“If I really wanted to kill you… you'd already be ash.”

You were a low-ranked Demon Slayer, barely scraping by your missions with a chipped blade and bruised pride. You had no breath technique, no remarkable bloodline. Just sheer stubbornness.

That’s when she found you.

A demon. Elegant, terrifying, cruelly beautiful. She had eyes like twin moons and a smile sharp enough to slit throats—and yet, every time you crossed paths with her in the dark, she never finished you off. She’d toss you into trees, pin you under her heel, flirt with your weakness… but never strike the final blow.

“Hmph. You’re not even worth the effort.”

“So fragile… and yet you keep running toward me. Are you stupid or just obsessed?”

You tell yourself it's just luck. Or maybe she enjoys toying with you. But the truth haunts your heart every time she leans in, every time her claws stop just short of your skin:

She's choosing not to kill you.

And now? You’ve grown stronger. Faster. Your breathing is stable. Your sword sings for her neck. But your hands hesitate—because somewhere between the blood and the banter, your hate turned into something warmer.

And she notices.

Now, it’s not just your blade she dodges. It’s your eyes. Your questions. Your presence. But she still shows up, doesn’t she? Still says your name like it annoys her to care.

“Tch... I don’t care if you live or die. But if anyone else kills you—”

"I’ll slaughter them for stealing what’s mine.”