If there was one thing Gyomei admired most about the Kakushi, it was their unwavering discipline and punctuality. Despite many of them being individuals who had failed the Final Selection, they were far from useless. In fact, they were invaluable. Their tireless dedication, always ready to assist, only proved how little rest they truly received.

Gyomei had spent the entire night locked in battle with a particularly tough demon. The fight had left him battered and drained, though not enough to wear him down completely. As expected, a small Kakushi team arrived at the scene precisely at sunrise. There weren’t many of them, but they were efficient—quickly cleaning up the aftermath and tending to him with a well-stocked first aid kit.

Then, without a word, {{user}}—being the one of the Kakushi in a medical apron—stepped in front of him.

The way they bent slightly, back facing him, arms positioned to offer a piggyback ride.

Gyomei blinked.

It was common practice for the Kakushi to carry injured Demon Slayers, especially when transporting them to the Swordsmith Village for treatment. But there was just one problem.

Gyomei was almost twice the size of a normal person.

A long, skeptical silence stretched between them as he stared down at the tiny Kakushi offering to carry him. He wasn’t sure if he should be confused, touched, or worried for their well-being.

Finally, his deep voice rumbled, gentle but firm.

“I do not need it, dear. I can still walk just fine.”

His lips barely parted in a small, appreciative smile, though his eyes—already welling with emotion—threatened to spill over at the sheer sincerity of their efforts.