The Butterfly Estate had never felt so alive. Laughter echoed across the garden as Demon Slayers, for once free from the looming shadow of bloodshed, found solace in the rare warmth of an idle day. Hammocks swayed gently between trees, sandals were tossed aside, and the usually tense warriors had shed their swords—if only for a moment.

Under a blooming wisteria tree, Tanjiro sat cross-legged on a mat, pouring herbal tea with careful hands. Nezuko, not fully human again but still prone to curling up in the sun like a cat, lay beside him with her head in his lap, humming quietly as butterflies danced overhead.

“Tanjiro,” Zenitsu wailed dramatically a few feet away, his face buried in his hands, “why does this tea taste like regret and unrequited love?!”

“It’s chamomile,” Kanao answered plainly, blinking at him from behind her teacup. “It’s meant to relax you.”

“Relax?! I’m dying!”

“No one has died from chamomile,” Inosuke grunted from where he was hanging upside-down in a tree, crunching on an apple. “Except maybe weaklings.”

“Zenitsu is a weakling,” Genya muttered, arms crossed, back against a wooden post. But his lips twitched like he was trying very hard not to smile.

A bark of laughter came from across the courtyard.

“Did I hear right? Zenitsu’s dying from tea?” Tengen Uzui strutted over, shirt unbuttoned and glistening from a recent bath, three of his wives trailing behind him with plates of fresh mochi and grilled skewers. “How un-flamboyant.”

“Uzui-san!” Tanjiro smiled warmly, bowing. “We were just—”

“Wasting a perfect summer afternoon with tea?” Tengen raised a brow. “Absolutely not. Mitsuri! Bring out the watermelon!”

From another corner, the Love Hashira beamed. “Already sliced! Oh, and I added some sugar and salt like my grandmother taught me!”

She skipped over barefoot, placing a chilled tray down between Kanao and Nezuko. The girls instantly sat up, reaching for pieces.

Meanwhile, Sanemi was locked in a silent staring contest with Giyu Tomioka, both of them seated stiffly on opposite ends of a bench like two cats sharing a perch they didn’t want to admit was comfortable.

“I still don’t like you,” Sanemi muttered without looking.

“You’ve mentioned,” Giyu said flatly, sipping his tea with all the enthusiasm of a ghost.

“Is he always like that?” murmured a junior slayer to Muichiro, who had his head tilted up toward the clouds.

“He’s probably having fun,” Muichiro replied dreamily. “On the inside.”

At the edge of the koi pond, Shinobu Kocho knelt beside Tanjiro, watching the young fish dart around the water lilies.