Chapter Text
The weight was always heavy.
It was no secret to the members of the Demon Slayer Corps that the pillars were the backbone of the organization. An ordinary demon slayer could spark a sliver of hope, but a Hashira would set hearts ablaze. In their presence, all were reassured, as if the battle had already been won. The elite few revered by all, saviors of the millions, and aces of Ubuyashiki.
At least, that was the case for most hashiras.
The soon-to-be-appointed Hashira may be the outlier: Insect Hashira, Shinobu Kocho. Like the fact that the Hashiras’ immense strength was known, so was Shinobu’s lack of it. This has been the buzzing gossip amongst slayers alike, especially the lower-ranked ones.
In a way, it was ironic to have a pillar physically weaker than most slayers; the notion bred an air of envy that circulated the corps. The rumor mill’s whispers ranged from alleged nepotism to a disgusting allegation of an affair with a hashira to improve her standing. All the baseless and obscure nonsense never failed to pop veins out of Shinobu Kocho’s face.
It was stressful enough that the Butterfly Mansion had recently received an influx of slayers; to add insult to injury, the kakushis were understaffed, leaving the mansion acting beyond its capacity. Even with all hands on deck, including Shinobu’s adopted girls, they had to fight tooth and nail to keep the mansion afloat.
Today was supposedly a big day for Shinobu. However, with the number of slayers in dire need of care, there was nothing to celebrate.
During Shinobu’s morning rounds, a kakushi had hesitantly approached her to inform her that a hashira had recently sustained a serious injury. Shinobu dropped everything to redirect instructions for the kakushi before making her way to a private room reserved for Hashiras.
As she stood on the opposite side of his room’s door, her hand trembled as it made contact with the knob. The head of the mansion was not only tasked to maintain its efficiency, specialize in more complex and critical conditions, and most importantly, act as the private physician of the Hashiras.
‘There’s a first for everything.’
She huffed sharply, and a smile appeared as soon as the door opened to reveal her patient.
“Good morning, Tomioka-sama.”
The taciturn pillar sat in bed, his bare chest basking in the warmth of the summer sun. His mind wandered into the window until the sound of her voice called for his gaze. His face was as bland as a cloudy day.
‘Right, not much of a talker.’ A calm morning on the outside, a nervous storm within.
“May I assess you?” She smiled, to which he merely nodded.
The laceration on his arm lay like a crack in the road. It was deep enough to penetrate through his haori and uniform, much less the top layer of his skin. From his bicep to his forearm, a trail of inflamed tissue surrounds it.
“Quite the wound you’ve acquired, Tomioka-sama. Were you dozing off?” Shinobu teases, latex gloves slapping into place.
‘Who says that?!’ She cleared her throat.
His gaze remained unfocused on the drapes of the windows.
“Do you know if the demon who injured you used poison on you?” She asked.
He shook his head.
She nods, peeling the torn sleeve away, then unbuttoning the tattered uniform clinging to him.
“What was the mechanism of injury?” She asks. Her hands are soaking up a white rag.
“Demon attack.” He responds bluntly, eyes shut.
‘What would Kanae do?’
“Well, yes, but how exactly? A blade? Claws, poisonous claws?” Shinobu huffs.
“…claws.” He murmurs.
Shinobu tried to strike up a conversation while she assessed his injury. But she was met by an awkward silence and subtle nods from him. Giyuu’s lack of interaction did irk the woman, but because he was cooperative with her more relevant questions, he was able to slide under the rug.
Rather than attempt to drag out the interaction, she worked fast. When he didn’t wince at the ointments she applied to his skin, she raised an eyebrow. Despite the awkward tension, his lack of eye contact lifted a bit of weight off her shoulders.
She lets him out with a bandaged arm and a note to rest and come back for a check-up. A note which he so graciously left on the nightstand of her ward. Luckily for him, her rush to make it to her ceremony took him to the backseat of her priorities.
She barely made it on time to the mansion that morning. Especially as bugs in her stomach clawed from within.
The Ubuyashiki Estate was serene––the cool breeze brushed past the swordsmen, and the soft song of the early birds played. Yet, amidst the calmness, a storm has been brewing within the newest hashira, leaving her petite body rigid.
She was in the presence of the four strongest men in the Demon Slayer Corps. Himejima. Shinazugawa. Tomioka. Uzui. From her safe distance, she could feel their prowess and unwavering strength in every cell. All four decorated in their own right, possessing a capacity unattainable by many, surpassing her in every criterion.
So naturally, Shinobu had every right to be nervous.
“Shinobu Kocho,” The master calls, “Today marks a momentous occasion. As you have slain your 50th demon as a Kinoe, you have not only shown immense strength and dedication to the corps, but unlocked the accomplishment of Hashira…”
‘Strength without ever beheading a demon.’
“A feat no man or woman can easily accomplish. To be a hashira is more than strength—it is an unyielding dedication to humanity: to protect and serve the weak….”
‘Almost as if he savors the word ‘weak’ before me.’
“Welcome, Insect Hashira: Shinobu Kocho.” The master announces with a reverent smile.
The light barely reaches past the blinds of the estate.
“I am reassured by your capabilities. Insect Hashira Shinobu Kocho, we eagerly anticipate your endeavors.” The kind master hush-spoke, a serene smile gracing his lips.
It melted the tension in her body, his kindness a soothing balm.
A kakushi arrived with folded garments for her. He bows to them all before placing the neat stack before her.
All eyes lay on her.
They tried to crawl back into her throat.
The uniform was midnight black, tinted with hints of purple, much like the one she had on. However, its buttons are adorned with the regal color of gold instead of silver.
Her stomach finally drops to the floor of the estate.
‘Only the immature cannot control their emotions.’
But the wells were too dry to dare let a tear escape her hollow violets.
As she kneels before it, she feels Gyomei’s pitying eyes boring into her head.
Perhaps even Ubuyashiki could see it, too, even without his full vision.
Almost as if he knew how wrong it was for her to be here.
“Congratulations, Kocho! How flamboyant of you to rise to the occasion!” Tengen, the loudest of the hashiras, beamed. His voice boomed as always, rattling birds out of their nests.
The old Shinobu would have furrowed her eyebrows immediately, then scolded him for his loud volume. Instead, she bowed.
Despite the obnoxiousness of his persona, his enthusiasm was greeted with subtle nods and silence from the three other hashiras. Neither Shinazugawa, Tomioka, nor Gyomei could fill the void of the excruciatingly awkward meeting, withholding their words as they always did.
“Thank you, Uzui-san, and my fellow pillars. I intend to serve the corps with the utmost dignity as a pillar.” The lone woman strained a polite smile, remaining steadfast as she knelt with her colleagues before the Master.
When Kanae died, it wasn’t just her last family member who died. In that grave rested the Flower Hashira and the Head of the Butterfly Estate, too. Kanae didn’t just pierce through what remained of Shinobu’s heart; she left a hole in the Demon Slayer Corps. So, someone had to fill her place.
Finalization was little fanfare–it all rested on Shinobu’s shoulders now. Her small shoulders.
Insect Hashira Shinobu Kocho. What a joke.
Sanemi’s calm mask was fraying away from crumbling.
Gyomei’s solemn tears make Shinobu’s skin crawl.
‘I don’t need your pity.’
Aside from a set of new gold-buttoned uniforms, not much had changed. The gossip was as insidious as ever.
A few hushed whispers here and there during passing time. Harmless in nature, yet true in principle. She saw it in the darkened eyes of boys and the silence from the women who welcomed her.
The first month of her new duties was uneventful, aside from the increase in workload and generous salary. Shinobu patrolled what used to be Kanae’s territory, she took on advanced assignments, and she ran the Butterfly Estate efficiently. The only difference was the darker abyss plaguing her heart, the absence of peace—of someone.
It still hurt to think about Kanae, so she drowned herself, mission after mission, and tended to the smallest of injuries.
Shinazugawa tried to scold him by stealing missions off her plate and wasting her time with his injuries. Just like he had done when Shinobu evaded sleep to care for patients after Kanae-
Shinobu brushed him off more easily than before.
Tengen commended her as a “beast” at her craft. But all she was becoming was a monster.
Every time her blade would pierce through a demon, she would watch the dreadful vermin melt away, to bleed and wail in agony. Their suffering made her feel something—a fleeting satisfaction that fueled the flames within her.
The thrill was a powerful driving force. After every mission, she would experiment more to enhance her poisons and techniques. Crossbreeding wisteria flowers here and there, and altering the poison to increase its potency. Eventually, she created stronger variants of her wisteria poison by mixing in doses of other flowers.
Then one night, a stroke of genius finds her in the form of a precarious man during one of her missions. Half-dressed with his yukata hanging on by a thread, he was a stumbling mess as he embraced a jar of paste by a brothel.
She tried to scurry past him, eager for a day’s rest from a night of battle. Until she saw the lack of a bottle of sake and his glassy eyes.
‘An opium smuggler out in the open. Even with recent regulations, it remains rampant.’
He had minutes before he would succumb.
She almost reaches out to him, but the lack of an antidote forces her to move along instead.
She had seen suffering before, but somehow hadn’t reached the point of numbness. If only he were a demon. Shinobu wouldn’t feel a tug on her heart.
Her heart skips a beat at the thought. Her sharp eyes spare him a final look, then the jug he clutches onto.
Shinobu was no longer the helpless girl who hid away in the arms of Kanae.
She was no longer Shinobu at all.
So began her descent.