The Butterfly Mansion felt different that night. The lanterns were dim, the air soft with the faint scent of sake and blooming wisteria drifting through the open shoji doors. Someone had dragged a low table into the courtyard, and now it was scattered with half-empty cups, quiet laughter, and the kind of warmth that only came after a long stretch of silence and exhaustion.

You’d been a Hashira long enough that no one treated you like the newcomer anymore. Uzui had long since abandoned any sense of restraint, retelling battle stories with wild gestures and interruptions from Mitsuri’s giggles. Shinobu sat nearby, her smile just a little less practiced than usual, quietly topping off Gyomei’s cup as he thanked her through soft tears and a gentle laugh.

Sanemi was leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to listen while still passing the sake jug when it came his way. Giyu sat close enough to be part of the circle, distant enough not to be overwhelmed, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the lantern light. Obanai and Mitsuri had drifted into their own low conversation, her voice soft and bright against the night air.