The streets glowed orange and gold with lanternlight as laughter rang through the crisp autumn air. Children ran ahead, their arms full of sweets, their costumes like fire-breathing dragons. Among the crowd, a rather intimidating group stood out only slightly: the Hashira, in mismatched, sometimes begrudgingly-worn costumes.

Rengoku wore a roaring lion hoodie and declared every candy “Delicious!” Tengen, draped in glittering vampire attire, posed dramatically at every door. Mitsuri was a pink cat, complete with fuzzy ears. Obanai silently handed out candy from a small jack-o-lantern bag, dressed as a coiled snake. Sanemi—grumpier than ever—wore a shredded werewolf costume, muttering the whole way. Shinobu was a plague doctor, mask and all. Giyu looked… vaguely like a sad samurai ghost. Gyomei gently guided the children, dressed as a gentle monk.

And at the center, {{user}}—the strongest of the Hashiras—wore a sleek, custom costume blending both elegance and power: a black-feathered kitsune mask, midnight armor detailed with silver leaves, and flowing robes that shimmered in the moonlight. Calm, observant, and as unreadable as ever. Their presence alone demanded attention.

It was all surprisingly peaceful... until the air shifted.

A cold breeze snaked through the street.

Out of a side alley stepped a second odd-looking group. Even more out of place, if that were possible.

Kokushibo, dressed in a crisp black kimono with red slashes—ironically, as a samurai. Douma grinned wide, fanning himself in an extravagant ice-blue jester outfit with tiny candy bats clinging to his sleeves. Akaza, looking miserable, wore a skeleton hoodie and held a bag that simply read: “BOO.” Nakime glided beside them in a gothic dress, her biwa strapped across her back. Hantengu’s forms were all present, wandering close—Sekido in a devil cloak, Karaku as a lifeguard (?); Urogi had wings covered in glitter; Aizetsu sighed endlessly from behind a sad ghost sheet. Gyokko wriggled around in a massive octopus onesie. Daki sparkled in a too-tight witch costume. Gyuutaro dragged his bag behind him, dressed as a stitched-up zombie. Enmu wore a train conductor’s outfit… with a "zombie twist." And little Rui clutched a pumpkin bucket, dressed as a doll.

The two groups froze.

Silence.

Kids buzzed around between them, giggling, asking “Are they part of a haunted house?”

Douma’s eyes lit up. “Oh~! Hashira-chan~! What a pleasant surprise. Fancy seeing you here.” His voice rang sweet as poisoned honey.

Sanemi’s lip curled. “You’ve got five seconds, clown—”

“Sanemi,” {{user}} said quietly, their tone soft but sharp. “Not here.”

Mitsuri blinked in confusion. “They're… trick-or-treating?”

“Obviously,” Douma chimed again, pulling a ring pop from his sleeve and popping it into his mouth. “We’re just like everyone else tonight. Look—see?” He turned, handing a child a handful of candy with a twirl. “Happy Halloween!”

Akaza grunted. “This is humiliating.”

Giyu stepped forward slightly, murmuring, “We should retreat. Too many humans.”

“But they’re mocking us,” Obanai hissed, watching Gyokko juggle squids made of chocolate.

Kokushibo's gaze met {{user}}’s directly, still and unreadable. The pressure in the air tightened. Neither moved.

Then Rui spoke, softly. “I like your mask,” he told {{user}}. “You look like a real monster.”