Chapter 67: The Unwanted Attentions
The walk back from the village was quieter than the trip out. The paper bag of sweets swung from Anne’s fingers, the sugary scent of red bean and fried dough a small, comforting cloud around them. Sanemi walked a half-step ahead, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the path. The ghost of her hug, the feel of her breath against his ear, still buzzed under his skin like a live wire.
“You’re quiet,” Anne said, popping a small, ball-shaped mochi into her mouth. “Regretting your life choices already?”
“Shut up,” he grunted, but there was no heat in it. He glanced at her. “Just thinking about the new drill instructor. Rengoku’s been talking him up for weeks. Says he’s some kind of prodigy from the west.”
“A prodigy, huh?” Anne licked a stray speck of powdered sugar from her thumb. “Hopefully he’s less of a grump than you.”
He shot her a look that was all bared teeth. “We’ll see.”
They reached the training grounds just as the morning session was assembling. The air was already thick with the smell of damp earth and nervous sweat. The new instructor stood on the central wooden platform, and he was exactly as described: broad-shouldered, with a stillness that seemed to draw all the sound from the courtyard. His eyes, a piercing, unnatural gold, scanned the ranks of slayers.
They landed on Anne and stayed.
A slow, easy smile spread across his face. “Ah, the latecomers. Join us.” His voice was a smooth, low baritone that carried without effort.
Sanemi bristled, but Anne just offered a cheerful wave, her expression unreadable. They fell into line.
The man’s name was Kaito. His demonstrations were flawless, his movements a brutal economy of motion. He broke down complex sword forms into their essential parts, his explanations crisp and intelligent. But his attention was a physical weight, and it consistently returned to Anne.
“The pivot here is crucial,” he said, his gaze sliding over the trainees to find her. “You there. Step forward. Let’s use you as an example.”
Anne moved to the center of the platform, her posture relaxed but ready. Kaito stood behind her, his body close but not touching.
“Your form is good,” he murmured, his voice for her alone. “But there’s a hesitation in the transition. May I?”
Before she could answer, his hands were on her. One settled on her hip, the other on her wrist, guiding her through the motion. His touch was firm, professional. Almost.
A low growl rumbled from the line of trainees. Sanemi’s knuckles were white around his bokken.
Kaito ignored him. “Feel that?” he breathed into Anne’s ear, his fingers pressing just a little too long against the bare skin of her arm where her off-shoulder sweater had slipped. “The flow of power needs to be uninterrupted.”
Anne’s smile remained fixed, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I think I’ve got it.”
“Once more, to be sure.” His hand slid from her wrist to her shoulder, his thumb brushing the side of her neck.
The sound of splintering wood cracked through the air. Sanemi’s training sword hit the packed earth of the courtyard, snapped clean in two. “That’s enough,” he snarled, his voice raw with fury. “She said she got it.”
A dead silence fell over the grounds. All eyes flicked between the fuming Wind Hashira and the unflappable new instructor.
Kaito slowly released Anne, his golden eyes meeting Sanemi’s violent glare. A faint, condescending smile touched his lips. “Control. It’s what we’re here to learn.” He turned back to the group as if nothing had happened. “Now, who’s next?”
Anne stepped back into the ranks, her skin crawling where he’d touched her. She didn’t look at Sanemi. She looked at Giyu.
He stood perfectly still, his blue eyes narrowed to slits. His usual stoicism was a mask, but she could see the tension in the rigid line of his jaw, in the way his fingers were curled so tightly his tendons stood out. He was a bowstring pulled taut. He gave a minute, almost imperceptible shake of his head when her eyes met his. A warning. A question.
The session dragged on. Kaito’s corrections became more pointed, his gaze constantly seeking Anne out, a predator amused by the agitation he caused. Sanemi looked ready to combust, a storm contained only by the thinnest veneer of discipline.
When Kaito finally dismissed them, the trainees scattered like leaves in a gale, the tension breaking in a rush of murmured conversation.
Anne turned to leave.
“Kinomoto. A moment.”
She froze, then slowly turned. Sanemi, who had been stalking away, also stopped, his back rigid.
Kaito approached her, his smile easy. “You show remarkable potential. Raw, but remarkable”.
Anne met his golden-eyed gaze, her own expression unreadable. “You’re sensible. It’s almost likeable.”
A genuine laugh escaped him, rich and warm. “You say that like it’s a character flaw.”
“Maybe it is.” She shrugged one shoulder, the movement casual. “But I’m not a trainee. Maybe that’s why your… critique… doesn’t quite land.”
Kaito’s smile deepened, a spark of real interest igniting in his eyes. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Then perhaps the roles are reversed. Maybe I could be the one learning from you.”
The suggestion hung in the air between them, intimate and loaded. From the edge of the courtyard, Sanemi took a half-step forward, his boots crunching on the gravel. Giyu’s hand, resting on the hilt of his sword, tightened until his knuckles bleached white.
Anne’s playful mask didn’t slip, but her curiosity was piqued. “And what exactly would you want to learn?”
“The way you carry yourself,” he said, his gaze sweeping over her from her long brown hair to her knee-high socks with an appreciation that was more analytical than lecherous. “That unshakable center. It’s not a slayer’s discipline. It’s something far older.” He paused, studying her face intently. “You have the bearing of the eastern isles. The Setagawa line.”
The name landed not as a blow, but as a key turning in a long-locked door. Anne’s breath caught. It was a minor, distant branch of the royal family, one so obscure only another of their world would know it.
Her brown eyes widened slightly, the casual amusement evaporating. “You…”
“My grandmother was Shiori of that house,” Kaito confirmed softly, his voice for her alone. “We have crossed paths before, in a different life. At the Autumn Equinox festival, a lifetime ago. You were a child, trailing blue silk ribbons.”
The memory surfaced through a haze of years—the scent of chrysanthemums, the weight of an elaborate kimono, a serious-faced boy bowing with perfect form. The world of the Demon Slayer Corps, with its sweat and blood, seemed to tilt on its axis.
Anne stared at him, the truth of their shared history unfolding silently between them. The vibrant, bustling city beyond the stark training grounds suddenly felt impossibly close.
The vibrant, bustling city beyond the stark training grounds suddenly felt impossibly close. Anne’s carefully constructed world, built on sweat and borrowed identity, tilted on its axis. The scent of his grandmother’s chrysanthemums seemed to ghost the air between them.
She took a sharp, quiet breath, the sound lost in the distant clatter of training swords. Her playful mask dissolved, leaving behind a stark, unguarded truth. “I am Anne,” she said, her voice low and clear, “of the main royal family. The Kinomoto line.”
Kaito’s reaction was instantaneous. His broad shoulders straightened, his piercing golden eyes widening a fraction before his posture folded into a deep, formal bow. It was a gesture from another world, fluid and practiced, his head dipping respectfully low.
The sight of it sent a jolt through her, a strange mix of exhilaration and dread. Here, in the dirt and discipline of the corps, was someone who understood the weight of the name she hid. “Please, stand,” she murmured, her cheeks warming under the curious stares of a few lingering trainees.
He rose, his gaze now holding a new, profound intensity. “Your Highness.”
“Just Anne here,” she corrected gently, a flicker of her usual warmth returning. The excitement was a bright, dangerous flame in her chest. “It’s… a relief, honestly. To meet someone from a similar path.”
She glanced toward the gate where Sanemi had vanished, then back to Kaito. “This life, the Corps… it’s its own kind of court. If you need help navigating it, you can come to me.” The offer was genuine, an outstretched hand across the chasm of their shared secrecy.
Kaito bowed his head again, a smaller, more personal gesture. “The honor is mine.” A subtle, knowing smile touched his lips. “The lessons have already begun.”
Anne offered a final, small smile, the weight of her crown feeling both heavier and lighter than it had in years. “I’m going to lunch.” She turned, the gravel crunching beneath her boots, and walked away without looking back. Each step felt measured, the echo of her title ringing silently in her ears.
She felt the weight of his gaze on her back until she rounded the corner of the equipment shed. Leaning against the weathered wood, she finally let out the breath she’d been holding. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of confession.
A shadow fell over her. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The silence was a familiar, comfortable weight.
Giyu stood there, his mismatched haori a splash of color in the dull yard. His blue eyes scanned her face, reading the lingering shock in her expression. “He bowed,” he stated, his voice flat.
Anne pushed off the wall, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”
“It was a very deep bow.” He fell into step beside her as she headed toward the mess hall. His presence was a steadying anchor in her suddenly shifting world. “Are you alright?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, the honesty feeling sharp and new. “It feels like I just unlocked a door I’d nailed shut.”
They walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of the corps carrying on around them. “Doors can be closed again,” Giyu said quietly.
Before she could answer, a figure blocked the path to the mess hall. Sanemi stood with his arms crossed, his scarred chest rising and falling with a too-deliberate calm. His violet eyes burned into her, ignoring Giyu completely.
“What was that?” he demanded, his voice a low rasp. “All that whispering. What did he want?”
Anne laughed, the sound bright and effortless, a stark contrast to the tension tightening Sanemi’s shoulders. She shook her head, her long brown hair swaying. “You two need to calm down. He’s the new trainer, and we were having a conversation.” She looked between Sanemi’s stormy expression and Giyu’s silent, watchful intensity. “As experienced Hashiras, you should be helping him settle in, not acting like you’ve got your knickers in a twist over some polite chatter.”
Sanemi’s scowl deepened. “Polite chatter doesn’t involve bows that deep.”
“It’s called good manners,” Anne retorted, her tone light but firm. She placed her hands on her hips, her gaze sweeping over both men. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of it.” A playful grin finally broke through. “Now, I’m going to get lunch. You’re both welcome to join me, but only if you promise to be fun and not so deathly serious.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, turning on her heel and walking toward the mess hall, the paper bag of sweets still swinging from her fingers. The choice, and the challenge, hung in the air behind her.