“I want to be changed rooms.”

Genya pressed his hands over his ears, jaw clenched, eyes shut tight as Inosuke’s voice tore through the walls like a wild animal trying to escape its own skin.

Tanjiro was trying to calm him down—again.

It wasn’t working.

The room was chaos incarnate. Yesterday it had been Tanjiro’s blacksmith, shouting about blade angles and spiritual harmony. The day before that, Zenitsu had spent hours wailing about a spider he thought he saw. And now, Inosuke was screaming at a pillow for “challenging his dominance.”

Genya sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched, bandages still fresh across his arms. He was supposed to be resting. That was the whole point of the Butterfly Farm—healing, quiet, recovery.

But apparently, peace was a luxury reserved for people who didn’t share a room with the loudest trio in the Corps.

He opened one eye, just in time to see Inosuke leap onto the windowsill and declare war on the moon.

Genya groaned.

Was it really too much to ask for silence? For one night without someone screaming at furniture? For a moment to breathe without someone trying to duel the air?

He glanced toward the door, wondering how far he’d get before Shinobu caught him trying to escape.

Probably not far.

Still, he considered it.

Because if this kept up, he was going to need more than bandages to recover.

He was going to need divine intervention.