The door slammed shut behind them, and Shinobu’s tiny frame practically vibrated with suppressed rage. {{user}} leaned against the wall, covering his mouth, shoulders shaking.

“It started at the cinema,” she hissed, pacing the apartment like a caged cat. “The cinema. When that cashier looked me in the eye and asked if I wanted the children’s discount.”

{{user}} coughed into his fist, badly disguising a laugh.

Her head snapped around, eyes narrowing. “Then—then—at the restaurant, the waitress handed me the kids’ menu. I politely declined, of course…” a twitch tugged at her temple, “…while someone pretended not to choke on his drink.”

By now, {{user}} was red in the face, barely holding it together.

“And the final insult,” she spat, spinning on her heel, finger stabbing the air like she was accusing a demon. “At the store, when I tried to buy wine—wine!—the cashier asked me for ID. That was it. That was the last straw.”

Shinobu stood there, arms crossed, veins practically popping on her forehead. Her voice dropped to a dangerously sweet tone: “I was the Insect Hashira. I’ve faced horrors that would make that cashier faint dead away. I survived Muzan—thanks to you. And yet tonight, I was treated like a child three times over.”

{{user}} finally burst into helpless laughter, sliding down the wall. Shinobu, cheeks puffed and lips trembling, gave a dramatic huff before plopping onto the couch, muttering under her breath: “…I hate this century.”