It probably also had to do with her age, but Hisa’s manner and bearing were very quiet. She made almost no noise. Once again, she slid the fusama door shut without a sound.
“Amazing that she even understood all the ‘that.’ He basically didn’t say anything else.” Zenitsu turned half-admiring, half-exasperated eyes toward the door Hisa had disappeared through.
“True,” Tanjiro agreed.
Inosuke himself was intent on eating his manju and not paying attention to a word either of them said.
He had made a real fuss at the beginning of their stay. “Ain’t no way! Wearing kimono, living inside a house, that’s straight-up torture! Not a chance! Who do you think I am?! I’m the king of the mountain!!” But now, although his torso was still as naked as always, Inosuke appeared to have gotten quite comfortable with life indoors. At the very least, he didn’t seem to think it was torture anymore.
From the moment they had first arrived on her doorstep, Hisa hadn’t been afraid of Inosuke. The old woman had taken painstaking care of him, seeing to his every need as if he were her own grandson. The ostentatious boar’s head never seemed to frighten her, and she paid no mind to any of the many strange things he did.
Thinking about this, Tanjiro was filled with a warm feeling. I’m so lucky, he thought.
He felt like he and his fellow Demon Slayers had grown closer over these past ten days, despite Zenitsu’s weird fawning and Inosuke’s constant and unpredictable headbutts. Perhaps it was because they had bathed and eaten the same meals together, or that they’d shared the same clean sleeping space, warm bathroom, and Hisa’s heartfelt welcome.
Above all else, neither of them shunned Nezuko for being a demon. They welcomed her into their group just as she was. He couldn’t begin to express how happy that made him.
“Hey! How can you just sit there and eat all the manju?!” Zenitsu cried, interrupting Tanjiro’s fond contemplation. “Some of those are for me and Tanjiro, you know?! You stupid pig!”
“Shut up, Buttnitsu!” Inosuke barked. “You snooze, you lose!”
“It’s Zenitsu! Who is Buttnitsu?!”
“Shut it, brat! This is my turf!”
“Ohh. I see. I’m so sorry. It’s just, wait, what turf—gaaaah!”
“Crybaby! You’ll never get the jump on me! Grah ha ha ha ha ha!”
Inosuke punched Zenitsu in the face, and the yellow-haired boy writhed on the tatami. Inosuke’s throaty, bestial laughter filled the room.
Tanjiro let out a sigh. “Inosuke. You can’t go punching Zenitsu.”
Zenitsu got a proper jab in at Inosuke, and the boar-headed boy pummeled him mercilessly in return. Reluctant, Tanjiro stepped between them.
This, too, was becoming an established ritual.
“Aah, the bride was soooo beautiful!” Zenitsu sighed happily.
“Serious feast. Urp!” Inosuke burped.
As Tanjiro walked back to Hisa’s with his friends after the banquet, he recalled how lovely and innocent the bride had looked. Blessed with good looks to begin with, the young woman dazzled with her beauty on the eve of her marriage into a powerful family.
The brilliant smile stretched across her face gave away the girl’s happiness better than any words could have. The gorgeous black furisode kimono—patterned with flying cranes and blooming flowers—and the magnificent golden-orchid obi had paled in comparison to the wonder of that smile.
“So she …” he started to say.
“Who? What?” Zenitsu asked.
“Oh—it’s nothing.” Tanjiro shook his head slightly.
The bride could have been around Nezuko’s age. The moment he had this thought, he felt a sharp pain in his heart.
Huh? Where’d that come from?
Frowning, Tanjiro gently shifted the wooden box on his back.
Skrtch skrtch.
He heard fingernails scratching from inside the box and nearly jumped up into the air.
Ah!
For some reason, his sister being awake when he’d thought she was asleep made his heart skip several beats.
“But why was that lady wearing that?” Inosuke asked no one in particular. “I mean, in a kimono with such long sleeves, she’s not gonna be able to climb a tree. No way she’s catching a rabbit or a bird.” The boar head tilted to one side as if this were a true mystery for the ages.
“Aah-aah, this is exactly why I hate country bumpkins,” Zenitsu said with a sigh. “She’s not going to be living rough on the mountain, okay? That girl’s going to be the wife of an important merchant. She’s marrying into wealth. A rich man. Get it? She’s a beauty, so she’s going to marry a wealthy man, wear beautiful kimono, and spend her days cherished like a butterfly or a rare flower.”
“Seriously, though,” Inosuke continued. “Why pick a dark color like that? Doesn’t she know the bees are gonna come right for her if she’s wearing a black kimono up on the mountain? I mean, come on. You gotta go for a color that’s all pow for a party, y’know? So boring.”
“I told you she’s not going up into the mountains!” Zenitsu snapped. “The special black furisode kimono is just what a bride wears—that and the snow-white kimono. It’s this way of saying, ‘the only color I’ll be dyed with is you’ to her future husband. Aah, I wish someone would say that to me. Maybe even Nezuko … Wee hee hee!”
His voice slid up into a creepy falsetto as he trailed off ecstatically.
“What is this guy talking about?” Inosuke said blankly. “Total creep.”
“Of all the people in the world, you don’t get to say that!” Zenitsu flew into a rage at Inosuke’s insult. “Right, Tanjiro?!”
“Huh?” Tanjiro jerked his head up and offered a noncommittal response. “Oh … I dunno.”