The aftermath of the Entertainment District lingered in the air like a wound that refused to close.
Even days later, the scent of blood and burned flesh clung to Karina's senses, embedded deeper than memory, etched into her breathing itself. The poison had been neutralized—Shinobu had made certain of that—but its echo still pulsed beneath her skin, a phantom pain threading through muscle and nerve whenever she moved too abruptly.
She sat upright on the wooden platform outside the Butterfly Estate, her back straight, shoulders squared, hands resting loosely on her knees. Discipline was habit. Stillness was survival. The world moved around her in muted fragments: the quiet footsteps of attendants, the low murmur of recovering slayers, the distant wind stirring the wisteria trees.
Karina did not close her eyes.
Closing them invited recollection.
Upper Rank demons did not die easily. Neither did the memories they left behind.
She inhaled slowly, regulating her breath with practiced precision. Arcane Breathing responded immediately, subtle and obedient, threading clarity through the residual ache. Control reasserted itself. Control was safety.
"Still awake?"
The voice cut through her concentration—not intrusive, but warm, unmistakably so.
Karina turned her head.
Kanroji Mitsuri stood a short distance away, sunlight catching in the soft gradients of her hair, the familiar braid resting over her shoulder. She wore her uniform loosely, haori unfastened, posture relaxed in a way that spoke of comfort rather than carelessness.
Karina noted, with faint irritation, how quickly her pulse shifted.
"Yes," she replied. Her voice remained even. "I don't require much rest."
Mitsuri smiled, gentle but observant, and approached without haste. She stopped beside Karina rather than in front of her, careful not to invade space too abruptly. Still, her presence altered the air between them—lighter, warmer, undeniably present.
"That's what Shinobu said you'd answer," Mitsuri said. "She also said it wasn't entirely true."
Karina exhaled through her nose. "Shinobu speaks too freely."
"She's worried," Mitsuri replied. "We all are."
The plural did not go unnoticed, but Karina focused on the space ahead of her rather than the implication. She had been watched since arriving in Japan—assessed, measured, categorized. Concern was simply another form of scrutiny.
"I'm functional," Karina said. "That's sufficient."
Mitsuri tilted her head slightly, studying her profile. There was no judgment in her expression. Only interest. And something else—something unguarded.
"Functional doesn't mean unharmed," she said quietly.
Karina did not answer at once.
The truth was inconvenient.
She had survived worse than poison. Worse than illusions. Worse than Upper Rank demons tearing at the seams of reality itself. Survival was not the issue.
Stability was.
"I will recover," Karina said at last.
Mitsuri nodded, accepting the response without pressing further. She lowered herself to sit beside Karina, close enough that their sleeves brushed when the breeze shifted. The contact was light—incidental, easily dismissed.
It was also impossible to ignore.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The silence between them was not awkward. It was weighted. Deliberate. As if both were listening to something beneath the surface.
Mitsuri broke it first.
"Tengen said you should be sent to the Swordsmith Village."
Karina's gaze sharpened. "I'm aware."
"He wasn't subtle about it," Mitsuri added, a faint laugh in her voice. "He said your blade needs attention. And that… you do too."
Karina's lips pressed into a thin line. Uzui Tengen had never been one for restraint.
"It's a precaution," Karina said. "Upper Rank encounters have consequences."
Mitsuri hummed thoughtfully. "Then I'll be going with you."
That earned her full attention.
Karina turned, meeting Mitsuri's eyes directly for the first time since she arrived. There was no teasing in Mitsuri's expression now. Only certainty.
"That's unnecessary," Karina said. "The village's location is confidential. Escorts are limited."
"I'm a Hashira," Mitsuri replied simply. "And I asked."
Karina searched her face for ulterior motive. She found none—only resolve, open and unwavering.
"You asked," Karina repeated.
Mitsuri smiled. "I insisted."
A pause stretched between them.
Karina had worked alongside many Pillars. None had unsettled her quite like this. Mitsuri's presence lacked the sharp edges Karina expected from someone of her rank. There was no posturing, no guarded hostility. Just… warmth. Directness. An absence of fear.
It was disarming.
"You shouldn't," Karina said quietly. "Proximity increases risk."
"Everything increases risk," Mitsuri replied. "Living included."
She rose to her feet with a fluid grace, extending a hand—not in command, but invitation.
"Come with me," she said. "Shinobu wants to run a final check before we leave."
Karina hesitated only a fraction of a second before accepting.
Mitsuri's grip was firm, her palm warm against Karina's skin. The contact lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary before Mitsuri released her, seemingly unaware—or deliberately unbothered.
As they walked, Karina became acutely conscious of distance. Of rhythm. Of how easily Mitsuri matched her pace without effort.
The Butterfly Estate faded behind them, replaced by forest paths and filtered light. Somewhere overhead, cicadas hummed, their chorus steady and indifferent.
"You fight differently when you're protecting someone," Mitsuri said suddenly.
Karina glanced at her. "That's obvious."
"It is," Mitsuri agreed. "But with you, it's… sharper. Like your breathing changes."
Karina stiffened imperceptibly.
"That's inaccurate."
Mitsuri smiled, unfazed. "I noticed during the battle. When Tanjiro was injured. When Tengen was down. Your movements tightened. Faster. More precise."
Karina said nothing.
"And," Mitsuri continued, her tone softer now, "when I was close to Daki's threads… you moved without thinking."
That memory struck deeper than expected.
Karina remembered the sensation vividly—the sudden compression in her chest, the way Arcane Breathing surged without conscious command. The blade had moved before thought. Before calculation.
That was dangerous.
"That won't happen again," Karina said.
Mitsuri stopped walking.
Karina halted beside her, tension coiling instinctively.
"Why?" Mitsuri asked.
"Because attachment compromises judgment."
Mitsuri turned fully to face her.
"Or," she said gently, "it clarifies it."
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Karina met her gaze, searching for mockery, for naivety. She found neither.
"You don't understand," Karina said. "I've seen what attachment costs."
"I know," Mitsuri replied. "So have I."
Her voice did not waver.
"Loving doesn't make us weaker," she continued. "It just means we choose what we're willing to fight for."
The words resonated uncomfortably close to truths Karina preferred buried.
She looked away first.
"This conversation is unproductive," Karina said.
Mitsuri studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. "Maybe. But it's not finished."
They resumed walking.
When they reached Shinobu's quarters, the atmosphere shifted—clinical, precise, familiar. Shinobu herself greeted them with a knowing smile, eyes flicking briefly between them before settling on Karina.
"You're still bleeding internally," Shinobu said cheerfully.
Karina blinked. "I am not."
"You are," Shinobu replied. "Very slightly. It's fascinating, actually. Your physiology resists poison differently. Almost as if—"
"—she's not entirely normal," Mitsuri finished lightly.
Shinobu laughed. "Exactly."
Karina closed her eyes for a moment. "Is this relevant?"
"Immensely," Shinobu said. "It's why you're going to the Swordsmith Village. I want to observe how your body responds under controlled stress."
"And I," Mitsuri added, "will make sure she doesn't overdo it."
Their gazes met again, something unspoken passing between them.
Karina felt it then—a shift. Not in power. Not in threat.
In trajectory.
As evening settled and preparations were finalized, Karina stood alone briefly, watching the sun dip behind the treeline. She should have felt relief. Victory had been achieved. Survival secured.
Instead, there was a quiet unease.
Mitsuri joined her without announcement, standing close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.
"The road will be long," Mitsuri said.
Karina nodded. "I'm accustomed to that."
Mitsuri smiled softly. "Good. Because I don't plan on leaving your side anytime soon."
Karina's breath caught—just slightly.
The night deepened.
And somewhere far beyond their awareness, something watched.
Something took note.
History had already begun to bend.