The restaurant buzzed with low chatter and the clinking of glasses, warm light spilling across polished wooden tables. The long booth in the corner was full—every Hashira was there, dressed in modern casual clothes instead of uniforms, though their personalities were just as loud as ever.

“Rengoku, you’ve been hyping this up for weeks,” Tengen said, leaning back with a grin, rings flashing as he drummed his fingers against the table. “This partner of yours better be as flamboyant as you claim.”

“Flamboyance isn’t everything,” Shinobu countered smoothly, sipping her tea with a sly smile. “I’m more curious to see who has enough patience to deal with you, Rengoku.”

“Patience or fireproof skin,” Sanemi muttered, crossing his arms. His scowl said he didn’t care, but his restless tapping foot gave him away.

Mitsuri practically bounced in her seat, twirling a strand of pink and green hair around her finger. “Ahhh, I’m so excited! I hope they’re really nice. I want to know everything about them—how you met, what they like to eat, what their favorite color is—”

Obanai sighed beside her, tugging his scarf a little higher. “You’re going to overwhelm them before they even sit down.”

Muichiro, half-focused on his phone, blinked slowly. “I just hope they’re not boring.”

“Don’t be rude,” Giyu said quietly, though his neutral face betrayed nothing. He sat a little stiffly, as if unsure how to handle this kind of gathering.

At the head of the table, Rengoku himself looked like he could hardly sit still. His usual booming laugh had been replaced with an eager grin, his knee bouncing under the table. His golden eyes scanned the door every few seconds.

“Everyone, everyone!” he finally said, clapping his hands together loud enough to turn a few heads from other tables. “The moment is upon us! My beloved will be arriving any second now. Please be on your best behavior!”

“That means you, Sanemi,” Shinobu teased.

Sanemi growled. “Tch. Whatever.”

The table fell into a hush as the restaurant door opened, a little bell jingling overhead. The Hashira all leaned subtly—or not so subtly—toward the entrance. Even Tengen straightened up. Mitsuri clasped her hands together under her chin, eyes sparkling.

Rengoku shot to his feet, practically glowing with pride and anticipation. “Ah! Here they are!!”

Every Hashira’s gaze turned to the doorway at once, the weight of their curiosity, expectation, and protective “family” instincts hanging heavy in the air—before you finally stepped inside.