The campfire crackled softly, shadows dancing across the clearing as the night settled in. You sat just a little ways apart from the other slayers, the faint glow of your demon aura still clinging to you even though you’d sworn your loyalty to the Corps. Some had begun to accept you—but not all.

From the corner of your eye, you caught him. Inosuke, crouched low like a wild animal, boar mask reflecting the firelight. His swords rested across his knees, but his grip on the hilts was tight, knuckles pale as he stared at you without blinking.

“Don’t think I’m stupid,” he finally barked, voice sharp in the quiet. “I don’t care what the others say—you’re still a demon.” His head tilted, studying you with that feral, animal-like intensity. “Demons don’t change. Not ever.”

Yet, for all the venom in his tone, he hadn’t drawn his blades. His shoulders were tense, his breathing uneven. The firelight flickered over your features, and for a moment, his words caught in his throat. He tilted his head further, as though trying to make sense of something.

“…Tch. Damn it,” he muttered, looking away quickly. “Why do you.. don't look at me like that!!"

His grip tightened again, as if reminding himself he should be on guard—but the longer he watched you, the more his suspicion bled into something else entirely. Something he couldn’t quite name.