "I'm not gonna question its origins, nor why you have it, even though we are quite curious."

"N-no way!" he sputtered indignantly. "I-I cannot give this to you!" He quickly took it away from the geisha, holding it tightly to his chest, who looked at him surprised. "I-It is really important!"

The geisha replied, her smile never wavering, "Then are you willing to be arrested not only for not paying but also for carrying a katana illegally? You truly are a naughty boy..." She threw back her head and trilled with practiced laughter that rang hollow to Zenitsu's ears.

Zenitsu gripped his katana tightly, fury and alarm warring within him. His breath came quick and shallow as panic rose in his chest. These wily geisha thought they could toy with and manipulate him as they pleased, using threats to take what they wanted. But they did not understand the importance of his blade, nor the mission it represented.

Gritting his teeth, Zenitsu drew himself up to his full height and glared defiantly at the smirking geisha with his flushed face, maybe the sake gives that strength to finally muster up the courage that he unlikely do in a sober state. "You may threaten me all you wish, but I will never give up this katana," he said, his voice ringing with far more conviction than he felt. "There are far more critical things at stake than your petty games and demands. What's the other way to pay off my debts?"

The geisha exchanged wary glances, their mocking smiles fading as they realized this foolish boy would not be so easily broken. Zenitsu held his ground, fear and panic receding as the purpose and resolve filled him.

Zenitsu's heart raced, blood rushing in his ears. Fear and fury warred within. But amidst the tumult, his resolution only grew stronger. Zenitsu's hands trembled slightly as he clutched the katana, though his voice remained firm. Behind his flushed cheeks and defiant stare, his mind raced with panic. The geisha's smug smiles and veiled threats set his nerves on edge.

The geishas saw his hesitation and pounced. "So you wish to pay your debts another way? Then perhaps you should entertain us," the lead geisha purred, eyes flashing slyly.

Zenitsu grits his teeth, swallowing back revulsion. "Never," he spat. "I will find another way."

A different geisha laughed. "You have no right to make demands or refuse ours, silly boy. Give us the blade, or face the authorities."

Gripping the katana tighter, he fixed the sneering geishas with a steely glare. "Do your worst - I will face any authorities before dishonoring myself and my blade!"

The geishas' eyes widened in surprise, the mocking smiles falling from their faces. They had expected Zenitsu to cave under their threats, not harden his resolve. At that moment, he felt a sense of clarity and certainty he had never known before. No punishment, no torture these geishas could inflict would be worse than losing his honor...

Zenitsu tried to maintain his steely glare and assertive tone, but the sake was starting to go to his head. His words became slightly slurred as he declared, "I will neffer give up thisss katana! Do your wosrt, I'm not 'fraid of no authoritizz!"

The geishas exchanged amused looks, holding back giggles at this drunk boy's bravado. The lead geisha said in a patronizing tone, "Of course you're not afraid dear, you're a very brave boy."

Zenitsu nodded vigorously. "Dat'sss right! I'm the bravezzzz! No one messesz with... with... with Zenitsu!" He brandished his katana wildly, losing his balance and nearly falling over.

The geishas' laughter slowly subsided as they realized this fool boy had passed out cold. The lead geisha wiped her eyes and sighed. "Well, he won't be paying any debts tonight," she said wryly.

The others tittered and then moved as one, summoning a blanket that they tenderly spread over Zenitsu's lanky frame. He gripped his katana tightly even in slumber, drool beginning to pool beneath his face.

The geishas looked down at this hapless, hopeless drunkard, snoring the night away. The lead geisha mused, "There's always tomorrow when sake-fuddled memories have faded. Perhaps then he'll find a way to settle his debts."

"I hope the owner wouldn't be angry at us, letting someone stay without his consent..."

The lead geisha waved away her companion's concerns. "The owner will understand. Come, let us leave this fool to his dreams."

The others nodded in agreement, gave one last maternal pat to Zenitsu's blanket-covered form, and then withdrew, leaving him to sleep off the sake-soaked indignity of the night. With final glances of pity and amusement, the geishas left the common room, their colorful kimonos rustling softly.

|ZENITSU, 16, THUNDER BREATHER, FOUND HIMSELF IN A DIFFICULT FINANCIAL SITUATION THAT LEFT HIM INDEBTED. AS A RESULT, HE IS UNABLE TO PARTICIPATE IN UZUI'S PLAN UNTIL HIS OBLIGATIONS ARE SATISFIED!|

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- SECRETS BEYOND JAPAN -

-1-

A wild Author suddenly appears as the scene pauses.

"Now, that's some difficult problems to deal with, too bad I cannot have to deal with them! Haha!"

A wild Jiacheng also appears, making the author's eyes widen.

"You should be more sympathetic, what if you have to face such an occurrence?"

"H-H-HOW THIS IS MY OWN PRIVATE PLACE! HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?!"

"I don't know, I just walked around until. 'puff', I'm here."

"Wow, that's actually terrifying to think about it... And why aren't you freaked out? Why are you conversing with me instead of demanding answers?"

"See, you can be sympathetic, just try to think of yourself in one place." He adjusts his fedora hat. "Also, I will rather go with the flow, rather asking questions that you couldn't even answer as it seems."

Author shrugs.

"Ah, well, ok you've got a point. What can I do?"

"Perhaps, change your ways?"

"Nah, I love seeing how other people suffer because of their stupidity that could have been easily avoided, by only not accepting some sweet words from suspicious ladies..."

Jiacheng sighs.

"You are reminding me of my old self before I became a philosopher..."

"Your old self?" The author pauses as he processes the latter said. "Wait you are a philosopher?"

"Indeed, I am."

"Could you tell me more about it?! I'm very interested."

Jiacheng looks around, "Can Eudokia find me here?"

"I don't think so... If she suddenly doesn't 'puff' here like you."

"Then let's begin!" He exclaims with eagerness as well.

"Jiacheng Chen was born in 1608 to a lower-class family in China during the Ming dynasty. His early years were difficult, fraught with hardship and deprivation, and even from a young age, he gravitated toward bad influences and soon fell into a life of debauchery. He spent his days drinking heavily, smoking opium, and sleeping with prostitutes. It was easy for him, as his height even in his youth made others flee, even though his body was nowhere compared to now. To fund his vices, he resorted to begging and petty thievery. Jiacheng cared little for others and lived only for his next indulgence."

"Why do you speak in third person about yourself?"

"Why do you interrupt me if you're so 'interested'? I want to be more dramatic."

"Ok, sorry... I just found it strange..."

"One moonless night, while engaged in a heated quarrel with another street beggar over an opium pipe, Jiacheng was suddenly and viciously stabbed in the belly by his opponent's rusty blade. Blood poured forth from his wounded abdomen as he collapsed into a puddle on the filthy alley floor, wondering if his short and wretched life was finally at an end.

As the light began to dim in his eyes and the frigid hands of death closed in around him, Jiang was struck with a moment of clarity. He realized with perfect lucidity how foolishly and meaninglessly he had wasted his existence up to that point, squandering what little he had been given on drink, drugs, and debauchery while caring nothing for others. With his last ounce of strength, he pleaded fervently to Guanyin Bodhisattva to spare his life so that he might repent of his sins and strive to reform."

"Uh, That seemed pretty nasty."

"Will you let me continue?"

"Ok, ok..."

To Jiachneng's utter astonishment, he awoke the next morning where he had fallen, his wound crudely but effectively bandaged. A man, likely a saint among mortals, had found him left for dead and through some miracle had nursed him back from the doorstep of the netherworld. Resolute in his newfound resolution, Jiacheng vowed then and there to renounce his former existence of vice and idleness, committing himself instead to dedicating his life to study, meditation, and martial arts as a means of reformation and atonement.

With this oath, Jiacheng began his journey of redemption - rescued from the jaws of death by divine grace and the hand of mercy, given a second chance to walk a better path and live a life of meaning and purpose rather than aimless self-indulgence.

Eager to begin his reformation through spiritual and intellectual development, He first made his way to the local Buddhist monastery. Upon arriving, he prostrated himself fully before the main gate, remaining in that humble posture as he called out to the nearby monks and beseeched them for the opportunity to study from their collection of sacred texts and scrolls.

The elder monks emerged to observe this disheveled street beggar begging for admittance, their initial skepticism and suspicion evident on their faces. Yet as he explained in simple but heartfelt terms how close to death's door he had recently come and how earnest was his desire for repentance and reform, their hardened gazes softened. Clearly seeing the sincerity in his eyes and the resolve in his bearing, the monks consented to allow him into their library and among their lines, as a monk.

With bowed heads and shaking hands, Jiacheng was, at last, ushered into the great chamber housing the trove of philosophical, spiritual, and religious writings that these monks had collected and safeguarded over centuries. Selecting an ancient scroll at random, he carefully unrolled it with trembling fingers and began to pore over the timeless teachings of wisdom and compassion therein contained. And so, with that humble first step, Jiang Chengzhi embarked on his journey of redemption through the study of the sacred texts and meditations that would nourish his spirit and enlighten his mind, though the uphill path would prove long and arduous.

After three years of studying philosophical texts at the Buddhist monastery, Jiacheng realized he needed to improve his martial skills to achieve balance in body and spirit. For many weeks he roamed the back alleys and side streets of the city, humbly inquiring if any master would accept him as a student. Again and again, he was rejected, due to his disreputable past.

Eventually, he came across an elder practicing xingyi quan, a martial art that harnessed internal energy. Though reluctant, seeing Jiacheng's sincerity the elder consented to teach him. He began by drilling Jiacheng in basic exercises to strengthen his joints and build balance and flexibility. Jiacheng sweated profusely performing arm rotations and leg extensions that strained his muscles, yet he persevered till he achieved each movement properly.

Next, the elder taught him the twelve postures and twelve punches of the liu he quan, the Six Harmony Fists. As Jiacheng's movements flowed smoothly from one to the next, his body and spirit attained a harmonious state. The rote practice also imparted meditative calm, focusing his formerly scattered thoughts.

Combining the mastery of ancient texts with manual dexterity in xingyi quan, Jiacheng finally attained the spiritual and physical equilibrium he longed for. The balance between scholarly wisdom and bodily skill wholly transformed him, granting him the stability to walk the penitent path and make amends for the wastrel life he formerly led.

Jiacheng committed himself fully to his studies and martial arts training, determined to extract every drop of wisdom and insight to nourish his spirits and guide his reformation. The balance he attained between philosophical knowledge and physical discipline brought an equanimity to his mind and heart that paved the way for true enlightenment.

After a decade of devoted learning and practice under his Buddhist and xingyi quan mentors, Jiacheng's insight and character were greatly refined. His now sage-like visage and renowned intellect began drawing curious inquirers, seeking wisdom from the man who had risen like a phoenix from the ashes of indigence through enlightened learning.

One day, a celebrated Confucian scholar visiting the city heard a rumor of the reformed street beggar now pursuing virtuous knowledge with intense vigor. Curious to meet this Jiacheng, the scholar sought him out at his quarters at the monastery. Upon entering, the scholar was struck by the gravitas and eirenicon radiating from this humble linen-robed seeker who had transcended his former life through wisdom and compassion.

The two men spoke long into the night, discussing metaphysics, ethics, and the nature of human suffering. The scholar was impressed by Jiacheng's incisive intellect and profound insights, honed through years of study and self-reflection. Jiacheng in turn found inspiration in the great scholar's erudition and penetrating analysis of human nature and virtue.

This conversation lit a new fire in Jiacheng's spirit. He realized that not only could he attain personal enlightenment through learning, but he could share wisdom to alleviate the suffering of others still ensnared in vice and delusion. He asked the scholar to become his mentor, guiding him in the subtleties of ethical philosophy and Confucian thought. The scholar graciously agreed.

Under his new mentor's tutelage, Jiacheng's insights blossomed. He began writing treatises on virtue, metaphysics, and human nature that quickly gained renown for their penetrating clarity and sage-like wisdom. Crowds thirsty for spiritual illumination flocked to hear his words, which rang with the resonant authenticity of one who had transcended materialism through self-reflection and enlightened study

Jiacheng's journey of enlightenment through study and martial arts brought him great wisdom and inner peace. However, as the years passed he began to sense that something was still missing from his philosophy. A niggling doubt persisted that he had not yet attained perfect stability and balance.

This inner discomfort arose from a realization he tried hard to suppress - the truth that violence and conflict are an innate part of human nature and that war and strife cannot be fully eradicated from society. Though he had renounced his former violent ways, a part of him still recognized that violence held a certain dark vitality.

Jiacheng wished to turn a blind eye to this uncomfortable truth. He did not want to accept that the beggar and street fighter within him still lived on. So he pushed this realization away, continuing his writings on virtue and the moderation of desire.

Then... he met... with a man in cloaks in the night, he could remember every detail of how they met, he was in his room, without knowing, as he looked at the scenery that the town had drawn. He was the same man who saved him, Hidemasa Hatakeyama, at that time, he did not know the truth of who he was really. Their discussions cut right to the heart of Jiacheng's conflicted soul. "Do you wish to live in the lie you have created," Hidemasa challenged him as he slowly turned his head to the man, "or finally accept the past, the one you truly were, and achieve what you sought?" He then left without saying anything more.

These words shook Jiacheng to his core. Slowly, painfully, he began to accept that violence was an inescapable reality of the human condition and that it could, if properly channeled and restrained, play a constructive role in society. That war was the one that pushed humanity to its limits, to achieve even greater heights. Jiacheng's pent-up emotions and instincts, long suppressed in the name of virtue, now came rushing forth.

He quickly began writing and speaking of his new, controversial philosophy: that embracing and celebrating the vitality of violence, when properly controlled by ritual and tradition, could benefit society. His ideas began to gain traction, particularly among disaffected youth and marginalized groups.

But as Jiacheng's philosophy spread, the Ming authorities became increasingly alarmed. They saw his teachings as inciting rebellion and unrest. Government spies soon reported on his provocative speeches and writings. Jiacheng was captured and brought before the court.

As he was dragged into the town square in chains, crowds jeering at the radical philosopher soon to be made an example of, Jiacheng held his ground. "Truth cannot be suppressed," he proclaimed, his voice carrying above the din.

Enraged by his defiance, the magistrate ordered the executioners to commence. Jiacheng was bound to a post, his robes torn from his body. The first lash of the whip across his back elicited a cry of agony, yet he would not yield. Lash after lash rained down, tearing the flesh from his bones but failing to break his spirit.

As his lifeblood poured onto the dusty ground, a calm clarity descended over Jiacheng's mind. Through the haze of searing pain, he saw with perfect lucidity that his philosophy - now to be extinguished along with his mortal existence - contained eternal truths that could uplift humanity. While the authorities might martyr the messenger, they could not silence the message itself, which would live on in those who heard and embraced his words.

With this realization, Jiacheng accepted his fate with serene resignation. Yet even in those final moments as his tormenters' whips reduced his body to a tattered mass of flayed skin and shattered bone, his indomitable spirit remained whole and unvanquished.

As the light began to fade from Jiacheng's eyes and death's cold hand closed around his failing heart, a familiar voice whispered in his ear: "You have finally achieved what you sought." His eyes then completely closed.

Until it suddenly opened up once more, however, he find himself in the same house that years before, when he was stabbed. But there was no pain, no broken flesh - he was whole again. He pinched himself and tapped his body, but this was no dream. He was back in the very house where his journey of enlightenment and acceptance had begun.

Sitting across from him was not a figment of his imagination - it was Hidemasa, ever youthful and ageless.

He stands tall, with a lean and athletic build that speaks to his strength and agility. His skin is pale and appears to glow in the dim light that surrounds him. His long and flowing white hair cascades down his back, framing his face and lending him an ethereal quality. His chiseled cheekbones and strong jawline are softened by his kind eyes, which are a warm amber color that seems to hold a depth of knowledge and understanding. His nose is slender and straight, and his lips are full and inviting. His entire countenance exudes a certain otherworldly charm and calmness that is both alluring and mysterious. However, there was all tattoo over his body, with the kanjis of 'traitor' that he did not seem to notice till before.

As Jiacheng observed Hidemasa, he suddenly spoke with a smile.

"You have transcended all tests of flesh and spirit! You now leave behind the shell that confined you, finally free to walk the Way as the timeless being you truly are... I'm happy... I could witness that."

That's how I changed my ways... boy."

"Oh, my god... that was... epic..."

"I'm not entirely sure what you're referring to, but I'll take it as a compliment nonetheless.

"Jiacheng..."

A familiar woman's voice echoed through the timeless realm.

"Didn't you claim that she wouldn't be able to find me here?"

"I just said: 'If she suddenly doesn't 'puff' here like you.'"

"What do you propose we do now? She'll likely try to kill me with her stare, now that she knows my whereabouts."

"That wouldn't work, you know that right?"

"Of course, but would you appreciate it if someone looked at you with such hostility?"

"Uhm... No?"

"Exactly my point."

"Ok... I can find a temporal answer for this problem."

"And what it might be?"

"Ending this chapter, right now!"

"What?"

"See you next time in the upcoming chapter: Infiltration of the High Brothel Houses!"

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