Akaza could fight.
That wasn't praise. It was simply an objective fact.
Not only could he fight, he loved to fight.
Rinko had never witnessed how a demon became a Lower Moon, nor how one climbed from the Lower Ranks all the way into the Upper Ranks. But he did have the fortune of watching how a former Lower Rank Six continued to carve his way upward.
After Muzan entrusted Rinko to Akaza, Rinko rarely met Muzan of his own accord. Most of the time, it was Muzan summoning Akaza with instructions, or Akaza reporting something, and Rinko would be brought along as an afterthought.
Like a pet being presented for inspection, so his "raising status" could be checked on a schedule.
This time was one of those.
Akaza wanted to initiate a Blood Battle for Rank. He sought Muzan's approval, and once permission was granted, the Upper Rank being challenged was summoned as well.
Rinko, naturally, chose the safest place in the room.
Right beside Muzan.
He sat down hard, as if planting himself there, and prepared to watch a battle.
"How is it, staying with Akaza?" Muzan asked lightly, without looking at him.
"Very good. I like it a lot. Akaza-dono and I get along well. Most of the time."
That was the truth.
All these years with Akaza could be summed up in one sentence.
Sleep. Wake up and train. Fight. Travel to a fight. And look for flowers on the way.
Over and over, year after year.
Akaza didn't eat humans much. Rinko didn't eat humans much either. Akaza loved sparring. Rinko loved slipping leisure into the gaps between sleeping and training.
Namely, watching a fight.
So yes, they got along quite happily.
"Most of the time?" Muzan echoed.
When someone spoke like that, they were usually waiting to be asked for the rest. Muzan, watching the two combatants in the center of the room, naturally followed up.
"Most of the time. Sometimes we disagree."
Akaza-dono throws me at Demon Slayers and tells me to practice.
That part couldn't be said aloud. Rinko ran it through his mind once and tossed it aside.
"But most of the time, I like it. Akaza-dono is… good."
Rinko nodded firmly. The certainty in his tone made Muzan oddly curious.
Where did Akaza get the ability to make Rinko like him this much?
After all, Rinko's evaluation of Kokushibo was no more than "very strong." He had never once said he liked him.
"Have you given him anything?" Muzan asked.
"I gave him candy, but Akaza-dono doesn't eat it. I gave him a flower wreath, and Akaza-dono wore it very, very, very unwillingly. But later another demon broke it, so that demon's blood and brains were used to smear the floor."
That was, indeed, a high level of liking.
When Rinko liked someone, he gave gifts. A very childlike way of expressing affection.
Muzan, too, had received all sorts of strange little offerings.
Wild fruit picked from nowhere. A rabbit caught in the dark. A ring braided from grass. A fledgling bird that couldn't even fly yet.
And then there were gifts that were not gifts at all.
Like the Nichirin blade Rinko had stolen from somewhere.
That one nearly had Muzan throwing both demon and sword out the door in one motion.
As the casual exchange of "recent stories" reached its end, the battle in the room finally produced a victor.
The loser was devoured by the winner.
Like hunting. The one who succeeded claimed the spoils and the meat. In essence, a Blood Battle for Rank was no different from feeding.
At least, that was how Rinko saw it.
"Can I go over?" Rinko looked up at Muzan.
At Muzan's silent signal, he stood.
Demons were possessive about food. It was the same instinct as territoriality. So whenever a demon fed, Rinko kept his distance.
Akaza, Kokushibo, Muzan… he treated them all the same, keeping a certain polite restraint.
But whether it was because his refusal to eat had become famous among demons, or because they truly saw him as some kind of cub, that courtesy always disappeared after one feeding.
The next time there was "dinner," he would be grabbed by his temporary guardian and hauled over to eat together.
After failing to resist every single time, Rinko accepted reality.
"So strange… it became Four."
Rinko sat across from Akaza, tilting his head as he stared at the blood-stained face. His gaze locked on those golden eyes.
The characters had changed.
"Next is Three," Akaza said.
He didn't value his current achievement. His eyes were always fixed on the next, higher point. Rinko leaned his head back and let out a small, understanding sound.
Three, then Two, then…
Wait.
Did that mean Akaza would eventually challenge Kokushibo?
Akaza could fight. That was true.
But could he fight enough?
If you lost a Blood Battle for Rank, you got eaten.
If Akaza couldn't beat Kokushibo, would Kokushibo eat him?
Just like Akaza had eaten the former Upper Rank Four.
"What are you thinking about?" Akaza's bloodied finger tapped Rinko's forehead.
Rinko blinked, returning from his thoughts.
"I was thinking… between you and Kokushibo-dono, who's better at fighting."
"And your conclusion?"
"Kokushibo-dono."
Akaza wasn't surprised. He snorted.
"I'll kill him sooner or later."
Sooner or later.
A very useful phrase. Like "in a couple days," it could mean tomorrow, or it could mean years passing unnoticed.
Muzan had said Akaza would "temporarily" keep Rinko at his side, but there had never been an exact limit.
And look at that.
A few years. Ten years. Perhaps it would become decades.
"And what are you thinking now?" Akaza asked again.
By the time Rinko looked up, Akaza had already finished down to the bones.
Rinko rose, then with practiced ease, hopped and braced himself and climbed onto Akaza's shoulder.
Muzan had left at some point. Once the corpses were dealt with, only a faint stench of blood remained, and even that would fade by daylight.
Rinko asked, "Now that you're Upper Rank Four, who fills the spot you left behind? When I first met you, you were Upper Rank Six. Who's Upper Six now?"
That question actually stopped Akaza for a moment.
Demons rarely had relationships like the one he had with Rinko. Most demons might go their entire lives without encountering many of their own kind.
And when they did meet, they usually fought.
Unless Muzan personally gathered them, Akaza had no way of knowing that kind of information.
"Don't know," he said. "But we'll run into them eventually."
He didn't care much about it. Rinko nodded, feeling that was reasonable.
Still, he was curious. Or perhaps it was anticipation.
If the other Upper Ranks were as easy to be around as Akaza, that would be nice.
Preferably the kind who wouldn't throw him at Demon Slayers.
And wouldn't keep trying to stuff food into his mouth.
If they could fly, that would be even more fun.
But… could demons fly?
"Akaza, can demons fly?" Rinko asked.
"If you want to fly, I can let you experience it," Akaza replied casually.
Rinko paused for a single heartbeat, then nodded without even asking if he was serious.
"Yes."
"Alright," Akaza said. "Then I'll let you try flying."
Rinko sensed a brief tightness in the hand that grabbed his collar, but between clinging to Akaza's head and trusting him, he chose trust.
He was yanked down like a kitten by the back of his clothes.
He watched Akaza lift him, pull back, inhale deeply, and gather strength.
One step forward.
The crack of the ground splitting was sharp, but it lasted only an instant.
After that, all Rinko could hear was wind.
How was that not flying?