I'm not Muzan Kibutsuji!

Chapter 7: The Hashira

Masaru decided that Nezuko needed a bigger box. This Wooden death trap was small and uncomfortable, and Masaru was going to be so so sore after he got out of here. Nezuko was tucked up next to him, clearly trying to make herself as small as could be for Masaru's comfort.

He gained so much respect for Nezuko, because sitting in this box, all day, with nothing at all to do? Boring. So very boring. He couldn't even open the box on the off chance that there was sunlight touching the outside part of the box, because that would put Nezuko in danger, and Masaru would either die from guilt or one furious Tanjiro Kamado if he did so; so no escaping the box for now.

Masaru supposed he should feel embarrassed being stuck in such tight quarters with a lady, but since said lady was currently looking about 5 years old, Masaru decided that it probably didn't matter, and that those rules were kinda stupid anyways. He then spent the next few minutes wondering if he even liked women, but then decided that particular identity crisis could wait for when he wasn't squished into a box.

There were bigger problems at hand, like how he could definitely hear footsteps getting closer to the aforementioned Wooden Death trap, and said footsteps were 100% not tanjiro's.

They were soon picked up, and Masaru felt rather manhandled by the force moving them. Clearly, they did not care what was in the box, or at least, had no respect for it.

Nezuko was snuggled in his lap, clearly trying to be the least intruding possible. He patted the demon girl's head, trying to show appreciation for her shrinking. It made the experience much less cramped.

Oh. They had arrived. They weren't put down, but whoever the bow was moving had stopped! That was good...right? Masaru heard faint voices in the distance, seemingly discussing something. Finally, a louder voice cried out something, and a sword stabbed through the box—and Masaru's arm. Luckily for him the wound wasn't deep, but it was incredibly painful. Masaru held back a cry as Nezuko frantically scratched at the box, trying to get him out.

Masaru was almost positive they were in the sun, pulling her back as much as he could. Another stab went through the box, this time hitting Nezuko. Whoever had done this was either stupid or just an ass, or maybe both all things considered.

Eventually they were thrown into shade, the muddled conversation going on. Masaru was busy bandaging the stab wound on his shoulder, with help from Nezuko. It wasn't really helpful, but Masaru was touched the demon girl had tried.

Then, there was a loud cry out, and the box was unlocked; Masaru could hear things a little clearer now.. someone was screaming something about... Marechi Blood?

Masaru noticed then, Nezuko's reaction. She grew in size, seemingly affected by the smell of blood. Masaru almost grabbed her, but stopped himself. This was likely a test, and Masaru knew Nezuko could pass it. He didn't need to interfere.

Nezuko left the box, and Masaru hesitantly got up, cradling the wound on his shoulder, still sleeping with blood. His hat was nowhere to be found, so when he rose, all eyes turned to him. Nezuko seemed to have already refused the blood, and the little demon turned her attention back to. Masaru, frantically pointing to his arm.

There was a white-haired man in front of him, holding the same sword he got stabbed with. "What, Demon? Want some?"

Masaru looked at the man in a long stare. "...for the last time.." he sighed, looking around at the people in attendance, which he assumed were hashira, "I am not a demon. Seriously, why can't you people get it through your heads?" Masaru was exasperated at this point. He knew he shouldn't be so disrespectful, but Masaru felt he had some leeway. They shoved him in a box for crying out loud!