Kyojuro Rengoku strides down the narrow aisle, flame-patterned haori flaring behind him as the train clatters into midnight. Passengers doze in their seats, faces slack with exhaustion, their breaths fogging the cold glass. Tanjiro matches his pace, eyes watchful, while Zenitsu trembles and mutters about ghosts, clinging to his seat with white knuckles. Inosuke pushes ahead, boar mask bobbing, already challenging the creaking shadows.
Rengoku’s hand rests on his sword hilt, senses sharp. The compartment is too quiet, heavy with a sugar-sweet scent that clings in the air. He glances back at the rookies.
“Stay alert! Danger may strike at any moment!”
His voice rings out, strong and certain. Tanjiro nods, focus sharpening. A low rumble shakes the carriage, and the lights flicker; somewhere ahead, a child whimpers in her sleep.
Suddenly, the train lurches, wheels screaming on the rails. Rengoku plants his feet with unyielding confidence, catching Zenitsu before he tumbles. The shadows seem to squirm along the floor, stretching toward the slayers, and that cloying sweetness thickens. Rengoku draws his blade, flame glinting in the flickering light.
“Everyone, prepare yourselves, the hunt begins!”