Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tanjiro’s eyes snapped open. He was lying in a quiet forest clearing, the morning air calm and soft. There were no signs of battle — no blood, no ash. 

Confused, he sat up and checked himself over. His clothes were clean, untouched by the fight. His sword rested quietly at his side.

Something wasn’t right. Was this one of Muzan’s tricks? He was unsure. Disoriented, he began walking where his feet took him. 

He was walking for what felt like hours. He strangely felt well rested, as if he just woke up and had breakfast. 

Not long after, he reached the entrance of a small village.

It was peaceful and full of life, even in the early morning. People crowded the streets, minding their own business.

"Fresh cabbages! Get your fresh cabbages! Half the usual price! Only today!" One street vendor shouted.

Tanjiro walked down the path aimlessly. He watched as people went around, selling their crops and produce. His eyes flickered over a small boy with white hair carrying a huge basket on his back.

‘Charcoal.’ he thought sadly. He remembered the life he had before — selling charcoal and going back home to his family. His eyebrows furrowed, as he became lost in thought, he accidentally bumped into someone.

He mumbled an apology, still lost in a trance. He didn't know where he was nor what had happened to his comrades. 'Is this a dream? One like Enmu's?' he thought, alarmed.

As Tanjiro walked through the streets, people glanced at him with wariness. He clutched his sword tight, he knew the Corps weren’t recognized by the government. He needed to be careful.

Then, he felt it. His thoughts were interrupted by a small tug on his haori. He halted and looked down. A young boy clutched his haori with dirty fingers, holding something out. 

“Mister, you dropped this! Don’t worry — I didn’t take anything!”

Tanjiro froze. That face… that voice. Memories rushed in like a wave. The ghost of his dearest friend, staring back at him. But this time, he was whole. Alive. And smiling.

He was missing a few teeth and his face was flushed. He was panting, as if he had been chasing him down the path. Tanjiro didn't miss the bruises forming on his face.

He stared at the boy, barely breathing. “Genya?” The boy blinked in confusion, tilting his head to the side. "How did you know my name, Mister?" he asked.

Tanjiro shut his mouth quickly and furrowed his eyebrows. ‘I should be careful. I don’t know what's going on yet. Genya is in front of me, but he is not the Genya I know. He’s younger,’ he thought.

"S-Sorry, I heard someone call your name just now and I was wondering if you knew who they were calling.” he said, finding an excuse and looking around. His gaze went back to the white-haired kid who was selling charcoal. The kid locked eyes with him and frowned when his gaze landed on the young Genya.

"Genya! Didn’t I tell you to stay beside me?" he asked, watching Tanjiro with distrust and calculating eyes. Tanjiro could smell fear radiating from the white-haired child. The child seemed older than Genya.

"Sorry Nemi! I just returned the pouch he dropped," he defended, waving his arms in the air. His gaze left Tanjiro and looked at Genya with soft eyes. "That’s kind of you. Good job," he praised.

"Of course! Mother said to be kind and honest always!" he huffed. The kid, Nemi, smiled at that. He then looked back at Tanjiro, his gaze no longer holding any distrust. "We have to keep going. We can’t keep Mother waiting.” he said and turned around.

"Goodbye, mister!" Genya waved his hand while the other gripped Nemi’s hand. Tanjiro reached out to the two. "P-Please wait," he called out, earning confused looks from the two boys.

"To thank you for your kindness..." he trailed off and knelt in front of the two boys. He grabbed a few hundred yen and pressed it inside each of their palms, then closed them.

The boys gasped and tried to return the money to Tanjiro. "M-Mister, we couldn't accept this!" the child, Nemi, exclaimed, clearly in distress. But Tanjiro was stubborn by nature.

"I insist. You two are good children and very hard-working. Why not reward yourselves with treats? Or..." he trailed off and glanced at their bare feet. His expression turned sad. No matter where he was, life was tough.

"Buy anything you want for you and your family," he finished. The boys looked at him, stunned. Genya, understanding the opportunity, looked at Nemi with anticipation. "Nii-san, we could buy Sumi a new kimono!" he exclaimed.

His brother shushed him and looked helplessly at Tanjiro. "Mister, I can't accept this. We don't have anything to give back to you," he mumbled.

Tanjiro reached out and patted their heads affectionately. The two boys flinched, then finally relaxed under his touch. Unconsciously, they leaned into Tanjiro's hands. 

Tanjiro's expression softened as he continued patting their heads. "Yosh, yosh. What good children," he praised, making the siblings’ ears turn red.

"What are your names?" he asked. The kid, Nemi, snapped out of it and grinned at Tanjiro.

"My name is Sanemi. Shinazugawa Sanemi. This is my younger brother, Genya. Shinazugawa Genya," he introduced.

Tanjiro froze. ‘Huh?! This cute, soft kid is Shinazugawa-san? THAT Shinazugawa Sanemi?!’ Tanjiro thought in disbelief. He snapped out of it and stared at the two, who were now watching him with confusion and worry.

‘Did I... travel in time?’ he thought. His arm was grabbed and shaken. Glancing down, he saw Genya gripping his arm. "How about you, Mister? What's your name?" he asked.

"My name is... Tanjiro," he said, leaving out his last name. He wasn’t sure if he had been sent back to the past or not, but he didn’t want to stand out.

But at the same time, if it was true that he had been sent back to the past, isn't this the best opportunity to change the future? The future where they lost — where he lost everyone.

His stomach churned at the thought of losing everyone again in the future. He didn't know what lives everyone had lived before they joined the Demon Slayer Corps, but as much as possible, he wanted to make a difference before this time-jump blood demon art he was in at the moment ended.

With newfound determination, he stood up and grabbed the discarded basket on the ground. The basket was still full of charcoal and heavy. It could crush Sanemi with its weight. He was surprised at how strong the kid was.

Sanemi visibly panicked and stopped Tanjiro from taking Genya's hand basket too. "Tanjiro-san! You don't have to do this," he said, trying to grab the basket back. Genya stared at the scene, unable to do anything.

Tanjiro smiled and patted Sanemi's head, earning a choked sound from him. "It's fine. I'll help you sell this charcoal. I may not look like it now, but I used to sell charcoal regularly. We’ll sell out in no time!" he said with determination and reached out his hand, crouching to Sanemi's height.

"Could you help big brother out?" he gently invited. Sanemi could only stare at him in awe, eyes glistening. He sniffed and held Tanjiro’s hand. It was twice as big as his own. He said nothing as the trio walked the path, all holding each other's hands.

Sanemi couldn't help but stare at the man selling the charcoal they hadn't been able to sell earlier. Tanjiro effortlessly talked to people and found ways to earn their trust. In the end, he always managed to convince people to buy their charcoal.

Sanemi hadn't met someone like him before. He was a stranger — someone he had just met today — and yet he felt drawn to the man. He was kind, gentle, and loving. He was someone lowly, and yet Tanjiro looked at him and his brother as worthy people. As humans. Not with disdain, not with anger.

His fingers betrayed him as they curled tightly around Tanjiro's. Tanjiro squeezed back in return. He looked down and met Sanemi's gaze. He smiled warmly. Sanemi's breath was taken away.

It was almost sunset when they finished selling the last piece of charcoal. The brothers walked home with their bellies full, feet covered in new sandals, and their arms filled with kimonos and sandals for the rest of their siblings.

Genya, now on Tanjiro's back, nodded off as he drooled, asleep. Tanjiro held his legs firmly as they made their way back to the Shinazugawa household. The walk was quiet, the streets full of life were now beginning to settle down in preparation for the night.

Tanjiro's eyebrows furrowed. Nighttime meant the possibility of demons roaming around the village. He needed to be on guard. Sanemi halted in front of a small, rundown house. Tanjiro thought it might be the Shinazugawa residence.

"This is where we live," Sanemi's voice was small, and Tanjiro hummed gently.

He gently jolted Genya awake. "H-Huh? Nii-san... Mister, are we home?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, we are," Tanjiro said, gently setting the sleepy Genya back on the ground. "Go get some rest. It's already late," Tanjiro said, patting the boys' heads before standing.

In a panic, Sanemi reached out to grab Tanjiro's sleeve. "A-Are you leaving already?" he asked. Sanemi mentally punched himself. Of course he was leaving. He couldn't stay forever. He didn't even know them — he was just kindhearted.

The thought of Tanjiro leaving spiked fear in Sanemi's heart. He didn't want him to leave. He wanted him to stay forever.

Tanjiro could smell the sadness radiating from the two siblings and smiled. Crouching down to their level, his hands made their way to their heads.

"Don't worry. Big brother will come back. We’ll still see each other tomorrow," he promised. Sanemi and Genya brightened at the promise. They nodded and slowly made their way back inside after one last wave at Tanjiro. He stood and waved back.

Morning came, and Tanjiro couldn't sleep a wink. His eyes snapped open as he found himself yet again in the same forest clearing where he first woke up. It was not a dream... He sighed. He stood up and patted his uniform clean.

Sleeping in the forest, exposed, wasn't a good idea. But he hadn't smelled nor sensed any demons that night — it was safe for now. Clutching his sword, he sheathed it on his side belt. "I wonder how the siblings are doing?" he wondered.

He began trekking down the path again, until he found himself walking the familiar route towards the Shinazugawa household. In his hand, fresh fruits he had gathered along the way for Shinazugawa-san and his family.

His footsteps halted when a commotion erupted from the household.

"Genya, get out!" The scream came from Sanemi as a series of screams and cries echoed from inside, followed by a gruff yell from a man full of disdain and anger.

"You little bitches! Did you have fun playing outside while I worked my ass off?! You should earn your keep!" he yelled, grabbing a bottle and smashing it on the wall near Genya. The shards scratched Genya's cheek as he cried out in pain.

His hair was still trapped under his father's grip. "Let him go, you old fart!" Sanemi cursed, barreling towards the man's legs and grabbing them, only to be kicked to the side, hitting the closet where the rest of the siblings hid. Muffled cries could be heard from inside. 

Sanemi coughed, tears swelling in his eyes as he watched his father — no, that man was not their father — raise a clenched fist into the air, ready to strike Genya, when a familiar fluttering checkered green haori filled his sight.

Tanjiro gripped the man's arm tightly as the man stared at him in shock and anger. His eyes bulged as he tried to shake Tanjiro’s grip off. However, as a trained slayer, Tanjiro was stronger and didn’t budge. His eyes glared at the man in front of him with fury.

"What in the world are you doing?!" he gritted out in anger. The man, who he assumed was the children’s father, shoved Genya aside and grabbed Tanjiro’s arm.

"Who the fuck are you?! What gives you the right to trespass into my home?!" he yelled as he raised his fist, ready to punch Tanjiro. But Tanjiro was quicker — he ducked and kicked the man’s legs, causing him to buckle.

"Your home?! You call the place where you hurt your children and insult them your home?! You have no right!" Tanjiro yelled, veins popping from his forehead in anger. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

His gaze quickly met the eyes of five terrified children hiding behind the closet door. There was a baby. His vision turned red at the possibility of the man hurting the baby.

He couldn't bear the thought of his own brother, Rokuta, being hurt the same way. He gritted his teeth and swept the man off his feet, causing him to faceplant on the floor. The man tried to stand up, but Tanjiro kneaded the man's back with his foot.

"You should be the pillar of this house! You should be the one protecting your family, and yet you beat them!" he growled at the man below him. The man scoffed and laughed sardonically.

"Family?! I don't even know if they're mine! My whore of a wife goes out every day to sleep with the men she sees!" he screeched.

Sanemi clenched his fists, his eyes wild. No one insults his mother. No one!

"That's not true! Mother works so hard to look after us!" he screamed, tears clouding his vision.

"Work hard? That bitch is lazy! All she does is laze around at home and produce more parasites!" the man screamed. Tanjiro grabbed his arm and twisted it causing him to shout in pain.

"That's enough," Tanjiro said, voice cold. Sanemi’s voice caught in his throat.

"You have been blessed with a kind, loving wife and wonderful, amazing children, and yet you're blind to see it all," Tanjiro seethed. "You don't deserve them. You don't deserve to live," he gritted out.

Sanemi watched the scene with glistening eyes and a pounding heart. But for the first time, his heart wasn’t pounding because of fear. It was pounding because of a sudden relief he couldn't explain — something that cured the break inside of him. The man they'd only met yesterday saw them as a blessing. Not parasites. But worthy. Not disgusting. But treasures.

The door slammed open as his mother gasped and screamed in panic at the sight of her subdued husband.

"S-Sir, please! Whatever my husband has done—!" his mother pleaded, bowing down, head to the ground towards Tanjiro gripping his feet. "Please let him go. Please forgive him!" she cried.

Tanjiro could only grit his teeth and shoved the man to the side.

"Kyogo!" she said, approaching the grunting man on the floor. Kyogo growled and stood up, shoving the woman out of the way as she fell hard beside Sanemi.

"Mother!" he cried out, clinging to her to prevent her from going after their father.

"You bastards! All of you! I hope you all drop dead!" he yelled as he marched outside the house, shoving Tanjiro out of the way.

A few seconds of silence and panting filled the house until a series of footsteps rushed out from the closet, racing towards their mother.

"Mom!"

"Ma!"

"Mother!"

They cried out and scrambled into their mother’s embrace. The woman cried and hugged all of her children tight. All of them were sobbing on the floor, and Tanjiro could only watch with a heavy heart.

His heart clenched painfully as he watched the scene. He couldn’t believe that the strong and feared Wind Hashira had a past like this. He had wondered what could have happened to make the Wind Hashira so hostile in the future — even towards the little brother he loved the most.

When their wails died down to sniffles, they pulled away from their mother’s embrace and ducked behind her under Tanjiro’s soft gaze, except Sanemi and Genya.

The woman huddled in front of Tanjiro and bowed again, causing him to raise his hands to stop her.

"Ma’am, please don’t—" he began, only pausing when the woman held his hand.

"I’m sorry, young man, that you were involved in our feud. I thank you with all my heart for saving the children. Without you here, I don’t know what might have..." she trailed off, covering her mouth as she wept.

Sanemi fretted around her in distress. Tanjiro knelt and held her hand. The woman jolted at the unfamiliar feeling, but it was not unwelcomed. It was warm, loving, and gentle. It made her cry even more.

"You don’t have to apologize. I’m glad I intervened before it escalated even further. The children’s safety is my priority. Please don’t blame yourself," he said gently, eyes warm and soft — but holding heartbreak within. He wanted to make sure the family would be safe. This was a temporary measure, and he was certain her husband would come back. He felt uneasy leaving the family alone.

"I haven’t introduced myself — my name is Shizu. These are my children: Sanemi, Genya, Sumi, Teiko, Hiroshi, Shuuya and Koto," Shizu said, introducing all of her children one by one, leaving Tanjiro in awe and warmth. A big family. Like his.

The thought of his own family brought bittersweet grief to his heart, and his smile softened as the children gazed at him with warmth and wonder.

"Please let me make it up to you. We don’t have much but—" she trailed off, opening a cabinet before fishing out a few yen from her pouch. Tanjiro grabbed her hand softly.

"You don’t have to, Ma’am. Seeing you all safe and happy is enough," he said firmly. Tears fell from her eyes as she thanked Tanjiro for his earnestness.

"Then why not just stay here?"

Their heads whipped around in Genya’s direction, who was sitting while his brother treated his wound. Sanemi, in shock, accidentally pressed the wound too hard, earning a cry from Genya. 

"Sorry!" Sanemi exclaimed, then looked at Tanjiro with hope in his eyes.

He wished for him to stay. He had seen how Tanjiro was gentle with his mother and siblings. He had seen how kind and loving he was towards his family. He wanted him to stay. He didn’t want him to leave. He had never been selfish in his life, but if the gods would allow him to be selfish for once, he wanted Tanjiro to stay.

"But..." Tanjiro trailed off.

"That’s a good idea. Please at least stay for dinner!"

He didn’t want to impose. But on second thought, he didn’t have a place to go or stay for the time being. If he were to stay with the Shinazugawa family, he would be able to protect them while he figured out why he was sent back to this point in time. Perhaps he needed to stop something from happening, or perhaps he needed to understand more about the Wind Hashira and his friend Genya.

But nevertheless, he smiled in defeat. "Alright. I’ll stay."

Tanjiro swore he had never seen Sanemi smile that big and happy once since he met him.

He vowed to protect that smile.

Chapter Text

Tanjiro was only supposed to stay until dinner, but the children begged him to stay the night with their glistening, teary eyes that made his resolve weak. 

He sighed for the umpteenth time and obeyed, much to the joy of the Shinazugawa children. It’s like they know Tanjiro is weak to their pleas and are using it as an opportunity.

Tanjiro noted that the happiest of them all seemed to be Sanemi, as the boy would always follow him around and cling to him, even without saying anything—only watching him through awed and anticipating eyes.

He never thought he would be looked upon like that by the Wind Hashira, aside from anger and disdain in his eyes before, during, and after the Hashira training—even way before, at his trial.

Tanjiro rubbed his nose, his face reddening. ‘How should I leave a good impression so he won’t make it hard for me and Nezuko at the future trial?’ he thought, shuddering at the memory of his first meeting with the Wind Hashira.

The said Hashira, now a child, was sitting beside him as he tried knitting straws to form a slipper. As the eldest son, Tanjiro threw himself into basic household chores; thus, he acquired skills in crafting, cooking, carpentry, and sewing.

He remembers sewing back Nezuko's kimono when it got tears. He remembers making sandals for Takeo when he lost them at the river. His eyes teared up a little and he wiped them.

"What's wrong?" Sanemi asked worriedly, eyebrows furrowed. Tanjiro smiled and waved it off. "Some straw bits caught in my eye." Sanemi giggled at the thought and continued his work.

His eyes perked up at the grunt Genya emitted in front of him. He was struggling to make his own sandals; everything was far off the line and the straws wouldn't stick to each other. Tanjiro chuckled and set down his own half-finished work and gently grabbed Genya's hands.

"You should twist it open first before inserting the straw inside, locking it into place. Like this, let me show you..." he trailed off as Genya watched his hands with wide, sparkling eyes.

Sanemi could care less about Genya's work or his own—his eyes never left Tanjiro as he taught his brother with patience.

Sanemi thought, 'Tanjiro-san is pretty. Like sent to us from the heavens,' and promptly blushed. Genya excitedly showed Sanemi his finished sandal, assisted by Tanjiro, and waved it in his face.

"Nii-san! I've done it! Look! Look!" he said, and Sanemi stuttered. "Y-Yeah! That looks cool, Genya. Good job," he said, red-faced. Tanjiro placed a hand on his forehead.

"Your face is red, Sanemi. Are you running a fever?" he asked worriedly. Sanemi shook his head and bowed it, embarrassed. Tanjiro hummed and patted his head, which made Sanemi lean on him.

Genya pouted and forced himself down between them with a huff. "I want a pat from Tanjiro-san too!" he grumbled, and Tanjiro patted their heads simultaneously.

"Yosh, yosh. What good children—Shizu-san is blessed," Tanjiro cooed, and the siblings basked in the warmth of his hands. All of a sudden, the door slammed open, revealing the rest of the Shinazugawa siblings.

"No fair! Why do only big brothers get a pat?!" Sumi pouted. "No fair!" Hiroshi cried out as the children swarmed Tanjiro, clinging to his arms, legs, and torso, successfully pushing away Sanemi and Genya.

Shizu was in the doorway giggling to herself. Tanjiro thought she was a traitor, shooing a horde of children his way as she waved and closed the door to the bedroom to prepare breakfast.

"H-Hey! We were here first!" Genya argued, and thus chaos erupted at the Shinazugawa household. Screams and cries filled the air, but it was not full of fear—it was full of life, joy, and laughter. This was the first time Sanemi liked being home.

Tanjiro was supposed to only stay until dinner, but he didn’t realize weeks had passed since he started living at the Shinazugawa residence. It had been a month since he found himself stuck in the past, without prior knowledge of where he was or how to go back to the future—the future that had been destroyed by Muzan. He didn’t even know if he wanted to go back to that future.

He blew on a wooden paddle and tasted its contents. 'Not too salty.' He hummed in satisfaction and crouched down to kill the fire. On his back, wrapped in a soft linen cloth, was Koto, the youngest of the Shinazugawa family. He was sound asleep, clutching Tanjiro's haori as Tanjiro finished cooking their lunch.

He had volunteered to help around the house and take care of the children when Shizu almost collapsed due to exhaustion. He wanted to lighten her load and help out, since the family was willing to give him a roof over his head and a place to sleep. In return, he helped the family make money.

'My allowance is running low...' he thought, worrying over the money he had upon arriving. He needed to find a way to earn money so he could support the family until they were well off on their own—and continue his research into his situation.

He adjusted his grip and glanced outside. There stood Genya and Hiroshi chopping thin wood and branches that could be used for charcoal. Not long ago, he taught the other boys how to make charcoal and help their brother Sanemi sell it in town.

Lately, their charcoal had become well sought after, and business was steady. Tanjiro was proud of his family's line of work and the skills he had gained from it. He chuckled as he watched Hiroshi fumble with the small axe, earning a teasing remark from Genya. He could watch them forever—happy, without a worry in the world.

But he knows that’s impossible. As long as Muzan is still alive and demons still run free in Japan, the world would never truly know peace.

He gritted his teeth. He was becoming impatient. He wanted to know more about this demon art that sent him back in time. Should he find Tamayo-san? But he had no idea where Tamayo-san and Yushiro-san currently were. And he would come off as suspicious. He sighed in distress. No matter—he should remain patient. This is a one-time opportunity.

He laid the sleeping Koto on the ground and went outside, getting the attention of everyone. “Everyone! Lunch is ready,” he called out, earning a cheer from the kids who came barreling inside.

Lunch was eventful. The children were bickering, asking for seconds, and the pot was almost empty. Tanjiro's heart swelled at the thought of the kids eating well.

Tanjiro caught Sanemi staring at him. “Do you want seconds, Sanemi?” he hummed, earning a shake of the head from Sanemi. Tanjiro blinked in confusion.

“Tanjiro-san barely ate. He should eat more because he works the hardest among us,” he mumbled, looking down. Tanjiro smiled softly and patted his head, Sanemi automatically leaning into it.

“Thank you for looking out for me, Sanemi. But don’t worry, I already ate while cooking. He can get more if he wan—”

“I will always worry about Tanjiro-san!” he burst out, making Tanjiro pause. “I want to look out for Tanjiro-san and take care of you too. I want you to rely on me too. I want the best for Tanjiro-san. I want to grow strong and capable for Tanjiro-san!” he continued and pursed his lips.

So that you won’t leave. So that you will stay beside me. So that you will be the happiest. I want to make you the happiest. He wanted to say but stopped himself. The last thing he wanted was to scare Tanjiro away. Instead,

“Because Tanjiro-san is the kindest in the world,” he mumbled, looking up at Tanjiro. Tanjiro's heart swelled with warmth and pride. Sanemi's words chased away the doubts and fears in his heart. He reached out and pulled Sanemi into a small hug. He ruffled his hand through his hair and hummed.

“I’m happy Sanemi thinks so. I also think Sanemi is the kindest on earth and that he should remain kind despite all challenges in life. Because Sanemi is deserving of all good things. Even all of the ohagi,” he mumbled and grinned down at Sanemi.

Sanemi watched him with wide eyes and an open mouth. He couldn’t say anything but just stared at Tanjiro.

From that day on, Sanemi swore he would be the reason why Tanjiro’s cheeks hurt—from smiling until his last breath.

One morning, they were having breakfast with Shizu after a long time. Shizu finally had some time off, and the kids were overjoyed to spend time with their mother.

A knock interrupted the happy atmosphere, and as if by instinct, the children ran toward the bedroom near the closet door, ready to hide in case their father finally came home after a long time. Only Sanemi stayed beside Tanjiro while Genya guarded the bedroom entrance with a fearful expression.

Tanjiro locked eyes with Shizu and went to answer the door. It wasn’t Kyogo—it appeared to be the police.

“Is this the Shinazugawa residence?” he asked, and Tanjiro nodded, on guard. The man locked eyes with Shizu and spoke.

Shinazugawa Kyogo was dead. Stabbed to death in another town while drinking at night. It was a fight that turned into murder. But Tanjiro begged to differ. It might have been a demon.

But still… “Good riddance,” Sanemi mumbled, seemingly unaffected by the news. He looked relieved. Genya was no different—he perked up with hope. A hope that he wouldn’t see his father anymore.

Tanjiro felt his heart clench at the thought of being happy the man who had abused his family died tragically. He knew he shouldn’t be happy a human life was lost, whether by demon or human. But the man was not deserving of life.

“Thank you for going all the way to notify us,” Tanjiro bowed and closed the door. Shizu collapsed to her knees and sobbed loudly. Regardless of how bad a husband Kyogo had been, he was still the man Shizu had loved growing up.

Tanjiro knelt and gathered Shizu in his arms, offering his shoulder to catch her tears. The household was quiet that day; the death of the father of the Shinazugawa family hung in the air, mixed with both grief and relief.

After some time, the family was able to stand back up following the news of their father’s death. Shizu still seemed sad from time to time, but she was able to strengthen herself—for herself and her children.

Tanjiro thought things were going to improve moving forward until they discovered the large debt their father had left them. It was equivalent to a Hashira’s annual salary, and it made Tanjiro furious. Nevertheless, he made a firm decision to stay with the family until they could manage on their own.

“Too slow!” Teiko yelled and snagged Sumi’s egg, shoving it into her mouth. “Wha! Teiko, that’s mine! You already ate yours!” she cried and pouted. 

It was lunch, and everyone threw a feast for Genya’s birthday. It wasn’t much due to their financial circumstances, but Tanjiro prepared a generous meal and celebration for Genya.

Sumi growled and whipped her head toward Genya, who was about to eat his own egg, and leaned over, snatching the egg off his fork with her mouth.

“Hmm! Tan-nii cooks the best eggs!” she giggled, making Genya’s jaw drop. That was his egg!

“Sumi, don’t just steal someone’s food!” Genya cried out and pinched Sumi’s cheeks, earning a cry from her.

“Wahhh, Tan-nii, Genya is hurting me!”

“Cut it out, you two. Here, you can have my egg,” Sanemi chided, placing a plate of eggs in front of Genya. Genya huffed and flicked his tongue at Sumi, who did the same.

Tanjiro chuckled, grabbed his own plate, and handed it over to Sanemi. Sanemi blinked at Tanjiro as he reached out to pat his head.

“Sanemi is very kind and giving. He should have an egg.” Sanemi stuttered, face red, and shoved Tanjiro’s hand away.

“D-Don’t treat me like a kid…” he mumbled. Tanjiro cooed and continued patting his head. “Yosh, yosh,” he said, earning a growl from Sanemi.

Genya snickered as he munched on the egg Sanemi gave. “Nii-san has a crush.”

“Genya, spit that out. Now.”

Tanjiro shook his head and stood up. He grabbed an empty plate and made his way back to the kitchen. There, Shizu was humming to herself as she finished straining the noodles from the boiling water.

“Do you need help, Shizu-san?” he asked.

“Tanjiro-san! No, I can take it from here. You’ve done a lot already. You cooked almost everything on the menu today!” she chirped, earning a sheepish grin from Tanjiro.

“I might have gotten ahead of myself, I’m afraid. I haven’t done anything special…” he mumbled an apology, earning a firm disagreement from Shizu. She held his hands, gratitude filling her eyes, her tone soft and warm.

“Tanjiro-san, please don’t think that way! You’ve done a lot for my family already, and they already see you as part of their family,” she started, as Tanjiro’s eyes widened.

“I’ve never seen the children this happy and alive. Even after the death of their father, I thought all was lost. However, our lives improved the longer you were around. I’m sure the children are happy with you here,” she said, wiping her tears with her sleeve.

“We have no money for education, and you’ve taught them so much—everything they need to learn. You became someone important to them, and we’re happy to have met you. Thank you, Tanjiro-san. Thank you for making my family happy,” she said and bowed. Tanjiro’s eyes teared up a little and he sniffed. He held Shizu’s hands in return, his eyes seeing the silhouette of his mother as he smiled widely.

“It’s my pleasure. It’s no problem at all. Their safety is now my responsibility, and I want the best for all of you. Please allow me to do so,” he said and smiled. He bowed, earning a slight panic from Shizu who bowed in return.

Shizu then giggled, cheeks red. “I will also give you my blessings,” she said, earning a blink and tilt of the head from Tanjiro. Shizu shook her head and shoved a plate full of eggs toward him.

“Nothing. Now, return with these or else they'll break the table fighting for eggs,” Tanjiro chuckled and made his way back to the room until, in the corner of his eye, he saw a white patch of hair running out of the way. Tanjiro shook his head and continued walking back.

‘Tanjiro-san is staying!’

The night settled in, and Tanjiro and Sanemi tucked everyone asleep. He bent down and kissed everyone's head before tucking them in—a shameless request made by Koto, which everyone then followed out of jealousy. Now it became a night routine.

Sanemi climbed into his futon beside Tanjiro's and looked at Tanjiro expectantly. Tanjiro smiled and kissed his head as Sanemi plopped down on the futon with a smile on his face. 

"Aren't you old enough for these kinds of things?" Tanjiro teased.

"Shut up, we are only a few years apart..." he grumbled. Tanjiro smiled. He is only seven years older than Sanemi, making him only eleven years old. Still young to experience hardship, Tanjiro thought.

He ruffled his hair and went to the front door to make sure it was locked, when the sound of fluttering wings and soft knocks on the kitchen window caught his attention.

He walked warily toward the kitchen and gasped when he saw a crow trying to open the kitchen window. He stepped closer to take a better look and saw a letter gourd attached to its back.

A Kasugai crow?! he thought in shock, and hurriedly opened the window, allowing the crow to fly in and perch on the kitchen cabinet. The crow was large in size, with striking blue eyes, and wore a purple scarf around its neck. It stared at Tanjiro.

"Kamado Tanjiro," it spoke, its voice deep and commanding, as if it wasn't the crow speaking but someone of higher rank.

Tanjiro straightened. Kamado. It said his last name. No one knew who he was, not even his last name. How did it know my full name? he wondered, heart pounding.

"Don't fret, child. I am an ally. The master wants to see you. But it's too early for you to step foot," it said vaguely. Master? Who?

"Oyakata-sama?!" he gasped, feeling relieved that someone was aware of his situation. But it's impossible. Okayata-sama in this era should still be a small child. It means... the previous master.

"In a few years, you shall arrive at the gates—and there, they will be waiting," it vaguely continued, not answering Tanjiro's question. Tanjiro stepped closer and knelt before the crow.

"Please! Is there a way to meet with the master? Is he aware of my situation or what's happening right now?" he asked the crow in an onslaught of questions. He knew that the Ubuyashiki family possessed a heightened level of foresight that helped them avoid disastrous situations—all things he needed right now was his master's advice.

The crow was silent before it spoke. "The master you seek is not the master you'll see," it said, making Tanjiro's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"In a few years, you shall arrive at the gates—and there, they will be waiting," it repeated again, and with a quack, the crow removed the gourd from his body and held it in its beak.

Tanjiro grabbed it and popped the lid off, finding an envelope inside. With one last look at the crow, he fished it out. His jaw dropped when he saw thousands of yen inside. This was the equivalent of a Hashira's monthly pay—or more.

On the envelope was stamped the familiar seal of the Ubuyashiki family. It was just like how Matsuemon delivered his pay.

"The master thanks you for your service," the crow said. "The master knows your purpose—why you are years early, before you breathe your first cry," it continued, then flew toward the window sill.

"It will change everything—whether it's good or bad. Nevertheless, the master welcomes the change," the crow said. Its blue eyes bored into Tanjiro's reddish eyes and spoke:

"Do well and do what you must. In a few years, you shall arrive at the gates—and there, they will be waiting. Until then, Kamado Tanjiro." With its final words, it spread its large black wings and flew off into the distance, leaving Tanjiro dazed.

He didn't understand the entirety of the crow's words nor what the current master wanted.

But looking down at the envelope he had just received, he knew exactly what he must do for now.

Chapter Text

"Tan-nii," Teiko called out as she looked up from the cloth she was sewing towards Tanjiro. Tanjiro hummed as he tried to insert the tiny thread through a needle.

"Are you a swordsman?" she asked excitedly. Tanjiro paused and pondered her question. He couldn’t just say straight up he was a Demon Slayer. Nevertheless, Tanjiro smiled and nodded.

"I am a traveling swordsman," he confirmed, earning a squeal from Teiko.

"Is that why you always carry your sword with you?" she asked, earning a nod from Tanjiro.

"That's right. A swordsman could never part from their sword. It's part of them, like an organ. You couldn't live without it," he elaborated, earning an awe from Teiko.

She crawled over to where Tanjiro was and asked excitedly, "Then! You save people from bad guys and then marry the noble you save?!"

She squealed, and Tanjiro sweatdropped. He swore after teaching the kids how to read, Teiko had been reading questionable things from the books she would buy on a whim. Her all-time favorite was a swordsman who saved a girl from a demon and added her to his harem. Now the swordsman had four wives.

'Sounds like what Uzui-san would do,' Tanjiro chuckled.

He patted Teiko's head, who leaned into his touch. "Not quite, Teiko. I don't just marry anyone. Though, you're right about the saving people from the bad guys part," he chuckled, and Teiko pouted. In the corner of his eye, he saw Sanemi sigh in relief, kicking a giggling Genya beside him.

Her eyes glistened and she smirked. "Then! Are you going to marry Nemi?!" she asked before a piece of unfinished kimono was thrown at her face, causing her to fall on her back.

It was from a red-faced Sanemi, who was gritting his teeth. Teiko sat up and grabbed the cloth, flinging it towards Sanemi. "Fine with me, I challenge you to a duel!" she yelled, and they began throwing clothes at each other, making Tanjiro sigh in exasperation.

"Clean this up or no dinner." The rest of the day was spent cleaning the mess the siblings made. The last thing they wanted was an irritated Tanjiro. It made their skin crawl—they swore that guy never gets irritated. Tanjiro-san is truly an angel sent from above.

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into a year. He had been officially living with the Shinazugawas for a year. With the money he received from the Corps, he was able to help the family financially, and everything started looking better for the Shinazugawa family.

 They adapted the Kamado's coal business like masters, and their business bloomed well in the village.

Tanjiro felt so proud seeing that the Kamado family would forever live within the Shinazugawa family. In case they...

Tanjiro paused. It only dawned on him that if he was back in the past, then his family... His family was still alive. His mother might still be pregnant with him. His father... his father hadn’t succumbed yet to his sickness.

How he missed his family. He missed his mother's warm hands. He missed chopping wood with Takeo. He missed reading books to Hanako. He missed playing with Shigeru. He missed singing Rokuta to sleep. 

Nezuko... he paused. He missed Nezuko so much it hurt. They were always together, and now that they're apart, it breaks him and renders him useless. Nezuko is the only thing that keeps him going. Now that he is alone, he feels powerless.

Tanjiro sniffed silently as he knelt outside the bedroom, his hand clutching his sword on his hip. It was late at night and the moon was shining.

The village was peaceful and there were no sightings of demons around the perimeter. He would always go out at night and scout the area for potential threats, but nothing. It was like the place was covered in thin layers of veil infused with wisteria.

He opened the letter in his hands. It was the first letter sent to him by the current master of the Ubuyashiki Clan. He clenched his fist and hid the paper inside the pockets of his hakama.

'Time is ticking. Move, before time makes the decision for you.'

These were the master's vague words. He was overjoyed to discover that the master sent out a letter for him after refusing to connect with Tanjiro.

But that excitement was replaced by fear and doubt of the unknown. The master's words were so vague, and he was confused. What did he need to do? Did he miss something? Did he overlook something obvious that would potentially bring ruin? He did not know. For the umpteenth time, he sighed.

He made sure to give Kōshi, whom he named 公使—“Envoy”—more cashews since he was able to connect with the master.

"I've done great, Kamado Tanjiro. I expect more treats." Kōshi flapped its large wings as Tanjiro sweatdropped, tying a small pocket of cashews to the crow's body. Kōshi was visibly vibrating and immediately took off once the cashews had been secured, with a final chirp.

"I'll put more good words for you." Tanjiro wished he could persuade his master to use simpler terms instead.

He sighed at the memory and shook his head. He stared at the dead night with unease. He debated going out to scout when he heard the shuffling of feet behind him. He turned around, and there stood Sanemi, rubbing his sleepy eyes awake.

"Tanjiro-san?" he called out. Tanjiro blinked in confusion. "Sanemi? Why are you still awake at this hour?" he asked, fully turning his body toward Sanemi. Sanemi said nothing and kneeled beside Tanjiro.

"Are you going out again?" he asked, now fully awake, his eyes watching Tanjiro. Tanjiro jolted and smiled wryly. He didn’t know Sanemi knew about his nightly scouting.

"How did you know?" he asked. Sanemi shrugged. "You're not on your bed whenever I wake up," he answered.

That was a lie. Sanemi always made sure to wake up at this certain time at night. The first time he woke up by accident and caught Tanjiro leaving, he went into full panic mode. Only his rationality stopped him from going after Tanjiro.

He was relieved when Tanjiro came back hours before daybreak. He then observed and discovered it was a nightly routine.

‘Is he scouting the area every night?’ he wondered. ‘Tanjiro-san is so strong,’ he thought, after seeing Tanjiro swing his sword and train in the forest clearing when he thought no one was watching him. He knew, though, that Tanjiro knew he was around. 

He wanted to be as strong as Tanjiro—no, even stronger. So that Tanjiro could live his life without needing to work or struggle. As long as he was alive, he could protect him.

Tanjiro hummed and patted the space before him. Sanemi scooted over to Tanjiro. "Not tonight," he said, glancing outside the window that showed the night sky and the moon glistening down on them.

The night had settled like a blanket over the house, soft and still. Moonlight spilled across the wooden floorboards of the porch, casting pale shadows that danced with the breeze.

Inside, the others slept soundly, their breathing steady and rhythmic.

Sanemi sat quietly and stared at the horizon. Silence engulfed them. Tanjiro spoke. "What is bothering you?" he asked, staring at Sanemi's troubled face. Sanemi blinked, as if he was exposed. 

Tanjiro smiled and patted Sanemi's head. "Your face says it all," he said.

Sanemi looked down, embarrassed. After a while, he spoke. "I'm worried..." he started. Tanjiro hummed, urging him to continue and showing that he was listening. Sanemi's heart pounded.

“About what?”

Sanemi exhaled slowly, the breath catching slightly in his chest. “The future. My family. Everything I’m supposed to be doing for them.” For you, Sanemi wanted to say.

There was a pause. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just heavy.

“You’re worried,” Tanjiro said gently.

“I am.” Sanemi's voice was quiet, almost ashamed.

“I’m the oldest. I’m supposed to protect them, provide for them. But I am powerless now. I'm not like Tanjiro-san—strong, capable, and wise. Tanjiro-san has helped us a lot, but I have done nothing to give Tanjiro-san anything in return, nor my family. As the eldest..." he trailed off.

Tanjiro turned to him, eyes soft. “You think you have nothing, but you’ve already given them so much.”

Sanemi pouted and scoffed, not out of disrespect, but disbelief. “Like what? I can’t give them comfort. I can’t give them safety. I can’t even promise tomorrow will be better.”

“You give them yourself,” Tanjiro said. “Your time. Your strength. Your heart. You show up every day, even when it’s hard. Even when you’re scared. That’s more than most.”

Sanemi looked down at his hands, calloused and worn. “I just want them to be okay. I want to be the kind of brother they can rely on. Not someone who’s barely holding it together.”

“You are that brother,” Tanjiro said firmly.

“You’re strong—not because you have everything, but because you keep going even when you don’t. You care. You fight. You love. That makes you worthy. That makes you a man.”

Tanjiro said, the words hung in the air, gentle and grounding.

Sanemi looked at Tanjiro, eyes glistening. Tanjiro continued ruffling Sanemi's hair. "Sanemi is so strong, Tanjiro is so proud of him. He will become stronger in the future," he said, and Sanemi's heart swelled at his words. Something inside him shifted, something small but real.

"Ah! But no matter how strong you get, you always have to be gentle and kind! And no stabbing people!" Tanjiro burst out, making Sanemi jolt.

"H-Huh?" Sanemi tilted his head, confused. Stab people?! Why would he stab people randomly?!

Tanjiro coughed and chuckled. Sanemi was silent, watching Tanjiro laugh, his heart warm. His mouth then betrayed him. He didn't know what made him ask.

"Then, am I a worthy man in your eyes?" he asked. Tanjiro blinked in confusion and nodded firmly.

"A man worthy of you?" he asked, and Tanjiro shook his head and patted Sanemi's hair.

"Sanemi does not need to prove himself to other people to become worthy."

Sanemi thinks Tanjiro didn’t get his question, but that’s fine. Right now, he is nowhere near worthy of Tanjiro. But eventually, he will be, and then when that time comes, he promises to be there for Tanjiro and aid him. He will never forsake him.

Because Tanjiro is the kindest in the world.

"Shizu-san, I'll be going somewhere today. I'll be back by late at night. Do you think you all can manage?" he asked, sheathing his sword on his hip. Shizu gasped at his request—for the first time, Tanjiro had business to go to and it’s not related to her family.

"Tanjiro. Of course we can manage. Where are you off to?" she asked curiously. She is glad that Tanjiro is doing things for himself for once.

"I will go and meet a friend in another town. I won’t be long," he stated, grabbing his hair tie.

His hair had gradually grown in the past year down to his shoulders. For some reason, he wanted to grow it out like his father. He hopes it won’t get in the way while he fights demons.

"No worries, stay safe, okay? And try to bring red beans on your way back. The kids are craving red bean bread recently," she chuckled, covering her mouth.

Tanjiro beamed. "Of course!" he confirmed, slipping into his sandals.

Of course, meeting a friend is a lie. After a year of saving, he finally saved enough to look for a new place to live. As much as the family loved their house, it was relatively small for a family of eight, and it brings bad memories for the family.

The village is also remote and far from any villages and towns under the watchful eye of the Corps. He will feel at peace if the family is safe within the walls of wisteria if he is to leave them one day on their own.

“Tan-nii! Where are you going?” Teiko cried out, running toward the entrance of their house. His shout caught the attention of everyone in the household. All the children ran after Teiko and watched as Tanjiro slipped on his sandals.

“I’m heading to the next village to meet someone. Maybe I can pick up some new things for all of us,” he explained, just as the children barreled toward him, clutching his hakama.

“I want to come! Can you bring me with you?” Hiroshi pleaded, tugging at his hakama.

“Me too! Take me with you!” Sumi cried, grabbing onto Tanjiro’s arm.

“Hey! I wanted to ask first!” Teiko huffed.

Each sibling gave him pleading eyes. Genya hovered quietly in the doorway, clearly wanting to join Tanjiro—but too shy to ask.

“Kids! Let Tanjiro go alone for once! He’s always bringing you along on his travels. Tanjiro-san has business to do—it’s not like he won’t come home,” Shizu said as she shooed the kids away. They pouted and clung even tighter to Tanjiro. He sweatdropped, unable to find a solution to his current predicament.

Just then, Sanemi came home, his arms full of small logs he’d gathered for firewood. “Leave Tanjiro-san alone. He’s busy,” he scolded, though the siblings continued to pout.

Patting their heads, Tanjiro knelt down. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before dawn,” he promised. “I’ll find more books for you to read,” he added, looking at Teiko. Her eyes widened with excitement; she nodded and let go of Tanjiro.

Then, he turned to Hiroshi.

“I’ll teach you cool fighting moves when I get home,” he promised Hiroshi, who cheered in response.

“It’s a promise then!” Hiroshi huffed, crossing his arms. Tanjiro nodded and gently poked Sumi on the forehead.

“And as for you, I’ll make sure to look for cute hair accessories. Then Tan-nii can try out different hairstyles with you,” he suggested.

Sumi’s eyes sparkled. “A wisteria hair clip?!” she asked excitedly.

Tanjiro nodded. “Yayy!” she cheered as the kids ran back inside, already looking forward to Tanjiro’s return the next day.

Tanjiro chuckled. He was becoming a professional Shinazugawa tamer. He knew exactly how to handle the kids when things got chaotic.

Then he looked at Genya and crouched down. “Do you need anything in particular?” he asked, earning a thoughtful hum from Genya.

“Katana!” Genya exclaimed, causing Tanjiro to blink in surprise before bursting into chortles. He patted Genya’s head, unable to stop himself from remembering the time during Final Selection when Genya kept demanding a sword.

“I’ll try to find a training sword for you,” he promised, earning a skittish nod from Genya. Finally, he looked at Sanemi, who was watching everything unfold with a soft look on his face.

“How about you, Sanemi? Anything you’re looking forward to?” he asked. Sanemi paused for a moment and shook his head.

“I only want Tanjiro-san to come home safely,” he said, making Tanjiro’s heart warm. Cute, he thought, and gently patted Sanemi’s head.

“I’ll make sure to be careful out there. In the meantime, take care of your siblings while I’m gone,” he reminded Sanemi, earning a nod in response.

Adjusting the sword at his hip, Tanjiro stepped out.

“See you later, Tan-nii!” the children called out. He waved goodbye and continued down the path, leaving the village behind.

The walk to the next village wasn’t long—just a few hours. The village he arrived in was bustling with life and seemed thrice the size of the one the Shinazugawa family currently lived in.

Tanjiro made his way around, searching for a Wisteria House. A village adorned with a Wisteria House meant it had been marked under the Corps' protection. Typically, the people living there were aware of the existence of demons, which made defending the village far easier.

His guess was right. He spotted several Demon Slayers walking through the streets, openly interacting with villagers—Katanas visible and not hidden.

Tanjiro felt a sense of reassurance. The Shinazugawa family would fit in perfectly here—and, more importantly, they would be safe.

After walking around for hours, he finally found it—the Wisteria House. It belonged to the village chief, a kind-hearted man who willingly showed Tanjiro around. Perhaps it was because he was a Demon Slayer. Wisteria Houses have always been accommodating toward Demon Slayers, regardless of rank; the respect held for them was that profound.

In no time, Tanjiro discovered the perfect place for the family to move into. He didn’t hesitate to secure the house with the chief’s help. Satisfaction and pride welled up in him. He couldn’t wait for them to arrive. This way, he could feel at peace while away on missions and focused on his research. It was finally time to dig deeper into his situation.

“Thank you for helping me, Sato-san!” he said, bowing to the man, who hurriedly returned the gesture.

“No need to thank me, Tanjiro-san! This is the least I could do for you. We thank you for your service—we are forever grateful!” the chief replied and bowed once more.

It was still early, and Tanjiro decided to roam around the village to buy gifts for the kids. Even though it was already afternoon, the streets were still bursting with people and festive energy.

He managed to secure the second volume of Demon Slayer and the Noble, the romance novel Teiko had been asking for—much to his chagrin.

Finding a training katana for Genya wasn’t difficult either. He passed by a stall that sold weapons and tools, and the smith happily accepted his request to craft a small wooden katana suited to Genya’s size.

Now for his final mission: finding a Wisteria hairpin for Sumi. His feet carried him to a store filled with beautiful fabrics and delicate accessories. He stood idly at the entrance, unsure of how to approach the shopkeeper and ask for the hairpin.

“Good morning, kind sir. Are you looking for something? Fabric? Accessories for your lover?” the shopkeeper chuckled.

Tanjiro’s face flushed red. “N-Not a lover. For a sister,” he replied.

The word sister slipped from his tongue with ease, and a soft smile tugged at his lips as he thought of the Shinazugawa kids—it felt right to call them siblings.

Not long after, he was handed a Wisteria hairpin. It was a bit large for Sumi’s thin hair, but she could grow into it. As he admired the accessory, a gasp followed by a sound of awe pulled him from his thoughts.

He looked down and saw a young girl standing before him. She wore a pink kimono, and her hair—pink fading into lime green—was braided neatly down her back.

“It looks so pretty, mister!” she exclaimed.

Tanjiro blinked in astonishment. That unique combination of hair colors… No one in this world had it except—The Love Hashira?! Kanroji-san? His heart jumped. He hadn’t expected to meet Mitsuri randomly in this village, especially not this early in the timeline.

He was shaken from his musings when a man called out to the girl.

“Mitsuri! What are you doing? We’re going home!” the man shouted.

“I’m coming, Dad!” she called back, waving at Tanjiro.

“Goodbye, Mister! I—I hope your wife will like it!” she cried out, her face red with excitement, before running off to join her father.

Tanjiro sweatdropped. He didn’t have time to correct the girl. With a sigh, he smiled at their retreating figures. Seeing Mitsuri alive and so young filled him with a quiet joy. The image lingered in his mind, and a determined thought took root.

He would do everything in his power to prevent the future from repeating itself.

He would not let his loved ones—or the Corps—fall to Muzan’s hands a second time.

Tanjiro clutched a bag of red beans as he hummed down the road. Dawn was approaching, and his trip had taken longer than usual. He had traveled from village to village in search of an area protected by the Corps.

In his other hand was a basket full of gifts and new clothing for the Shinazugawa siblings. He still had some money left, and the goods from the last village were of better quality than those in the previous one. Life had been kind to the Shinazugawa family, and Tanjiro felt content with the direction they were heading.

But life could change suddenly, like the weather. It shifts and moves on. It doesn’t always stay sunny, and it never snows endlessly. And… ‘Whenever happiness is destroyed…’ he thought, and paused.

A faint scent filled his nostrils, and he stopped. He sniffed the air, eyes widening as his heart sank. He gasped. “The smell of blood!” he cried out, sprinting toward the Shinazugawa household.

The front door had been torn from its hinges. The wisteria incense he had placed around the house had been knocked over and extinguished. The inside was even worse. Blood splattered the walls and ceiling, and the floorboards were shattered. The children and Shizu were nowhere to be found.

Tanjiro felt as if his entire world was crashing down around him. What happened?! A demon attack?! he thought frantically. He had scouted the area the night before and found no signs of danger. Had the demon waited until he was gone to strike at their most vulnerable moment?

He ran outside, panic etched into his features. He searched frantically around the house and behind it. A trail of blood led toward the forest clearing where they produced and stored their charcoal. The faint scent of the demon lingered around the house and stretched down the path.

Gritting his teeth, Tanjiro sprinted toward the clearing. The scent of blood and demon grew stronger with each step as he neared the forest. He entered, unsheathing his sword and holding it firmly in front of him.

A sudden rustle from the bushes made him whirl around. He pointed his blade at the source of the sound—only to gasp in shock as Genya stumbled out. His face was streaked with blood, terror in his eyes, and a deep slash wound ran across his cheek.

“Tanjiro-san…” Genya cried out, and Tanjiro immediately lowered his sword and rushed toward him. He gathered Genya into his arms and noticed Koto, wrapped in a bundle and tied securely across Genya’s torso.

“Genya, Koto! I’m so glad you’re okay!” Relief flooded through him. They were alive—he didn’t know what he would’ve done if they had been hurt. 

Another rustling sound came from behind the bushes, and Teiko and Sumi emerged, their eyes filled with tears. They clutched their wounded shoulders, sobbing as they stumbled toward Tanjiro.

“Oh, Teiko! Sumi!” Tanjiro sobbed, wrapping both of them in a tight embrace. They cried out and clutched his haori with their bloody hands. When they had basked long enough in the relief of each other's presence, they gently pulled away.

“What happened? Where are the others?” Tanjiro asked frantically.

“M-Mom...” Teiko stuttered between sobs. Her eyes widened—and before she could finish, Genya screamed in terror.

“Mom, no!” he cried out.

Tanjiro whipped his head around and swiftly blocked an incoming attack with his sword. His eyes widened as he stared at the demon before him. He clasped a hand over his mouth, suddenly unable to breathe.

The demon—no, Shizu-san—was crouched in front of him, growling. Her hands and feet were stained with blood, but her mouth was clean—a sign she hadn’t eaten anyone yet. Still, Tanjiro’s mind couldn’t be at peace—not with two siblings still missing.

“Shizu-san…” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. This was his fault. If he hadn’t taken so long to return home, he might have prevented this. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Shizu-san…” he sobbed, slowly sheathing his sword.

Suddenly, Shizu pounced. Tanjiro grabbed her shoulders and shoved his sword toward her mouth to stop her from biting him.

“Shizu-san!” he shouted, pushing her away with all his strength. She skidded to a halt, then leapt onto the nearest tree.

“Mom!” Genya cried out, snapping Tanjiro back to the siblings still hiding in the bushes.

“Run back home! It’s not safe here!” Tanjiro shouted, his voice urgent. “Where are Sanemi and Hiroshi?!”

“Nii-san told us to hide when Mom chased Hiroshi into the forest,” Sumi sobbed. “He went after her, but they’ve been gone for a long time!”

Tanjiro gritted his teeth, his eyes fixed on Shizu as she crouched, ready to lunge.

He was certain that Shizu was still human—except she no longer carried Shizu’s scent. For the second time, she lunged, trying to bite him, but he managed to shove the sheathed blade of his sword toward her mouth to block the attack. She was getting stronger, her body growing larger as he struggled against her grip.

Tanjiro’s eyes watered. While he had been enjoying the day, the Shinazugawa family had almost been slaughtered—and Shizu-san had been turned. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared at her.

“It must have been painful, right? You suffered, didn’t you?” he cried out, straining against Shizu. “Shizu-san, I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you!” he sobbed.

“Hang in there, Shizu-san! Don’t give in!” he pleaded. “Don’t turn into a demon! You’ve got to stay strong!” he cried.

“Tan-nii!” It was Hiroshi, emerging from the bushes, bleeding from his arm and head.

Shizu lost her composure and whipped her head toward Hiroshi’s direction. Tanjiro gasped as realization hit him. Marechi blood! he thought, recalling the strange trait within the Shinazugawa family.

“Hiroshi! Go back to the house, now!” he shouted, holding onto Shizu with all his strength.

“Tan-nii! Mom… I don’t know what’s wrong with Mom!!” Hiroshi cried. He hadn’t realized Shizu was already with Tanjiro.

Shizu tore her gaze away from Tanjiro and lunged toward Hiroshi.

“Hiroshi!” Tanjiro cried. He was too late to block the attack. Without hesitation, he leapt in front of Hiroshi, taking the full blow from Shizu. Her long claws tore into his back.

He gritted his teeth through the pain.

“Tan-nii!” Hiroshi called out, his voice shaking with worry.

Despite his injuries and the dire situation, Tanjiro still didn’t unsheath his sword. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt Shizu—to decapitate her. He cried out, suddenly feeling a warm sensation spreading across his abdomen.

Looking down, he saw one of her claws digging through his stomach. Blood welled in his mouth, and he could taste it.

Shizu had Tanjiro pinned to the ground. The only thing keeping her from making him her next meal was his sword.

“Shizu-san! Please! You have to hang on!” he pleaded.

Her arm grew in size as she grabbed the sword from her mouth and flung it far away. Tanjiro gasped—without his weapon, he was defenseless. Seeing an opening, Shizu raised her arm, ready to strike.

Suddenly, a large knife impaled her neck, stopping her mid-motion.

She froze, then slowly turned toward the figure behind her. Her eyes began to clear.

“Sa...nem...” she whispered.

There stood Sanemi, arms outstretched in a daze, eyes wide in terror.

He had just killed his mother—his kind, loving mother—

Screams filled the forest clearing. Tanjiro’s eyes squinted as the first rays of daylight pierced through the trees, blinding him. He gasped in realization—the sun had risen.

Shizu screeched in pain as she frantically tried to shield herself from the sunlight.

Tanjiro sprang into action, attempting to cover her body with his haori. But no matter how hard he tried, it wasn’t enough. The sun was too strong. He was too weak. He was too weak.

“Shizu-san! Make yourself smaller! Make yo—” He stopped when a burning hand gently clasped his cheek.

“Tan…jiro… Thank you… and… I’m sorry,” Shizu whispered, her eyes slowly closing as she accepted her fate.

The sun devoured her until only her clothes remained.

Silence settled over the forest, broken only by the gentle chirping of birds echoing through the clearing.

Sanemi stared at the clothes cradled in Tanjiro’s hands and began hyperventilating. The knife felt impossibly heavy in his grip until it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. He took a step back, eyes wide and vacant.

He wasn’t there.

“I killed Mother… I k-killed Mother…” he stammered, repeating the words over and over, each one cracking through the silence like thunder.

Tanjiro pushed himself off the ground and hugged Sanemi.

“Sanemi! Are you okay? Oh gods, you're bleeding!” he cried, clutching his cheek. He cried out again, but Sanemi remained standing in a daze.

“Nii-san!” Hiroshi shouted and threw his arms around Sanemi, snapping him out of his trance. Hiroshi wailed and wailed, scared and confused, his sobs echoing in the clearing.

The sound triggered tears that began streaming down Sanemi’s cheeks as he choked on his sobs.

“I killed Mom... I’m a murd—” he gasped.

Tanjiro shook his head firmly.

“No, Sanemi. You’re not a murderer. Your mother... your mother was a demon...” his voice trailed off.

Sanemi finally looked at him. “I saw her... trying to kill Tanjiro-san... I couldn’t... I ran and...” he trailed off, only to be cut off as Tanjiro hugged him again.

“I’m thankful Sanemi saved me. It’s not your fault. I... I couldn’t do anything. I’m sorry, Sanemi. I’m so sorry...” Tanjiro whispered, kneeling in front of him and cradling the two siblings in his arms. His sobs harmonized with theirs.

“Nii-san!”

“Tan-nii!”

A series of cries made their heads whip around. There, running toward them, were the remaining members of the Shinazugawa family. Tears streamed down their faces, and their bodies were stained with blood.

Sanemi choked on a sob as his siblings barreled into him with a desperate hug. He clutched them tightly, overwhelmed with relief. The only family he had left—they were hurt, but they were alive.

“You guys... I’m so glad you're okay,” Sanemi cried out.

“Nii-san protected us! Wahhhh! We followed your instructions, Nii-san!” they wailed, all eight of them forming a circle around him.

The family sat there in the clearing, unconcerned with the world outside—wallowing in shared grief and bittersweet relief.

Koshi sat perched on a branch above, watching the scene below. He chirped once, and then took off into the sky.

“The past had changed. This is only the beginning, Kamado Tanjiro.”

Chapter Text

Leaving the village was the only option for the Shinazugawa family. The terrified and shaken children seemed to understand their situation as they unpacked at their new house.

Everyone was silent as they maneuvered around the house, unpacking their valuable items and the furniture they had accumulated over the years.

Tanjiro didn’t want their move to the new house to feel this depressing, but the awed expressions on the children’s faces as they toured the house made him feel lighter. The children ran around, happily claiming dibs on the bedrooms and choosing who they wanted to sleep with. The house had only four bedrooms, so eventually, they would have to share.

They ended up with the girls, Teiko and Sumi, sharing one room; Hiroshi and Shuuya in another; Genya volunteered to room with Koto; and Sanemi, being the eldest, had his own room.

That left Tanjiro without a room, much to the children’s protest. But Sanemi saw it as an opportunity.

“Then… Tanjiro-san can room with me,” he said, trailing off, his face red as he fought the urge to look pleased with the arrangement. The children gave him a stink eye as he tried to hide his sense of accomplishment. Tanjiro was touched by the offer and patted Sanemi’s head.

“Then, I’ll room with Sanemi,” he announced, earning a chorus of groans from the siblings. Sanemi felt like he had won that day.

It had been a month since the mother of the Shinazugawa children turned into a demon and died—right in front of her two children. 

Hiroshi, the third oldest of the seven siblings, and Sanemi, the eldest, sat quietly in Tanjiro’s bedroom, huddled under his warm, protective arms as they talked about what had happened.

Tanjiro spoke gently, explaining how demons had existed for hundreds of years, spreading terror across the land. He told them about the organization dedicated to hunting demons and protecting the townsfolk—the Demon Slayer Corps.

“Then… Tanjiro-san is a Demon Slayer?” Sanemi asked quietly, his gaze fixed on Tanjiro. If he didn’t know better, he might have laughed at the idea. Stop pulling my leg! was what he would usually say. But Tanjiro wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t joking.

Sanemi’s stomach churned at the gravity of their situation. He didn’t know how to explain demons to his younger siblings. He didn’t know how to tell them about their mother. About how he had killed her.

Warm hands ruffled his hair, and his teary eyes met Tanjiro’s soft, compassionate gaze. “You’re thinking negatively again,” Tanjiro said gently. Sanemi was always in awe of how Tanjiro could seemingly read their thoughts.

He didn’t respond, lowering his head to stare at his hands—hands he believed were sinful.

Then, smaller warm hands wrapped around his own, and his head snapped up to meet Hiroshi’s tear-filled eyes.

“Nii-chan, don’t blame yourself for what happened. It’s not your fault! There’s… there’s nothing we could’ve done,” Hiroshi trailed off, sobbing.

That’s right. There was no known cure to turn demons back into humans. Nezuko hadn’t turned yet, and Tamayo-san’s research hadn’t yielded a breakthrough. Tanjiro didn’t even know where Tamayo was now, so traveling with their demon mother wasn’t an option. 

Oyakata-sama in this timeline was different from the one he knew. No one would understand, Tanjiro thought bitterly, gritting his teeth. He had no allies in this time. No Tomioka-san to stand beside him. No master to return to. His eyes glistened, and his heart ached. 

He missed Urokodaki-san. He missed Tomioka-san. He missed everyone. He missed his friends.

“Sanemi,” Tanjiro called softly, drawing his attention. “Things will be hard from now on. You need to be strong for your siblings. They need their big brother.”

You must not push them away, he wanted to add, remembering the broken relationship Sanemi once had with Genya.

The survival of the Shinazugawa children would leave a lasting impact on Sanemi’s life—even on the Corps. Tanjiro wondered how it would change him. I hope the kids mellow him out a bit. I hope he stays close to them, he thought, smiling as he gently patted Sanemi’s head.

Sanemi leaned into the touch, then gathered the two children into his arms, silently promising them warmth and protection.

But he knew this wasn’t permanent. Deep down, he understood that he couldn’t stay with the Shinazugawa family forever—even if he wanted to. He closed his eyes, basking in their warmth. But at least for now, he would cherish being with them, if only for a little while.

They spent the entire day sitting with the rest of the children, helping them understand what had happened on that fateful night. Questions were asked, confusions were voiced, and answers—however painful—were given. 

The house was heavy with despair and grief as the children tried to comprehend something far beyond their years. Something they couldn’t truly understand, but had no choice but to accept.

That night, they slept tangled in each other’s arms.

A loud caw made Tanjiro’s head perk up. Flying toward him was Koshi, Oyakata-sama’s beloved crow. Tanjiro raised his arm, and the crow settled on it, flapping its wings. It cawed and pecked his cheek.

“Venture to the Southeast! Where a god slithers in the shadows. Men are going missing day by day. Put him out of his misery and burn what’s left of the coil. That is your mission!” the crow announced, making Tanjiro’s eyes widen. A mission? This was the first time Oyakata-sama had given him one directly.

He had continued to fulfill his responsibilities as a Demon Slayer, but without a proper location or assignment, he hadn’t known where to begin. That was why he stayed with the Shinazugawa family, clearing demons from the surrounding village and placing it under his protection.

A protection he had ultimately failed to uphold, he thought with remorse.

Still, it was refreshing to finally be back in action. But then he stopped, realization dawning. Being back in action meant leaving the Shinazugawa family behind as he roamed the land to fulfill his mission.

He could always return to visit—but that would depend on the severity of his assignments. And the trek to the village they had moved to was days away from the Corps’ headquarters and main town. He fell silent as Koshi stared at him with calculating eyes.

He’s hesitant, the crow thought, and squawked.

“You’ve done great, Kamado Tanjiro. It is now time for your next mission. Move, or time will make the decision for you,” Koshi repeated, echoing the message he had delivered days ago.

Tanjiro narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together. He knew that warning well. Move, or time will make the decision for you. It meant something bad was coming—and he needed to stop it.

He realized now why he had been sent to the past. He was there to prevent tragedy. And he had been sent to where Sanemi was. Horror gripped him. Does that mean the children… were destined to die? he thought in despair.

He remembered the absence of the siblings in Sanemi and Genya’s lives, and the strained relationship between the two brothers.

Now everything clicked. It all made sense.

He had changed the past. The children lived. Sanemi and Genya weren’t alone anymore. They still had their family.

Desperation clawed at Tanjiro’s heart. Does that mean I was sent here to save everyone? To change their past? Could he truly have the power to alter history in a way that would ultimately help defeat Muzan?

He was ecstatic. But then, he was terrified.

Fate couldn’t be changed without consequences. Whatever change he made, there would always be something sacrificed. Nothing good came for free. Tanjiro knew that better than anyone. But even so, it was a risk he was willing to take—just to see his friends and family happy. Even if it cost him his life.

For now, he would trust Oyakata-sama’s foresight and head to the Southeast. He nodded at the crow, who cawed in satisfaction. Koshi stared at him expectantly, as if anticipating something. Tanjiro tilted his head in confusion, earning an angry squawk from the crow.

“Where’s my cashew, ungrateful boy?!” Tanjiro jolted and quickly patted his hakama, searching for the pouch of cashews. He pulled out a few and offered them to Koshi, who immediately threw a tantrum over the quantity.

Huffing dramatically, Koshi ate them anyway, flapping his wings. “Acceptable quality. Until then, Kamado Tanjiro,” it said, and flew off into the sky.

Tanjiro sweatdropped and shook his head. He had a family he needed to talk to.

The sun had already gone down when he arrived home. The faint scent of wisteria incense filled his nostrils as he walked toward the gate. The streetlights were already on, and he could hear the commotion inside the house, making him smile warmly—temporarily forgetting the news he had received from Koshi.

He stood in front of the door momentarily, mulling over how he would face the family. He hated being the bearer of bad news, and he knew the children wouldn’t take it lightly—especially Sanemi.

He was about to open the door when it was slammed open. Teiko’s face greeted him, beaming as she threw her arms around him.

“Tan-nii! You’re home!” she called out.

A series of pitter-patters echoed down the hall as the rest of the children ran from around the corner, greeting him with bright smiles.

“Tan-nii!”

“Welcome home!”

“Did you bring ohagi?”

Tanjiro chuckled, patting each of their heads affectionately before stepping fully inside.

“Of course, I brought ohagi for everyone,” he beamed, earning cheers from the kids.

The children ran back inside, and his eyes met Sanemi’s—who was carrying a pot of steaming stew across the hallway.

“Tanjiro-san, welcome home,” Sanemi said with a smile.

“I’m home, Sanemi,” Tanjiro replied with a nod.

Dinner was eventful, he might say. The usual rowdiness of the children and their chattering filled the air—it was never a boring dinner with the Shinazugawa family.

Tanjiro watched as Sanemi scolded Genya for taking Sumi’s portion. Genya countered with a claim of revenge. Tanjiro chuckled, though the smile slowly slipped from his lips.

“Everyone, I have something to say,” Tanjiro said, calling for their attention.

A hush fell over the room as the children’s curious eyes met his worried ones.

Tanjiro sat in the center of the room, his hands clenched at his sides. The children gathered around him, their eyes wide with concern.

“I’ve been assigned a mission,” Tanjiro said, his voice low but clear. “It’s a long one. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“No…” Hiroshi whimpered. “You’re leaving...? But you said you’d stay with us!” he cried.

Tanjiro looked at the rest of the children—everyone except Sanemi. He didn’t want to see what expression Sanemi was making, but the boy remained quiet.

“I know,” Tanjiro said gently, kneeling to meet their eyes. 

“I wish I could stay. I would stop the world if it meant being with you guys. But this mission is important. People are in danger, and demons still run amok everywhere. It’s my job to put an end to them.”

“Thats bullshit!” Sanemi snapped, stepping forward. Tanjiro bit his tongue he was about to ecold the boy for using bad language in front of the children but Sanemi's expression made him pause.

The scent of betrayal and fear filled his nose. Sanemi's wide and terrified expression met his worried ones. “You always put yourself on the line. What about us?" What about me? Sanemi wants to scream out until his voice is raspy until he couldnt speak.

This must be a dream, A nightmare. Tanjiro-san will be going away? He will leave them? He will leave him? The thought and realization filled his entire being in fear. He doesnt want him to go, he doesnt want to be left alone again- 

Tanjiro looked up, startled by the rawness in Sanemi’s voice. But sanemi wasnt done.

“You couldn’t just barrel into our lives and leave as if we don’t matter!” Sanemi’s voice cracked. Unfair, you're so unfair Tanjiro-san, he cried out.

“You can’t leave. You promised—”

“I didn’t promise forever,” Tanjiro said softly. “I promised to protect you. And this mission… it’s part of that.”

Sanemi’s fists trembled. “You think protecting us means abandoning us?”

“No,” Tanjiro said, reaching out. “It means doing what I must, as my duty as a demon slayer so you can live in peace. So you can walk at night without fear." 

He knelt before Sanemi, taking his hands in his own. “This isn’t a final goodbye. I’ll come back. I’ll visit. I won’t disappear.” 

“But you might!” Sanemi shouted, tears falling down his cheeks. “You’re a Demon Slayer! Every time you leave, you gamble with your life! What if you don’t come back? What if you die?!” he cried out, like mother. He thought.

“I won’t die,” Tanjiro said firmly, though his voice wavered. “I have too much to live for. Too many people waiting for me.”

He cradled Sanemi’s tear-filled face. Around them, the children cried quietly, clutching at his haori and hakama in desperation.

They didn’t want him gone. They didn’t want him to leave. Without Tanjiro, they were—

Tears streamed down his face, but he smiled through them. He turned to the children, gently wiping their cheeks and pulling them into a hug.

“Big brother won’t go away forever,” he whispered, a promise to the children as he stroked their heads lovingly.

“I have things to do. I have responsibilities to uphold. I hope you understand that this is not goodbye.”

The children clung to him, sobbing quietly.

But Sanemi stood frozen, his heart pounding. The warmth of Tanjiro’s words only made the ache sharper.

“You say you’ll come back,” he said bitterly. “But what if you don’t? What if I’m left here again, waiting for someone who never returns?”

Tanjiro looked at him, eyes full of sorrow.

"Sanemi…” he called out.

“No!” Sanemi shouted, stepping back. “Fine! Go away and leave! Don’t ever come back! I don’t wanna see you anymore!”

He shoved Tanjiro hard, sending him stumbling. The children gasped and called out to their brother.

Sanemi turned and ran, slamming the door to his room with a finality that echoed through the house.

Tanjiro remained kneeling, stunned. His hands trembled. The ache in his chest was deeper than any wound he’d ever received in battle.

He bowed his head, letting the silence speak for him. His hands never left the figures of the Shinazugawa children clinging to him. He whispered apologies and promises.

He didn’t want to leave. But they needed him. His friends and family needed him. If it meant being hated or trampled down by the world to ensure their happiness and safety, he was willing to take on that role.

Outside, the wind rustled the wisteria petals, scattering them like memories across the floor.

And though the house was still, the storm inside it had only just begun.

The first light of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of lavender and gold. The Shinazugawa household was quiet—too quiet.

Tanjiro sat alone in the courtyard, his sword resting across his lap. He had been up since before sunrise, polishing the blade, inspecting his gear, and folding his uniform with care. Every movement was deliberate, as if slowing time could somehow delay the inevitable.

He glanced toward the closed door of Sanemi’s room. Still locked. Still silent.

“I wish I could explain it better,” he murmured to himself. But he knew Sanemi would understand—when the time came.

A soft rustle behind him broke his thoughts. Sumi and Teiko peeked out from the hallway, clutching a small bundle wrapped in cloth.

“We made you rice balls,” Teiko said shyly, stepping forward. “For your trip. We figured you might be hungry while on the road.”

Tanjiro smiled, his heart aching. “Thank you, Teiko, Sumi. This means a lot,” he said, hugging them gently.

She hesitated, then whispered, “Will you really come back?”

Tanjiro knelt and placed a hand on her head. “I will. I promise. I’ll come back with stories. Maybe even a souvenir. More books for you? And accessories for you?”

They nodded, tears brimming in their eyes, and ran back inside.

He packed slowly, folding each item with care. His haori—the one Nezuko had mended—lay atop the pile. He stared at it for a long moment, then pressed it to his chest.

“I’m doing this for all of you,” he whispered. “For peace. For a future where you don’t have to be afraid.”

A knock startled him. It was Genya.

Tanjiro stood and asked gently, “Is Sanemi awake?”

Genya shook his head, eyes downcast. “He hasn’t come out.”

Tanjiro smiled sadly. “Thank you.” He wanted to see Sanemi before he left, but time was running out.

He walked quietly to Sanemi’s door and knocked.

“Sanemi?” he called out. No answer.

He placed his hand on the doorframe, voice soft. “I’m leaving now. I’ll visit when I can. I promise. This isn’t goodbye forever.”

Still, silence.

Tanjiro bowed his head, then turned and walked toward the gate with his belongings.

Outside, the children had gathered, waiting for him. They perked up at the sight of him and ran to him, hugging him tightly. He knelt, embracing them all.

“Be good,” he said. “Listen to Genya and Sanemi. Take care of each other, okay? I’ll see you again soon.” He promised, wiping their teary faces and patting their heads.

They nodded, though tears streamed down their cheeks. He stood, took one last look at the house, and stepped beyond the gate.

The petals of wisteria fluttered in the breeze, as if whispering their own farewell. But just as he reached the end of the street—

Footsteps. Fast. Desperate.

Tanjiro turned, startled.

Sanemi was running toward him, panting, his eyes wide and glistening with tears. His voice cracked as he shouted:

“You better come back alive and visit! You ought to bring a lot of ohagi to make it up to me! You stupid Tanjiro-san!”

Tanjiro’s eyes widened, and before he could respond, he caught Sanemi as the boy threw his arms around him in a tight, trembling hug.

“You idiot,” Sanemi whispered, voice shaking.

"You matter to me. So you better not die.”

Tanjiro hugged him back, fiercely. “I won’t. I promise.”

Behind them, the Shinazugawa family had caught up, shouting their goodbyes and well-wishes.

Genya smiled through his tears, and the children waved with all their might.

Tanjiro pulled away gently, gave one last wave, and turned back toward the road. He didn’t look back again.

Tears streamed down his face, but his steps were steady. Because now, he carried not just duty—but the love of a family waiting for his return.

The forest was unnaturally quiet. No rustling of trees and the wind stilled. Only the soft drip… drip… drip… of blood falling into the earth.

A puddle of blood glistened under the pale moon. Floating in its center was a lone Hanafuda earring—snapped clean in half.

A figure stood over the body, tall and still as stone. His eyes glowed a deep, menacing red—like embers refusing to die. Fangs gleamed beneath his lips, sharp and cruel. His claws held the crushed remains of the other Hanafuda earring, twisted and broken beyond repair.

“I’ll end every bit of you. Every trace of your bloodline. In every lifetime. In every opportunity.” He stared down at the lifeless form, sardonically.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side. A shadow I can’t escape. But this time…I’ll end every bit of you.”

It was a vow.

A curse.

A crow circled overhead, cawing once before vanishing into the night. It was the only witness.

Tanjiro's eyes snapped open.

Chapter Text

Tanjiro’s eyes snapped open in a jolt, guarded and shocked. Gasping, he realized he was swaying back and forth, his vision settling on the thin but broad back of a man. It took him a moment to understand—he was being carried, the rhythmic motion confirming it.

Tanjiro didn’t know what had happened. His memory was hazy, fogged over like a dream slipping away. All he could recall was fighting a demon and then— He gasped, his breaths coming in short bursts. Muzan! he thought.

He remembered meeting the man when he had headed southeast. Tall, imposing, and intimidating, dressed in Western clothes. His red eyes had been striking—piercing—as he stared down at Tanjiro.

Tanjiro knew he wasn’t the strongest. Despite killing two Upper Moons and more than fifty demons, despite fighting Muzan until sunrise, none of it made him strong. He was weak. He couldn’t save anyone. And in the future, everyone died—one by one. There was no hope left for humanity.

That’s why he was sent back. To change what needed to be changed. And this time— he would not fail.

The man carrying him tilted his head toward Tanjiro, seemingly sensing that he had woken up. Tanjiro couldn’t make out his face—dizziness and exhaustion were catching up to him—but the man’s back remained warm and reliable.

“Rest. We’re almost there,” he heard.

And as if on instinct, Tanjiro drifted back to sleep.

His nose twitched at the scent of burning wood and the soft murmur of voices around him. His heart warmed, as if everything had been a dream and he was back with his family—helping prepare dinner, singing stories to his siblings.

But something felt different. Oddly unfamiliar. Strangers, he thought, and his eyes snapped open.

His gaze met a rotting, old wooden ceiling. It was cold, and he could feel a breeze drifting in, as if an open window was nearby. The quiet chatter became clearer. Children, Tanjiro noted. A lot of them.

Am I… back at the Shinazugawa household? he wondered, trying to move his stiff neck when he heard a soft gasp.

He spotted a small child in a pink kimono staring at him with wide, shy eyes. The child quickly stood up and ran out of sight, silencing the chatter into a hush.

“Y-You’re awake, mister,” a small voice said.

Tanjiro looked up and saw a little girl in a persimmon-colored yukata, her eyes filled with hesitation—and relief.

His vision was soon swarmed by seven more children, all looking down at him with concern. Confused and tired, Tanjiro tried to smile to reassure them.

“Hello there. I’m sorry for taking up space. Where am I?” he asked, attempting to sit up, his chest warming as the children fussed around him.

He inspected his body and noted—no injuries. His clothes were clean, without a single tear. But he remembered vividly: fighting Muzan on the way southeast for a mission and dyi— He coughed.

“Onii-chan found you passed out outside and brought you home…” the girl said, glancing over her shoulder as if searching for someone.

He passed out? Did he get transported back again—to the past? The thought made his stomach churn.

Did he fail? Was the Shinazugawa family back to where they were before? If so, they needed to find them fast—to save them from their father one more time.

Tanjiro’s eyes watered. His efforts… Are they wasted?

He gasped as a boy grabbed his hand, eyes filled with worry. “Are you okay, mister? Do you need water?” he asked.

Tanjiro stared at him and asked frantically, “What is the date today?”

The children looked at each other, then back at him.

“It’s the Meiji era, mister,” one of them said.

A boy clicked his tongue from behind the group, his gruff, familiar voice filling Tanjiro’s ears.

“It’s August 2, 1901, stupid idiots. Gyomei taught us basic things like dates, right? Not even listening. Worthless,” he muttered, his large strides and loud thumping footsteps echoing through the house as he approached.

Tanjiro finally saw the boy who had spoken such cruel words—and he was speechless. The boy in front of him had short, spiky black hair with two thick strands framing his face, and teal-colored eyes that regarded him with disdain.

Tanjiro couldn’t help but gasp. Kaigaku?! What is he doing here?! he thought, his hand instinctively grabbing the sword beside him as he stared at Kaigaku.

Kaigaku reeled back at the obvious hatred and bloodlust radiating from the man lying in front of him. This was the first time he had met Tanjiro, yet the man looked at him with such contempt. Regardless, Kaigaku thought this stranger was wasting their limited resources—and he looked well off. He didn’t deserve to be cared for. Just another spoiled noble who only thought of himself.

“Since you’re all well, go back to where you came from,” Kaigaku snarled, baring his teeth. His words earned a few glares from the other boys in the group.

“Kaigaku! Stop being rude to our guest! Didn’t I tell you to look for Gyomei-nii-chan since mister is awake?!” one of the boys shouted.

“Quit yer yapping, Tetsu. If you’re looking for him, look for him yourself. I couldn’t care less,” Kaigaku gritted out, stomping out of the house.

“That guy—!” Tetsu, Tanjiro noted, gritted his teeth as Kaigaku slammed the door shut.

“I’m sorry about that,” a soft voice said. “Kaigaku and Tetsu never get along… My name is Mina. What’s your name, mister?”

Tanjiro relaxed once Kaigaku had left the temple. “I’m… Tanjiro. Thank you for taking me in,” he said, smiling at the children, who beamed back at him in response.

They introduced themselves one by one. The oldest of them all—who had just stormed out—was Kaigaku. Tanjiro recoiled at the name.

The boy who had stood up to him was Tetsu, the second oldest among the children.

Mina and Haru, both nine years old, were blood siblings. They had been taken in by their guardian after their family was ravaged by a bear. Demons… Tanjiro thought grimly.

Riku and Yui were also siblings, only a year apart. The youngest of the boys—Yui, Tadashi, and Kota—were all six years old. And finally, the youngest of the group: a girl named Sayo, just four.

They explained that they were all orphans, taken in by their guardian who had cared for them for years. One of them had gone out to look for the said guardian while the others continued introducing themselves to Tanjiro.

“Kaigaku is not part of our family. He’s cruel and ungrateful! Onii-chan took him in a few months ago, and he’s done nothing but cause trouble!” Tetsu explained, his face twisting into a grim expression.

Mina nodded along. “He always looks down on us and bullies the younger ones…” she added in her small voice.

Tanjiro hadn’t expected to meet Kaigaku this early after being transported back. He hadn’t even known Kaigaku had a family before being taken in by Zenitsu’s grandpa. What happened to them… to the point he was taken in by Kuwajima-san? he wondered.

The pitter-patter of feet echoed through the temple as one of the children returned, tugging the hand of a taller, older man behind them.

Tanjiro couldn’t contain his gasp as he stared at the familiar figure. He looked thinner than usual, and a little shorter. But he was unmistakably young.

Tanjiro couldn’t hold back his voice any longer.

“Himejima-san?!” he called out in shock.

Himejima Gyomei. The oldest and strongest Hashira of their generation.

Tanjiro remembered how he had singlehandedly beheaded Muzan and defended the Demon Slayers against Upper Moon One. He remembered Gyomei’s soothing words and encouragement during Hashira training. He remembered his care and quiet support for the other slayers. And he remembered him taking his final breath as the Demon Slayer Mark consumed him.

Tanjiro’s eyes watered as he now watched a much younger Gyomei kneel in front of him. Gyomei raised a hand and gently patted Tanjiro’s head, feeling his forehead. With a soft hum, he nodded. “It seems you’re doing better now. You were out for two days with a fever,” he said, smiling down at Tanjiro.

Tanjiro snapped out of his stupor and bowed stiffly. “T-Thank you for caring for me these past two days,” he said, grateful—but careful not to call Gyomei by name again, to avoid suspicion.

Gyomei didn’t bat an eye. He simply rose and walked over to a small table, lifting a tray of steaming food and placing it in front of Tanjiro.

“Eat. You need to regain your strength,” he said. Tanjiro nodded and began to eat, realizing he was far hungrier than he expected.

The temple had fallen into a soft hum of chatter and chortles from the children. Tanjiro watched them with a smile, his chest warm with quiet joy.

He had just finished his dinner when the door slammed open. Kaigaku walked back inside.

“Kaigaku. I told you don't be out late at night, it's dangerous. I won’t be there to help you.” Gyomei gently scolded the boy who gritted his teeth in disdain. 

“I don't need your smothering and who cares if I want to go out at night? It's none of your business!” He snapped at him before turning away to prepare his futon. Gyomei furrowed his eyes, choosing to stay silent.

The once cheerful atmosphere became grim, Tanjiro hated the feeling. When the night finally settled in completely, everyone started to prepare for bed. Gyomei had to give up his futon for Tanjiro so he slept either sitting down or sharing with one of the boys. Tanjiro couldn't help but feel guilty because of it. 

“It’s no problem, Tanjiro. I’m happy you’re all better now.” 

Tanjiro hadn’t planned on staying long—his mission was waiting for him in the southeast. But as fate would have it, he found himself staying at the temple for weeks.

The children, who had grown fond of him, begged him not to leave. Tanjiro couldn’t say no to their pleading eyes, so he stayed and helped around. He hadn’t changed—not since his family, not since the Shinazugawa children. So he stayed. He promised to stay only for two weeks before heading out on his mission.

To make his stay meaningful, he helped around the temple. Being the eldest had its perks—he was an expert at fixing things, no matter what they were.

Mending Haru and Riku’s yukata when he noticed they were getting too short was no sweat for him. Fixing the broken part of the wall after Kaigaku kicked it out of frustration? Easy. Even hunting for food using his breathing technique came naturally.

For the past few days, the little family experienced a feast. The children were happy—overjoyed.

“Nii-chan! Kota stole my meat!” Yui exclaimed, pointing his chopsticks at Tadashi, who puckered his lips and scratched his ear in mockery.

“You must be joking,” he muttered.

“You should eat your vegetables first if you want your meat back,” Kota snickered, earning a smack from Yui.

“Why did you hit me!” Kota yelped.

Tanjiro’s heart warmed as he watched the children bicker playfully. He couldn’t help but remember the Shinazugawa family’s antics during dinner—and his own family’s quiet, warm meals.

His gaze softened, then saddened. He missed them so much. He would trade anything in the world to be back with them.

His gaze met the youngest, Sayo, who was sitting quietly in the middle. She looked back at him, then shyly turned away.

It had been a week, but the girl hadn’t warmed up to him yet. Tanjiro smiled and gave her a small wave. She perked up and waved back before returning to her meal.

Tanjiro couldn’t help but compare her to Rokuta, who had been energetic and cheerful at her age. They would’ve made good friends, Tanjiro thought somberly.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang that made everyone flinch. Their gazes turned toward Kaigaku. 

“Tch. You brats never shut up. Why are you still here anyway? Just another mouth to feed—and that fake, goody-two-shoes act of yours? It’s pathetic,” Kaigaku snarled, looking directly at Tanjiro, who frowned.

Gyomei’s expression darkened, and he chided him. “Kaigaku,” he said firmly. Gyomei feels like Kaigaku will step over the line. He must stop him.

“What? I’m right! You’re all worshiping him like he’s some god or big-shot—just like you do with Gyomei. Pathetic. None of you can think for yourselves because you’re weak! All of you should just drop dead like flies, one by one!”

“Kaigaku!” The gentle man raised his voice—and everyone stilled. It was as if they had never heard Gyomei yell before.

Kaigaku clenched his jaw, stood up, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Silence filled the air. Tanjiro pinched his nose as the stench of pure anger and resentment filled his nostril. A mix of fear covered the area.

Gyomei sighed. “Tanjiro-san, I apologize for his behavior,” he said, bowing slightly, his voice low and steady. “Kaigaku’s words… his cruelty… they are not a reflection of the values I’ve tried to teach.”

He paused, eyes closed, as if offering a silent prayer. “I took him in hoping to guide him—to show him compassion, discipline, and the strength that comes from protecting others. But I have failed him… and in doing so, I may have failed all of you.”

The children remained silent, their eyes wide with emotion.

“Please forgive him, if not for his sake, then for mine. I will speak to him. I will not allow his bitterness to poison the peace we’ve built here.”

Tanjiro looked at Gyomei, stunned by the apology. The man before him—stronger than stone, revered by all—was bowing in apology for someone else.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion.

“Himejima-san… you don’t need to apologize,” he said softly. Tanjiro stood and knelt before Gyomei, gently holding his calloused hands.

“You gave him a home. You gave all of them a home. That’s more than most people ever do.” He glanced toward the door Kaigaku had slammed shut, his eyes dark with memory. He doesn't know if he could ever forgive Kaigaku for what he did. On the betrayal he did to the corps. 

He wants to prevent him from going to the other side. But he doesn’t know where to start. 

“Some people carry so much anger, they forget how to be human. But that doesn’t mean you failed. You tried. You still are.”

He looked at the children, their small faces filled with hope and fear. “I’ve seen what happens when people give up on others. You didn’t. That matters.”

Tanjiro looked around the room, meeting the children’s eyes. “They are the proof of that.”

Gyomei’s eyes shimmered, and he bowed his head once more—this time not in apology, but in quiet gratitude. “Thank you, Tanjiro-san.”

The day of Tanjiro’s departure was fast approaching, and he spent it helping Gyomei stock firewood in preparation for winter. He had taught Gyomei and the children how to create charcoal for cooking and heating, a skill passed down from the Kamado family.

As if born to it, the children took to the craft naturally. They even began selling the extra charcoal to the nearby village, and to Tanjiro’s delight, it turned into a small source of passive income for the family.

Tanjiro giggled at the thought—the Kamado way of charcoal-making was leaving its mark in history before he was even born. He felt proud to leave traces of his bloodline wherever he went. And he couldn’t deny it: charcoal was one of the easiest businesses to start.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead when a familiar caw echoed through the forest. His head snapped up, searching for the source, and he smiled.

Koshi, his Kasugai crow, was barreling toward him at an inhuman speed.

“Koshi! It’s nice to… meet… you—!” His voice trailed off as he realized Koshi wasn’t slowing down.

Tanjiro gasped and tried to run, but the crow slammed into his head and began pecking him furiously.

“Gah!!” Tanjiro cried, swiping at the bird. “Stupid! Tanjiro! Kamado! Stupid!” Koshi screeched. “Getting yourself killed! On the hands of that monster! I had to fly for months just to find you! Ungrateful brat! Compensate me! Compensate me!”

Tanjiro winced in pain, confused. Months? He had just seen Koshi weeks ago before leaving the village.

“What do you mean months? We saw each other just weeks ago—after I left the Shinazugawa family!” he argued, earning another sharp peck to the eye.

“Stupid! You were missing for four months!” Koshi screeched, wings flapping in fury. “The only reason I kept searching was because the Master had a premonition you were alive! I saw you die—shredded into pieces!”

Tanjiro gasped. Four months? It didn’t feel like that long. He had just been with the Shinazugawa children… hadn’t he?

His stomach churned. He had promised to send them letters every month.

“The Shinazugawa family! How are they?” he asked, voice filled with worry.

Koshi huffed. “The heck should I know! I work for the Corps—not as your personal messenger!” he spat.

Tanjiro’s heart sank. They must be worried sick.

“Enough of that!” Koshi snapped. “Venture to the southeast! Where a god slithers in the shadows. Men are going missing day by day. Put him out of his misery and burn what’s left of the coil. That is your mission!”

He perched on Tanjiro’s shoulder with a huff. “Move before time makes the decision for you.” he repeated the message when Tanjiro first got the mission's details.

As much as Tanjiro wanted to head southeast immediately, he couldn't just leave the children and Himejima-san without a word. In fact, he was about to go soon, but a bad feeling pooling in his stomach kept him from leaving. But Koshi wasn’t done.

"You're not meant to be here! You're far too early! But regardless," the crow puffed out his chest. "The great Oyakata-sama has never been wrong. You were sent here for a reason. Heed to the new mission!" Koshi cawed.

Koshi’s eyes locked onto his. “The temple has been breached! Darkness fills the halls. A lone wolf sprints through the night—devastation in its wake! Stop him before it’s too late! Lives are at stake!”

With a final screech, Koshi flew off into the sky—without even asking for cashews.

Tanjiro stood still, heart pounding. He had been sent here for a reason. He didn’t fully understand Koshi’s words, but he knew one thing: Gyomei and the children were in danger. 

It seemed he wouldn’t be leaving the temple just yet. But time was running out. He had to head southeast soon.

He had to find the truth. He had to stop it. Anything to stay one step ahead of Muzan.

Tanjiro glanced outside into the dead of night and closed the door, not locking it. Kaigaku hadn’t returned yet, and it was already deep into the night. He considered scouting the area for the boy and dragging him home safely.

“Tanjiro-san. Did Kaigaku return already?” Gyomei asked, and Tanjiro shook his head.

“Not yet. He hasn’t been back home the entire day. I’ll look for him once the children settle in,” Tanjiro offered.

Gyomei shook his head, worryingly. “It’s dangerous to go out at night,” he stated.

Tanjiro smiled reassuringly at him. “It will be fine. I’ll make sure of it,” he promised, looking serious.

Gyomei was silent before smiling. “I feel like you are a fine swordsman,” he stated, earning a jolt from Tanjiro. How could he tell? he thought.

“I may be blind, but I hear you train every day before dusk in the forest clearing,” Gyomei smiled reassuringly. “The creatures lurking at night are dangerous. They are man-eating demons,” he stated, earning a surprised hum from Tanjiro. He didn’t know Himejima-san knew about demons long before joining the corps.

“My family was killed by demons, and as the only surviving child—and blind one at that—I had to make up for the lost vision by heightening my other senses. Many children lost their families to demons. That’s why I made it my mission to care for them until they are well enough to care for themselves,” he said, sitting down beside Tanjiro’s futon.

Tanjiro thought that Himejima-san was a very honorable and respected man, and he never failed to surprise him as he got to know more about him during their time spent together.

He swore to support and make everyone happy and avoid whatever disaster might befall them. But for some reason, Tanjiro felt oddly off tonight. His stomach churned in discomfort, as if something was going to happen. He shook his head and dismissed it. He might be overthinking it.

Tanjiro tucked everyone in for the night, patting their heads as they giggled sleepily toward him.

“Tan-nii, could you tell me a bedtime story?” Tadashi asked, making everyone look toward Tanjiro in anticipation.

Tanjiro laughed wholeheartedly and settled in near their futons. Adjusting their blankets, he started his story.

“Eight little piglets and their loving dad, Papa Piggy, lived happily in a cozy brick cottage. One rainy day, they found a lost wolf cub and took him in without fear. They grew up surrounded by kindness, becoming part of their joyful family. One day, the Big Wolf came—”

The sound of rattling shoji doors paused their movements as they whipped their heads toward the entrance. The wind rattled against the shoji doors, and the children scrambled up behind Tanjiro and Gyomei, scared. Everything stilled. The air was suddenly quiet—no rustling trees, no crickets chirping.

But the quiet was disturbed as fast as it came.

The entrance was open. (Tanjiro didn’t hear it open.) A lone, disfigured man stood motionless. (It wasn’t a man.) Humming as it stared at them with red eyes. (Tanjiro couldn’t breathe.)

“It was worth letting one go if it means getting triple the offer.”

Chapter Text

“It was worth letting one go if it means getting triple the offer.”

Tanjiro’s blood ran cold. The air was thick with the scent of Demon and blood. The entrance was open—though Tanjiro hadn’t heard it. A lone, disfigured man stood motionless. (It wasn’t a man.) He hummed softly as he stared at them with glowing red eyes. (Tanjiro couldn’t breathe.)

He had left the door open for Kaigaku to come in at any time. He had placed too much trust in his instincts, believing he would sense a demon approaching the temple. But he sensed nothing. He was distracted. How could I not sense the demon approaching? He fumed inwardly.

He had made sure to set up Wisteria incense for the night, yet no trace of its scent lingered in the temple. Impossible, Tanjiro thought. The fact that the demon could approach despite the Wisteria meant only one thing—this was a powerful demon.

Tanjiro stepped in front of the children and Gyomei. In one swift motion, he drew his sword and pointed it at the intruder. The demon, seeing the hostility in Tanjiro’s eyes and recognizing the familiar blade, grew livid.

That brat didn’t mention a Demon Slayer would be inside the temple. What he thought would be an easy meal was quickly turning into a one-sided slaughter. Still, it would be a waste to pass up the opportunity to feast on ten people at once.

The demon flicked his tongue and raised a finger, beginning to count. “One… two… three…” he trailed off, eyes gleaming with hunger, lips curled into a menacing grin.

Mina’s eyes widened. She trembled, clutching Haru and Riku, who were frozen in fear as they watched the demon count them like cattle awaiting slaughter.

Instinctively, she counted the children with her. She counted each one, making sure they were safely huddled behind Gyomei and Tanjiro. She shook her head, forcing herself not to worry about Kaigaku. But the thought lingered—Kaigaku was still nowhere to be found.

“Ten fresh meats waiting for me like a buffet. Ahh, it was worth letting that brat go if it means getting triple the offer,” the demon repeated, flicking his tongue in anticipation.

Mina clamped her mouth shut, her worst fears confirmed. Kaigaku had forsaken them—sacrificed them to a demon for his own gain.

Tetsu seemed to reach the same conclusion. He trembled with a mix of anger and fear. I knew it! Gyomei-san should’ve left Kaigaku rotting in the forest!

“I don’t care if you’re a Demon Slayer, boy,” the demon shrieked, lunging toward Tanjiro. “You’ll still end up in my belly tonight!” 

Tanjiro lowered into a stance and closed the gap between them. “Hinokami Kagura – Seventh Form,” he muttered.

The demon lunged first, its claws slicing through the air like scythes. Tanjiro narrowly avoided the strike, twisting his body to counter from below.

“–Sunflower Thrust Form!” he finished.

Sparks flew as metal met flesh. The demon shrieked in agony as the blade impaled its stomach. “I’m burning! I’m burning! It’s night—why am I burning!”

Tanjiro didn’t answer. He didn’t waste a second. Twisting his sword upward, he slashed through the demon’s torso, cutting its body in half—but missing the head. He cursed under his breath, preparing to deliver the final blow—when screams pierced the air.

His eyes snapped toward the children behind him—he had forgotten them for a moment. The children began running in different directions. He bit back a gasp as he saw Tadashi sprinting toward the window. Tetsu reached out to grab him but failed; his fingers barely grazed the hem of Tadashi’s yukata.

“No! Don’t run! Stay behind me!” Gyomei called after them, but he couldn’t move.

Sayo sat behind him, shaking in fear. Her eyes met Tanjiro’s—wide, pleading.

Tanjiro’s breath came in short gasps. A sharp pain radiated from his shoulder where the demon had clawed him while he was distracted. Forced to retreat, he realized his mistake. He watched in horror as the demon lunged toward Tadashi, who was trying to escape through the window.

The demon’s movements were sluggish but desperate. Tanjiro realized—it needed to devour someone to regain its strength. This wasn’t like the powerful demons he had faced before. This is a lower-ranked demon, he thought, inhaling deeply before lunging forward.

“Hinokami Kagura: Fourth Form – Fake Rainbow!”

He grabbed Tadashi out of harm’s way, slashing the demon in the process. This time, his blade found its mark. The demon’s head dropped to the floor and rolled toward Gyomei before disintegrating.

Silence fell over the temple as Tanjiro sheathed his sword. He exhaled slowly, relief washing over him as the rest of the demon’s body crumbled into ash.

'The children!' he thought in alarm, rushing to the back of the temple. Relief flooded him as he saw Gyomei gathering them together again, gently but firmly scolding them to stay put. The children clung to one another once reunited, guilt and fear etched across their faces.

He bit his lip in regret. He had hoped to take the fight outside—away from the children’s eyes. They didn’t deserve to witness such horror.

He knelt beside Gyomei, who had already gathered the children in his arms. His expression was grim and shaken, yet firm.

“Tanjiro-san…” Gyomei trailed off as Tanjiro pulled the children closer, sitting with Gyomei on the cold, hard temple floor.

Around him, the orphaned children huddled together, their small bodies trembling—not from the chill, but from lingering fear. Their eyes were wide, cheeks streaked with tears. Some clung to each other, others to the hem of Gyomei’s robe, their sobs breaking the silence.

After the children calmed down, Tanjiro firmly scolded them. “Himejima-san told you to stay put behind him. Why would you run and try to leave the house?” he asked gently, though the children could feel the disappointment and anger radiating from his tone. They hiccuped but didn’t respond.

Riku, one of the boys who tried to run out, gritted his teeth, tears falling from his eyes in guilt. “T-Tanjiro-san… we’re sorry. But we weren’t trying to run away,” he began, causing the other children to burst into tears again.

Tanjiro’s eyes widened as he watched their faces turn firm, despite the tears streaming down. They’re trying to appear brave… for Gyomei, he thought.

“We’re sorry for doubting you. It’s just that… we thought we had to protect Onii-chan because he couldn’t see,” Tetsu finished, rubbing his eyes as tears continued to fall.

Mina knelt beside Gyomei, who reached out and grabbed her arms, trembling. “I-I tried to call for help… Mr. Sato lives just a few minutes down the road…” she explained through sobs. “I tried to get weapons. T-They were farming tools outside,” Haru added, clutching the hem of Gyomei’s yukata.

Tanjiro’s heart warmed—and twisted painfully—at the sight of the children’s unwavering loyalty to Gyomei. He was their only family, the person they looked up to.

Tanjiro closed his eyes as the children’s faces blurred into familiar ones from the Corps—those who had stood in harm’s way to shield him from deadly attacks.

Tanjiro never wished for others to sacrifice themselves—he believed everyone deserves a chance to live. Humans have the right to experience the beauty life has to offer. They are resilient beings, driven by a fierce will to survive and grow stronger. They fight not only for themselves, but to protect those more vulnerable. And in doing so, they empower the weak to one day stand tall and protect others in turn.

Tanjiro gently reached out, patting each child’s head with care, letting his touch linger as he wiped away their tears with a soft, wry smile. “It’s not safe, and it’s not right for you to put yourselves in danger,” he said, voice low and warm.

“But what you did… was incredibly brave. You protected your family. I know it wasn’t easy—it must’ve been terrifying. But you didn’t falter. That takes real courage.”

His words faded as he pulled the children into his arms, wrapping them in a quiet embrace. They clung to him instantly, their sobs growing louder, no longer held back. And Tanjiro held them tighter, letting them cry, letting them feel safe.

“What’s important is that we’re all safe and still together,” he finished. Gyomei silently stood and walked outside, trying to survey the aftermath of the attack. Tanjiro remembered that Kaigaku was still missing. His heart throbbed—not with fear, but with suspicion. He gently released the children from his grasp.

“Have any of you seen Kaigaku? He hasn’t returned all day,” Tanjiro thought. He wasn’t sure if Kaigaku had encountered the demon along the way. And as much as he despised Kaigaku, he was still a child—he hadn’t yet committed the crimes he would in the future.

Part of Tanjiro believed Kaigaku was unworthy of a second chance. After all, someone who has betrayed once might do so again. The cruel thoughts, the dark intentions—they often lie buried deep, impossible to uproot no matter how hard one tries.

Yet Tanjiro chose to believe in him. He longed to mend the hollow space in his heart where joy and warmth had begun to seep through. He wanted Kaigaku to understand that there is more to life than the pursuit of strength—there is beauty, kindness, and the quiet power of compassion.

The children paused and looked at each other. Mina decided to speak for the group. “Kaigaku… stole again from Yamada-san’s stall this morning at the market. Yamada came to the temple and demanded payment, so we had no choice but to give him the meat that Tanjiro-san hunted yesterday…” she trailed off.

Tetsu, suddenly finding the courage to speak, stepped forward. “When that bastard Kaigaku came home, he bragged about the thievery and kept insulting us—even Onii-chan and Tanjiro-san!” he grumbled, eyes furrowing.

“So we chased him out. We’re sorry for doing that… If we hadn’t, this wouldn’t have happened…” Mina sobbed. Tanjiro gently and patiently held her trembling hands. “Are you saying Kaigaku might be responsible for the demon?” he asked, dread pooling in his stomach. Mina nodded.

“The wisteria incense has been knocked over and extinguished,” Gyomei said as he stepped back inside, holding an empty incense holder. A faint scent of wisteria lingered, confirming they had indeed incensed the temple before bed. Tanjiro gritted his teeth and clutched his hakama, livid.

He wanted to believe. He truly wanted to believe in Kaigaku. He stood up and grabbed his sword from the ground.

“Where are you going, Tanjiro-san?” Gyomei asked, worried. Tanjiro noted how firmly Gyomei upheld the rule of staying indoors at night—and he was proud of him for that. “I’ll go look for Kaigaku. It’s still night, and he might encounter a demon,” he stated. Or worse, send another demon to us, he thought.

Gyomei didn’t want him to leave. He knew Tanjiro was a renowned swordsman, clearly stronger than himself, but he couldn’t bear to lose anyone—not him. Stronger demons might still be out there, like the ones who had killed his family. Gyomei stood his ground, refusing to let Tanjiro go.

“Please, Tanjiro-san… let’s go back inside. I can look for Kaigaku at dawn. We can’t risk you getting—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to Tanjiro under his watch.

Tanjiro watched Gyomei battle himself internally. He walked toward him and gently took his hand. Gyomei was shaking. Tanjiro couldn’t tell if it was from fear or relief.

Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on the back of Gyomei’s neck, guiding him to rest his forehead on his shoulder. Gyomei jolted, then slowly relaxed, allowing himself to be soothed. His arms instinctively curled around Tanjiro’s waist.

Gyomei couldn’t hold back as tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had relied on someone. It was always him who had to be strong, who had to find a way—because he was the eldest, and the children depended on him.

But the thought of the children wanting to protect him, of trusting them for once, made his heart warm and his shoulders light.

Still, fear racked his body—especially when night fell. Losing his family at this same time of day, with man-eating demons roaming the darkness, he feared his new family would fall victim too. He didn’t know what he would do if that happened.

But Tanjiro-san—the man he had saved in the forest, the one who changed everything in such a short time—Gyomei felt drawn to him. He began to imagine a life beside him. He wanted to be there for Tanjiro, just as Tanjiro had been there for him and the children. He wanted to repay every kindness Tanjiro had shown—tenfold. He didn’t want Tanjiro to leave.

“Thank you, Himejima-san, for taking such devoted care of the children. I’m truly proud of you—you’ve done a remarkable job, and I believe the children feel the same. You’ve never let them down. You’ve given them everything you could, taught them with patience and strength. I’m deeply grateful that someone like you exists,” Tanjiro said, caressing the back of Gyomei’s head.

Gyomei sobbed silently, his grip on Tanjiro’s waist tightening.

And in that moment, he decided—he would be the pillar of Tanjiro’s life, for as long as he lived.

Kaigaku didn’t return. Not after two days, not even after a week. He disappeared as if he had never been there. No one saw him when they went out to the village to look for him. He had fled the village the day the children chased him out.

“Good riddance.”

“Good-for-nothing brat.”

“Finally, some peace and quiet.”

Whispers filled the streets. The people looked alive—relieved, even—that the problem child was gone. Tanjiro wasn’t too worried, though. He knew Kaigaku would survive. After all, he had become a demon.

Tanjiro thought with disgust about the path Kaigaku had chosen. The boy would stop at nothing to gain the power he craved. Tanjiro didn’t know what had driven him to seek such strength, but he remembered Upper Moon One and his twisted morals. The last thing he wanted was for Kaigaku to follow in those footsteps.

As much as he hated Kaigaku, no one deserved to be subjected to that kind of hatred. He hoped that one day, when their paths crossed again, he would be able to control himself—and speak to him face to face. He hoped it wouldn’t be too late by then.

By the second week, Kaigaku was still nowhere to be found.

Tanjiro stood alone in a quiet clearing, the wind weaving through the trees and tugging gently at his long red hair. It danced around his shoulders, now brushing the upper curve of his back—a silent testament to time slipping by. He hadn’t found a moment to cut it, but lately, he felt no urge to. Something about letting it grow felt right, like shedding an old rhythm.

Today marked the monthly meeting with Koshi. Tanjiro waited patiently, the breeze whispering through the leaves as he rolled a cashew between his palms, lost in thought. The air was calm, but charged with the quiet anticipation of one familiar crow.

A familiar caw echoed in the skies, and he perked up. There, Koshi flew down to him and perched on his outstretched arm. Koshi cawed and flapped his wings happily at the sight of the cashew in Tanjiro’s hand.

“Tanjiro Kamado! I missed you! I missed you!” he cawed, and Tanjiro sweatdropped. He missed the cashews and not me, he thought, but humored the crow. They didn’t go straight to business as usual, and Koshi took his time eating the cashews. After a few minutes, Koshi flapped his wings happily. Tanjiro grew curious—what made the usually grumpy crow so cheerful today?

Then Tanjiro remembered something. With a mischievous glint, he teased Koshi. “Did you finally ask Miu-chan out on a date?” he asked.

The crow halted mid-motion, as if his jaw had dropped, and flusteredly began pecking Tanjiro all over.

“W-What are you on, you brat?! Who asked Miu on a d-d-d—” he stammered, his pecking nonstop as Tanjiro smiled throughout, unaffected.

“Ahh, that’s why you’re extra nice today,” Tanjiro warmly sighed at the budding romance between the crow and its crush.

“You shut your mouth, boy!!!” it screeched.

Tanjiro smiled, his skin now covered in red pinch marks, while Koshi remained perched on his arm, huffing. “I’m sorry, please forgive me,” Tanjiro apologized half-heartedly with a chuckle.

“At least pretend you’re actually sorry! I swear, you should just drop dead!” What a tsundere, Tanjiro thought in bliss.

Koshi cleared his throat and flapped his wings. “Your job here is done, Tanjiro Kamado. You’ve done great. But you cannot stay. The more you stay, the more you’re losing time. Move before time makes the decision for you.”

Koshi’s voice issued a stern warning. The light atmosphere from earlier had vanished, and Tanjiro found himself standing straight.

Tanjiro was relieved to have prevented the danger that threatened the children and Gyomei. He knew this peace was temporary, as long as demons still roamed. His chest tightened at the thought of pursuing his original mission and not being here to protect this family. Still, he was glad he had listened to his gut and stayed behind.

Koshi’s caw snapped him out of his thoughts. He flapped his wings and announced, “Venture to the southeast! Where a god slithers in the shadows. Men are going missing day by day. Put him out of his misery and burn what’s left of the coil. That is your mission!”

He cawed as Tanjiro tied the remaining cashews to his back. With a satisfied grunt, Koshi flew up and barreled through the skies.

“I’ll put in a good word for you! Soon, you will be able to meet the master!” Koshi’s caws faded as he grew smaller and smaller, until he disappeared from Tanjiro’s sight.

“Oyakata-sama, I won’t fail you,” Tanjiro whispered. He didn’t know if those words were meant for the current, future, or final master of the Ubuyashiki clan. But he spoke for all of them—for all of the Corps.

Tanjiro huffed, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he dropped the excess wood planks he and Gyomei had made onto the ground. Following the attack a few weeks ago, they had managed to soothe the children, who were still plagued by nightmares. That meant children clinging to every hem of his clothes day and night until they felt safe enough to sleep on their own.

Though adults often say children will forget such memories as they grow older, Tanjiro knew the scars would remain. They would continue to face the night—and the unknown lurking outside with caution and fear. He wondered if the Shinazugawa children were the same. He had spent a few months with them before heading off on another mission.

He was more than willing to stay and help for a while, but with Koshi pestering him to move on and time running out, he was torn. He didn’t want to leave the children to fend for themselves with only Gyomei to rely on.

He watched as the children played by the riverbank, catching fish for dinner. He pondered what to do in the coming days. Should he bring the children and Gyomei to the village where the Shinazugawa siblings lived?

He wasn’t even sure where he was at the moment. Speaking of the Shinazugawa family, he needed to send them a letter soon. If he’d truly been gone for four months, they must be worried—especially Sanemi. He’ll have my head, Tanjiro thought, chuckling wryly.

“Tanjiro-san.” Tanjiro perked up, finding himself face to face with Gyomei, who had just returned from the riverbank with baskets full of fish caught by the children. Tanjiro looked over at Haru, who proudly raised the fish he’d caught with both hands.

“Himejima-san. What a catch today, huh?” he chuckled. Gyomei smiled warmly, setting the basket down and sitting on a stone as he watched Tanjiro tie the planks together.

“The children worked hard. They’re proud of their catch,” Gyomei said, chuckling as he bent down to tie the remaining planks together. It could still be used for future building.

Silence filled the air as they worked. Gyomei occasionally turned towards Tanjiro, who flashed him a warm smile when he caught him. Gyomei faltered for a moment before mustering his strength.

“Tanjiro-san,” he began, making Tanjiro pause. “That day, the demon called you a Demon Slayer.” Tanjiro hummed in response. “There are rumors of swordsmen slaying demons lurking in the night, but no one has actually seen them.” Until now, Gyomei thought, looking at Tanjiro.

“That’s right. They’re real.” Tanjiro said. “Demon Slayers slay demons and protect townsfolk from attacks. Demons feed on humans night after night, and they multiply quickly. As long as they run amok, the night remains dangerous.” He stated, then continued,

“I’m part of the Demon Slayer Corps, and I was actually on my way to a mission when I ended up under your care. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but it seems I was fighting a demon,” he said, recalling the moment Gyomei found him on the forest floor. But how could he explain the lack of blood and wounds on his body—or even in the surrounding area?

“I found you passed out on the forest floor, burning with fever. You looked like you had just appeared out of nowhere,” Gyomei explained.

Tanjiro furrowed his brows in confusion. He remembered fighting Muzan—the man had appeared as if seeking him out. Tanjiro didn't last until sunrise. He flexed his hands and felt his arms. He remembered being torn apart. Yet, oddly enough, he was intact, without any wounds or scars.

He didn’t know if he’d been sent back in time, trapped in a loop, or stuck in the same moment. But time was moving, and Koshi remembered him. The Master was giving him missions as usual—nothing seemed amiss. Why am I alive? How am I alive? He needed to see the Master soon. He must have the answers.

“I must have been tired from the journey. I’m thankful to Himejima-san for taking me in,” Tanjiro said instead, walking toward Gyomei and clasping his hands in gratitude.

Gyomei bowed his head, his smile fading, making Tanjiro tilt his head in confusion. After a moment, Gyomei met his eyes, his face conflicted. “Do you have to leave soon?” he asked, making Tanjiro’s heart twist.

Tanjiro smiled wryly and nodded. “I still have to go on the mission. I’m already behind, and the more time I let pass, the more I fear the mission will fail. More people will fall to the demons, and I don’t want that.”

“I don’t care how many demons stand in my way,” he said, voice trembling but firm. “I will save everyone I can save. That’s a promise I made.” He said. ‘To Rengoku-san, to my friends, to the Demon Slayer Corps, and to Oyakata-sama.’ He thought. 

“Even if I fall, I’ll fall moving forward. But I’ll visit from time to time. Or even write letters.” Tanjiro grinned and held out his pinky finger. “I promise.” He chuckled, and Gyomei smiled faintly, linking his large pinky with Tanjiro’s.

“I will hold onto that, Tanjiro-san,” he murmured.

Gyomei jolted when he felt a hand patting his head. Blushing, he sat stiffly. “Tanjiro-san,” he called out. Tanjiro hummed, still patting Gyomei’s head.

Gyomei wished he would never stop. That Tanjiro could stay and play with his hair anytime he wanted. He wanted to lay his head on Tanjiro’s lap and talk with the children. But he knew it was impossible. He couldn’t shackle Tanjiro down—and he would never dare.

“I too want to be strong. I want to be strong for the children and protect them. I want to be strong for those who can’t protect themselves.” I want to be strong to protect you, to stand beside you, he thought, but couldn’t voice aloud.

Tanjiro smiled and held Gyomei’s hands firmly. He had admired Himejima-san since the first time they met—a gentle giant, the strongest Hashira, yet with the gentlest hands Tanjiro had ever held. He had no doubt Gyomei would grow even stronger.

“You already have that strength, Gyomei-san,” he said gently. “Not just in your body, but in your heart. The way you care for others… that’s the kind of strength demons can never understand.”

“Wanting to protect those who can’t protect themselves—that’s what makes you truly powerful. And if you keep walking that path, I know you’ll become even stronger. Not just for the children… but for everyone who still has hope.”

Gyomei bowed his head slightly, the weight of Tanjiro’s words settling deep within him. For the first time in a long while, his heart felt steady. He would train. He would keep walking, growing stronger.

His purpose in life had once been tied to the children he cared for—until they grew up and went their separate ways, leaving him behind. But now, he had a new purpose.

Tanjiro smiled again. “And I’ll be right here supporting you. I believe in you—and I always will.” He chuckled.

Tanjiro blinked as Gyomei stood to his full height. Then, Gyomei knelt, gathering Tanjiro’s hands in his own, his thumb gently caressing Tanjiro’s knuckles. Tanjiro’s face turned red, and he stuttered, watching Gyomei on his knees.

“Himejima-san?!”

“Gyomei,” Gyomei said, causing Tanjiro to pause. “Call me Gyomei,” he stated.

Tanjiro flailed one arm, flustered. “Please don’t kneel, Himejima-san!!”

“It’s Gyomei, Tanjiro-san.” He chuckled.

He vowed to get stronger—so that one day, he would be worthy to fight alongside Tanjiro. So that one day, Tanjiro wouldn’t have to worry about anything, because he would be there for him to rely on.

‘I will protect you, even if it costs me everything.’

The first month after Tanjiro left, Sanemi kept checking the mailbox. He told himself it was just a habit, but deep down, he was waiting. Tanjiro had promised to write once a month, even with his busy travels and missions. One letter. That was all Sanemi asked for.

Life with the Shinazugawa siblings was going well. They had settled into the village, and their new business—a coal-making shop and a small cloth store run by Sumi and Teiko—was slowly growing.

Sanemi stayed busy, looking after his siblings and helping with the shop. But every evening, his thoughts wandered to Tanjiro.

The first month passed. No letter.

Sanemi tried not to worry. He’s just busy, he told himself. He’ll write soon. But the second month came and went. Still nothing.

By the third month, the silence felt heavier. Sanemi couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

One afternoon, unable to bear it any longer, Sanemi approached a group of Demon Slayers passing through town. Their uniforms matched Tanjiro’s—surely they’d know something. He asked them directly, voice firm but hopeful.

“Tanjiro. Do you know him?”

They exchanged glances, then shook their heads. “Never heard of anyone by that name in the Corps,” one replied.

Sanemi’s heart sank. He didn’t show it, of course. He simply nodded, thanked them, and walked away. But inside, the silence had turned into something colder. Something that whispered of absence, of danger, of a promise unfulfilled.

And still, he waited. He would keep waiting for Tanjiro—no matter how long it took. But if the silence dragged on, Sanemi wouldn’t hesitate. He’d hunt him down himself, even if it meant cutting through every demon that stood in his way.

That’s why, when Sanemi saw someone in a familiar Gakuran jacket, Hakama pants, and a dark head covering with white lining over their face, his heart leapt. Maybe Tanjiro hadn’t been able to write—maybe he’d sent someone in his place.

He ran, hope lighting up his face, until he saw the figures of his siblings gathered just outside the gate. His steps slowed. His chest tightened.

No one was smiling. No one looked relieved. The air was heavy, thick with something he couldn’t name—but he didn’t like it one bit.

Genya stood at the center, arms outstretched, cradling a bundle of cloth. Sanemi’s confusion met Genya’s devastated gaze. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. His feet stayed rooted to the ground as the Kakushi bowed low, his black attire rustling in the wind, his silence echoing the grief around him.

In Genya’s arms lay a familiar, torn, bloodied haori—Tanjiro’s. And nestled within the folds, a crushed pair of Hanafuda earrings.

That day, a part of Sanemi died.

Chapter Text

Dear Sanemi,

I hope this letter finds you well. 

Tanjiro sat alone inside the temple. From a distance, the chortles and chatter of children echoed softly. He stared at the parchment laid before him, his brush hovering just above its surface. He didn’t know what to say.

I want to apologize for not writing these past few months.

Learning he had been gone for months made his stomach churn with guilt for causing his  adopted family to worry. He had promised to write every month, yet he couldn’t even fulfill such a simple request. He sighed in remorse and continued writing.

I hope you and the kids are doing well. Are you all eating properly and getting enough rest? How is the business going? I remember Sumi and Teiko being so excited about opening their small cloth store — I hope it's flourishing beautifully.

Tanjiro smiled at the memory of the two girls, their eyes alight with passion for their dreams. Sumi had wanted to open a clothing store, while Teiko dreamed of becoming a writer.

Hiroshi aspired to work in government. Shuya hoped to become a teacher — Tanjiro remembered enrolling him at the town’s education center. Genya and Sanemi were still uncertain about their paths. Tanjiro wondered if they would remain demon slayers, now that they were living peacefully with their family.

A chill of fear crept through his veins. He couldn’t shake the thought that, somehow, he had weakened the Corps — that by helping others find peace, he had pulled them away from their drive to become demon slayers.

He knew why people joined the Corps: To seek vengeance. To protect the weak. To end the endless suffering demons brought into the world.

Gritting his teeth, he berated himself for being selfish. How could he wish suffering upon others just to forge their resolve? No — if anything, it was better this way. Better that his friends, his loved ones, and all others could live normal, happy lives with their families.

It didn’t have to be him. But it was okay if it was, just as long as he could see the smiles on their faces.

Even if he had to face Muzan alone — he would give his everything.

A lot has happened. When I came to, I realized that so much time had already passed — and with everything that occurred after I forgot to write. I'm truly sorry for breaking my promise.

I was delayed in reaching my initial mission, but I’m already on my way. Once I’ve completed it, I’ll visit as soon as I can. Until then, please continue to take care of each other and stay healthy.

I’ll see you soon. I hope you remain well until then.

Sincerely yours, Tanjiro

Koshi watched him from the windowsill with hawk-like eyes. For some reason, Koshi seemed quiet, serious, and mysterious — just like the first time they met. Gone was the playful banter they used to share. Koshi simply waited for Tanjiro to finish his letter.

Tanjiro couldn’t help but feel worried about Koshi’s demeanor. He tried asking the crow about it, but was only met with silence.

“Koshi? Is something bothering you?” he asked, offering a wry smile. “Did I pressure you too hard to ask Miu-chan on a date?” But Koshi only cawed and flapped his wings. He didn’t answer.

Tanjiro began to wonder if Koshi had been replaced by another crow — this change was too sudden.

He furrowed his brows, then carefully folded and rolled the letter, inserting it into a small capsule. With gentle hands, he tied it securely to Koshi’s body. Still, the worry lingered.

“How is Oyakata-sama? I hope he’s doing well. I haven’t received any messages from him since the last warning,” Tanjiro said, attempting to ease the tension with conversation. But the crow remained silent. It only bowed its head, as if in contemplation, then cawed softly. Flapping its wings, it darted off the windowsill and landed on a nearby tree branch.

“Kamado Tanjiro,” the crow finally spoke, and Tanjiro perked up, surprised to hear its voice.

“Stay safe. And don’t die again. You won’t know if you’ll be lucky the second time,” it warned. Koshi locked eyes with Tanjiro for a moment, then continued:

“I will keep searching for you, even if only your bones remain. That is my final mission.” With that, Koshi sped off into the sky, leaving behind a scent of mourning.

Tanjiro felt a chill at the crow’s warning. Usually, such messages came from the master himself. But this time, it seemed to come from Koshi alone.

He shook his head in confusion, then blinked at the capsule sitting on the table. ‘Didn’t I tie this to Koshi? Did it slip off?’ he thought, grabbing it. But he quickly realized — it wasn’t the same capsule.

This one was made of leather, and the Ubuyashiki family seal was engraved on its surface. Cautiously, he opened it and pulled out a rolled-up paper.

Tanjiro didn’t know how long he sat there, reading the contents of the letter. He couldn’t make sense of the emotions flooding through him. Silent tears fell from his eyes, dripping onto the letter, smudging the ink.

Tanjiro was no stranger to grief. He had witnessed his family die. He had watched comrades and friends perish before his eyes. He was no stranger to hopelessness.

But this time, it gripped his heart as if crushing it into pieces.

It hadn’t been that long, but he wished the “end” didn’t exist. Yet he knew — they were all human. Everything must eventually come to an end.

Humans are beautiful. But even the most beautiful flower wilts to ashes.

He wished he could have shown his appreciation while he still had the chance. But again, he had failed. He took too long.

‘ I’m sorry for taking too long, Master. But rest assured. — As long as I am alive, the Corps will never end.’

That day Tanjiro lost a piece of himself.

‘By the time you read this, I may have already passed on. Months ago, you were reported dead — slain and shredded into pieces by Kibutsuji Muzan. I thought all hope was lost. But something in me refuses to believe you’re truly gone. I have an inkling you never left. And so, we never stopped searching.

But I don’t think I can wait for you any longer, Tanjiro. For that, I am sorry.

I feel sorrow for how brief our interactions were. Yet in that fleeting moment, you gave me hope. You gave the Corps hope. You gave humanity hope. 

You are the catalyst of change — the end of that man’s reign. A storm he could never predict.

There is a purpose for why you were sent back in time. And I pray that fate will be merciful to you, for you are a magnanimous soul.

Take care of the Corps. Guide them. Protect them. Until the very end.

I have no regrets, for I have fulfilled my part to the end. Ah… but perhaps one regret remains.

It is a shame — that I was never able to meet you, Kamado Tanjiro. Yet I am at peace, knowing my son walks beside you.

Kamado Tanjiro, Do not waver, even if the path ahead is dark and uneven.

Remember: Every meeting is an opportunity. Even parting is not the end.

And when your journey reaches its final threshold — you shall arrive at the gates. And there… They will be waiting.’

In another world, the 96th leader of the Demon Slayer Corps passed away with regrets, fear and contempt in his heart. But in this world, he died peacefully, surrounded by those dearest to him. He departed with a gentle smile on his face, embraced by the warmth of family and comrades.

A lone, sickly figure lay silently at the engawa. Beside him, a child no older than fourteen sat in a distinguished manner, watching his father’s calm posture.

Ubuyashiki Yuzuki. The 96th leader of the Demon Slayer Corps.

Yuzuki’s hand was outstretched, and a lone bird perched quietly on his finger. His skin, pale and marred by the slow curse of his bloodline, felt cool beneath the silk of his robes. Yet within him, a fire burned — gentle, unwavering, and ancient.

He had long accepted that his body would betray him. The curse of the Ubuyashiki clan was not one of swords or demons, but of time itself — a slow decay passed down through generations, punishment for a sin committed centuries ago.

He was a man of many things — but above all, of hope. For as long as he could remember, he had stayed strong for the Corps, for his children, and for humanity. But day by day, the news of fallen demon slayers plagued him like rotting mold. His children, dropping dead one by one, was all enough to eventually snap the thin thread that held him together.

He had attempted to take his own life — to end it all. ‘I deserve it,’ he would think. ‘I sent those children to their deaths.’ He grieved as he attended countless funerals, ever since inheriting the title of leader of the Corps. Eventually, the weight of it all dragged him into a void.

He was deemed unfit to lead the Corps any longer, and he stepped down, passing the title to his remaining son — Ubuyashiki Kagaya.

The only son with an unwavering spirit. No matter the chaos, blood, or suffering he witnessed, Kagaya remained calm, fearless, and determined. Yuzuki knew his son was far more worthy of the title of Oyakata-sama.

But his son was so young. Just fourteen years old.

Yuzuki cursed his weak body and the curse Muzan had stained their lineage with.

Yet everything changed on the day he almost died.

On that day, he had a prophetic dream.

A man with long burgundy hair tied in a ponytail stood in front of him. He wore a green checkered haori and carried a kind smile. His hands were calloused and worn, yet gentle. A pair of Hanafuda earrings swayed in the wind, catching the light like distant memories. His burgundy eyes looked at Yuzuki with reverence and warmth.

Behind him stood a large group — faces Yuzuki could not recognize. A mosaic of colored haoris and varied appearances. He saw red, orange, white, blue, pink, peach… — Every shade he had ever known in a color wheel, now woven into living form.

They all wore the same expression.

Warmth. Kindness. Determination. Hope.

Hope.

The scenery shifted.

Now they were inside the great hall of the Ubuyashiki residence. The same group sat around a long table, eating together. Laughter echoed softly. They raised their drinks and clinked them together with bright grins. The halls were filled with chortles. The sound was distant, like a memory from a life not yet lived.

Yuzuki turned toward the engawa.

Outside, people filled the garden — strangers, yet familiar. They played, they chatted, without a care in the world. He felt uneasy. ‘It’s dangerous to be out at night,’ he thought. ‘The demons are still out there.’

But then he noticed something.

The slayers he had seen earlier now wore bright, comfortable yukatas. No swords at their hips. No weight in their shoulders. They looked alive — not just surviving, but truly living.

Then he saw him again.

The man in the green checkered haori. His hair was shorter now — a medium-length tousled cut. The flowing burgundy locks were gone. He no longer wore the black uniform of a slayer. Instead, a maroon yukata draped gently over his frame under his haori. He was speaking animatedly with someone, laughter in his voice.

Suddenly, the man turned. His eyes met Yuzuki’s once more. He smiled.

Then he opened his mouth.

He couldn’t hear what he was saying. Yuzuki felt something stir — a truth not yet spoken, a future not yet lived.

“Oyakata-sama!”

“Father!” 

Yuzuki’s eyes opened, meeting the worried gaze of his family. His wife and son surrounded him, their faces streaked with tears as they sobbed quietly.

Yuzuki wondered if, in the dream he had seen, his son Kagaya had also been sitting at that table — beside the man in the green checkered haori — enjoying the warmth and joy he had been deprived of in childhood.

He reached out and gently cupped Kagaya’s tear-stained cheeks.

For the first time, he hoped.

He hoped to live long enough to see his son grow into a wonderful man. To witness the end of Muzan’s reign. To see people walking freely in the streets at night, unafraid.

Kagaya didn’t know what had happened to change the master of the Corps overnight, but this was the most hopeful he had ever seen his father. Rumors said that his father had woken one night transformed — from a despairing, low-willed man into someone suddenly empowered, hopeful, and buoyant. As if, at last, he was looking forward to the future.

The child was no stranger to his father’s efforts, especially after his siblings had succumbed to the curse one by one.

From time to time, Kagaya would catch fragments of his father’s conversations with a crow — vague, ominous messages disguised as missions. They were specifically ordered by the master of the Corps himself. He often heard mention of a man named Tanjiro. Kagaya wondered what his father had been planning. He suspected he would get his answer soon and as such one day his father called him to his room.

Kagaya had inherited the title at the early age of four, after his father survived his attempted suicide. His father had deemed himself no longer fit to lead the Corps. Kagaya took on the responsibility and managed the affairs of the Corps with his own hands.

That’s why it puzzled him — how his father, who was dying and had long distanced himself from the Corps, now seemed to be working behind the scenes.

“They say he only has a day left.” A servant whispered.

It was a miracle his father had survived an extra month, but everything — and everyone — has a limit. Kagaya sat silently and waited for his father to speak.

“Kagaya,” his father called out, and Kagaya perked up.

“After hundreds of years, the Corps have become stagnant. No one has met Muzan, or even an Upper Moon, and lived to tell the tale. We’ve remained in the same flow: we live, and we die. There have been no changes. I had given up. There was no longer hope for humanity,” his father said, voice calm and accepting.

But Kagaya noted that his tone didn’t sound like a man who had nothing left. He sounded ecstatic.

“But that damn Muzan... After all these years, karma has finally caught up to him. His greatest nightmare — the one that will haunt his remaining days — has arrived. He’ll stop at nothing to rid himself of that thorn in his side,” he said, before falling into a coughing fit.

Blood splattered across his pristine white kimono and onto the tatami mats. Kagaya lunged forward to stabilize him.

“Father!”

His father gripped his hand, desperate. His tone brimmed with hope and light, no longer dulled by fear or fatigue.

“This generation will be Muzan’s last. Kagaya, you must end his reign once and for all — in this generation,” he said, grasping Kagaya’s trembling hands.

Kagaya didn’t feel fear. He felt something else — something akin to blissful anticipation filling his body. He would do it. Even if it killed him, Muzan’s reign would end in his generation. He would make sure of it.

“Fate took pity on humanity. They’ve begun to interfere. Who would’ve known that the blood of the one who created the Breathing Styles would run through his veins? He will be the catalyst of change. He will start a ripple that cannot be calmed,” his father said, lips curling into a grin.

And so his father spoke of the man named Tanjiro. He spoke of a future that had yet to happen, and of people Kagaya had yet to meet. Even with gifted foresight, his father didn’t truly know what would unfold. He only offered warnings, foreboding messages, vague visions, and unfamiliar names. But Kagaya learned them with ease.

“Guide him to where the chaos is. This is the only chance fate has given us. We must not stop moving forward until we finally put an end to Kibutsuji Muzan’s reign. Believe in your instincts — and in your foresight,” he whispered, strength finally leaving him as Kagaya gently lowered him back onto the futon.

“Believe in what he can do. Because no matter how hard Muzan tries to erase him... He will never disappear. Don’t ever stop seeking him out.”

And on that day, Kagaya’s father drew his final breath.

Kagaya was six when he first felt it.

The silence in the Ubuyashiki estate was heavier than usual. Another sibling had passed. The servants moved like shadows, their eyes lowered, their voices hushed. His mother wept behind closed doors. And his father — once a pillar of quiet strength — had not spoken in days.

Kagaya sat alone in the garden, watching the wind stir the sakura petals. He had always loved the way they danced, even in mourning. But today, they felt wrong. Too soft. Too beautiful. Too indifferent.

He clenched his tiny fists.

He didn’t understand why his siblings had to die. Why the curse lingered. Why the Demon Slayer Corps kept sending people to their deaths. Why Kibutsuji Muzan still walked the earth, untouched, unpunished.

Why is he so weak, unable to wield a sword, to help in the frontlines? 

A crow landed nearby, delivering another mission scroll. Kagaya didn’t move. He stared at the parchment as if it were poison.

“Another name,” he whispered. “Another funeral.”

His chest tightened. Not with grief. Not with fear.

But with anger.

Not the kind that screamed or shattered. But the kind that sat deep in the bones. A quiet, burning ember. The kind that made him vow — without words, without ceremony — that he would never let this cycle continue. That he would carry the weight of the Corps not as a child, but as a leader. That he would end this.

That he would be the last Ubuyashiki to bury his siblings.

And so, at six years old, Kagaya felt his first flame of fury.

The hatred was no longer a feeling — it was a presence.

It clung to Kagaya like a second skin, silent and suffocating.

It didn’t scream. It didn’t lash out. It simmered. It waited. It shaped him.

It showed in the way his hands trembled when he was alone. In the way his voice hardened when he spoke of justice. On the way he stared into the night, searching for something he couldn’t name.

Standing before his father’s grave, the fury only grew. Day by day, the anger intensified — every unfamiliar crow that perched on the endagawa, every tomb he visited, every mission he handed out only deepened the storm brewing inside.

It never consumed him. But it never went out.

He had mastered the art of restraint. His voice remained soft, his words deliberate. To his warriors, he was a beacon of calm. But inside, he was a storm held in place by sheer will. The anger didn’t control him — it fueled him. It sharpened his sense of justice, deepened his empathy, and gave weight to every decision he made.

It still lived within him, quiet and coiled. But now, it has a purpose. It was the fire beneath his silence, the force behind his grace. And in choosing to carry it with dignity, Kagaya became something more than a leader.

So he decided to finish what his father had started. To achieve the dream his father once held. Kagaya picked up a brush and began to write.

On the endagawa, a crow with a purple scarf perched silently, watching.

He couldn’t afford to lose time — not while Muzan still roamed free. Perhaps one day, he would finally meet the man his father always spoke of.

The man who would begin the ripple of change after a thousand years.

Tanjiro didn’t know how long he had been sitting there when he heard the rustling of clothes beside him. He glanced to his left and saw Gyomei kneel carefully beside him. Tanjiro smiled, wiping his eyes before facing Gyomei.

“Gyomei-san, sorry I lost track of time. I promised to help stock wood before I leave,” Tanjiro said, feeling guilty for idling around. He wanted to help as much as he could — making sure food rations were secured and wood was stocked so Gyomei and the children wouldn’t have to trouble themselves.

As much as he wanted to stay, he knew he was simply making a detour from his real mission. Koshi had been so persistent that he hurry before everything was too late. Tanjiro couldn’t shake the ominous feeling in his chest, which only made him more determined to leave immediately.

Still, he felt confident that Gyomei-san and the children would be safe and sound, and that they would be okay once he left. The unpleasant churn in his stomach was gone. He felt relieved and at peace.

Gyomei shook his head at Tanjiro’s apology with a gentle smile. “You’ve done a lot for us, Tanjiro-san. I’ve got the rest. You should rest before you leave,” Gyomei said, his voice tinged with worry and sadness. He hoped the day Tanjiro left would come slowly, just so he could spend more time with him — but that was only wishful thinking.

A comfortable silence filled the temple as they basked in the cool wind, Tanjiro’s burgundy hair swaying gently. Gyomei eventually broke the silence. “Where will you be going next?” he asked, fiddling with a stray piece of straw that Tetsu had accidentally left on the floor when Tanjiro taught them how to make sandals.

Tanjiro hummed and smiled wryly. “To be honest, I don’t know yet. My mission takes me southeast — opposite the temple,” he explained. Gyomei felt a pang of sadness at the thought of the growing distance between them. Tanjiro sensed it too, and gently grabbed Gyomei’s hands.

“I’ll make sure to send letters and visit when I can,” he assured him. But it didn’t ease the heaviness in Gyomei’s heart. Being a Demon Slayer meant living with constant risk. The thought of losing Tanjiro terrified him. He wanted to protect him too.

“What do you plan on doing now, Gyomei-san?” Tanjiro asked, recalling their earlier conversation about finding families to adopt the children — so they could live happy lives, free from hardship and labor.

Gyomei took a moment to think, then smiled in disbelief. “The children expressed their distaste for the adoption offer,” he chuckled, making Tanjiro’s jaw drop slightly.

“But why?!” Tanjiro asked, shocked. He hadn’t expected the children to decline the chance to be adopted into loving families. Anyone would want a life free from hardship.

Gyomei had thought the same. He was too old to be adopted into a family himself, which was why he chose to be the temple’s guardian — taking in children who needed someone to look after them. But the children shared his sentiment.

“I want to stay with Onii-chan! He needs someone to help around the temple if he has to deal with rowdy brats!” Tetsu would grumble, his face red as he snarled at a snickering Riku.

“Well, someone needs to make sure everyone behaves and eats their vegetables while Gyomei-nii works for us,” Mina huffed, with Haru nodding in agreement, arms crossed.

“The kids won’t have playmates, so we’ll play with them so they won’t be lonely!” Tadashi and Kota exclaimed, waving a handmade kendama and a straw ball Tanjiro had made for them.

Yui and Sayo remained quiet, fiddling with the hems of their clothes. They looked up at Gyomei and mumbled, “Onii-chan will be all alone if we leave. We’ll stay with Onii-chan so he won’t be lonely.”

Tanjiro blinked and laughed, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. The thought of the children wanting to stay with Gyomei warmed his heart. Once a family, always a family. Tanjiro remembered the moments he had seen his own family during his hardest times. ‘Family doesn’t leave others behind,’ he thought, a soft expression painting his face.

Gyomei chuckled alongside Tanjiro. He couldn’t shake the bliss wrapping around his heart — knowing the children wanted to stay with him. The ever-useless him. He couldn’t disappoint them now, not after realizing how deeply they believed in him.

“I’m thinking of expanding the temple one day,” Gyomei said, a smile painting his lips as he played with Tanjiro’s hands. “That way, we can take in more children and help them — so they don’t have to worry about a roof over their heads or food in their stomachs.” He had noticed that Tanjiro hadn’t let go yet, and he was basking in his touch.

“A-Ah! I’m sorry, I didn’t let go!” Tanjiro exclaimed, trying to retreat his hands, but Gyomei held tight, keeping their hands intertwined.

“I don’t mind, Tanjiro-san. Please stay for a while.”

Tanjiro sputtered and relaxed his grip, his face still a bit red. He felt embarrassed, as though he were forcing Gyomei-san to follow his whims.

“When the children get a little older, we might welcome more in the future. They’ve volunteered to help around the temple and teach the younger ones. They’re willing to work for the temple’s future,” Gyomei continued, facing Tanjiro.

Tanjiro looked outside, where the children were playing together.

“I want this place to be a sanctuary for those who have suffered under the hands of demons — a place they can call home and return to anytime,” Gyomei finished.

Tanjiro watched Gyomei as he spoke of his dreams with such a soft expression. He thought Gyomei-san’s plans were brilliant.

He was worried about the children and Gyomei-san before leaving, but hearing their dreams together made him feel proud. Undoubtedly, this was a huge change Tanjiro had made. The children didn’t die, and Gyomei-san had no reason to become a Demon Slayer — he simply remained the temple’s priest.

Fear once again gripped Tanjiro’s heart. Another Hashira had been removed from the fight with Muzan — and it was the strongest one. Tanjiro didn’t know if he was doing the right thing, but he crushed that fear.

He won’t allow them to suffer just for the sake of defeating Muzan. ‘I can deal with this alone. I was sent here alone for a reason.’ Tanjiro thought. 

Tanjiro shook his head and hummed with a smile. “I know you’ll do great, Gyomei-san. I can’t wait for the day I visit and see this place become something amazing under your guidance. These gentle hands,” Tanjiro said, gripping Gyomei’s large hands tighter in response, “are meant to do amazing things.” A plan was slowly forming in his mind as he continued beaming at Gyomei. He knew just what to do.

Two days passed, and the time for him to leave had finally arrived. He packed his rations and spare clothes into a small bag and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed a small scroll and the pouch on the table before walking out of the temple.

As if waiting for him, Koshi came flying toward him. Tanjiro outstretched his arm for the crow to perch on. “Kamado Tanjiro! Make haste! Make haste!” Koshi screeched, pecking Tanjiro on the cheek.

“Ow! Koshi, I’ll go! I’ll go now! But do something for me real quick,” Tanjiro said, dodging Koshi’s beak. Koshi stilled in curiosity as Tanjiro showed him a small scroll, silently asking permission before tying it to him.

“Can you take this to Oyakata-sama?” he pleaded. Koshi screeched, insulted. “What am I, your personal crow messenger?! Give it to another crow! I’m tired of going back and forth!” he grumbled, flapping his wings in anger, making Tanjiro sweatdrop.

“Please, Koshi. You’re the only trustworthy crow in the Corps — and the only one who knows about my existence. It could only be you.” The crow perked up at the praise but still didn’t budge. “I’ll give you two pouches of cashews.” Hook, line, and sinker. Koshi’s head snapped back at him in a flash and he nearly throttled Tanjiro, letting him tie the scroll to his body with a happy squawk.

“Your message shall be delivered! Take care on your journey, Kamado Tanjiro! The Master wishes you good luck!” he chirped and flew away.

Tanjiro stood outside for a moment, basking in the sun, when he heard someone call for him.

There stood Gyomei and the children. He smiled and took a step forward down the gravel path. The children ran toward him and grabbed his hakama pants, eyes rimmed with unshed tears, the scent of sadness surrounding them.

“Are you really leaving?” Haru asked, burying her face in Tanjiro’s pants. Beside her, Mina clutched the hem of his haori shyly. “Can you not stay for one more week?” Mina pleaded.

Tanjiro glanced at the children around him, heart warmed by the sight. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt as he stared at their pleading faces. He knew he was weak to moments like this. He could even say they almost got him. But he had something he needed to do.

He knelt down and patted the children’s heads one by one. He reached out and wiped Mina’s and Haru’s tears. “Don’t cry now. I’ll make sure to visit when I can. I’ll also write,” Tanjiro promised, heart lightening at the hopeful expressions they gave him. “Promise?” Tetsu asked. Tanjiro nodded.

They reluctantly let go of him. Mina stepped forward and handed him a small bento box wrapped in green cloth. “Haru and I made rice balls so you won’t get hungry while traveling,” Mina said as Tanjiro took the box and opened it.

“These look so delicious! Thank you, Mina and Haru.” he praised, patting their heads. He made sure the box fit securely in his bag before adjusting the strap, ready to head out.

Tanjiro made his way toward Gyomei, who felt his presence approaching. As if it were natural, Gyomei held out his hands to grasp Tanjiro’s with a firm grip. Gyomei didn’t want him to go. He felt that if he let go of these hands, he might never hold them again — might never be with Tanjiro again. But he had no right to be selfish. He wasn’t yet worthy to stand beside Tanjiro. He would get stronger, so that when they met again, he could finally stand by his side. It would be his turn to protect him. 

“You always have such a kind and warm scent around you, Gyomei-san. I like it very much,” Tanjiro chuckled wholeheartedly, and Gyomei could listen to that sound for hours. Tanjiro let go of his hands, not noticing the smile dimming on Gyomei’s face as he walked toward the end of the temple’s pathway. 

He looked back once and saw the children waving at him, beaming, all wishing him luck and telling him to take care of himself. Gyomei stood silently to the side, his smile never leaving his face. Tanjiro waved back and began walking away. He thought about how the longer he stayed, the harder it was for him to leave. His heart couldn’t take it. Maybe one day, he could return and have tea with Gyomei — in a world without demons.

Dear Oyakata-sama, I hope you’re doing well, and I wish you good health.

Tanjiro squinted at the bright sun, his long burgundy hair swaying in the wind.

I hope Koshi was able to deliver the letter to you safely. He has been a great help. I want to thank the Ubuyashiki family for looking after me. And I offer my deepest condolences.

A small figure sat on the engawa, smiling softly as he read the contents of the letter. With his other hand, he gently petted Koshi, who munched happily on the cashews Tanjiro had given him.

The previous master once said that if I ever required anything, I could ask at any time. For a long time, I had nothing to ask for.

“Kamado Tanjiro has been working well! He is a good person, and he gives me extra cashews every time we meet!” Koshi chirped happily. The current master of the Corps, Ubuyashiki Kagaya, stifled a laugh and hummed. He could see just how much Tanjiro spoiled his crow.

But this time, I have something I want to ask. Please heed my request…  

Kagaya smiled warmly. “For someone who has a lot on their plate, you sure do worry about others,” he mumbled. He folded the scroll, then reached for a parchment and brush. He began writing. There was no time to waste — after all, he had a temple to build.

Tanjiro didn’t know how long he had been walking. He had slept in several inns to rest, though sometimes he spent the night scouting the area instead. Oddly enough, he hadn’t encountered any demons along the way. When he reached another village, the absence of threats made him confident enough to travel at night to save time.

Still, Tanjiro couldn’t shake the oppressive air that seemed to linger around the place. If his instincts were right, the area was being avoided by low-ranking demons — as if it were under the control of a higher-ranking one. His stomach churned at the thought of encountering an Upper Rank demon… or worse, Muzan himself.

He still couldn’t fully recall his encounter with Muzan. The memory was fragmented, like a dream slipping through his fingers. He shook his head and pressed forward.

The forest was unnaturally quiet. His footsteps crunched against dry leaves and snapped twigs, breaking the heavy silence. In the distance, he spotted a mansion. It wasn’t abandoned — on the contrary, it looked well-kept, with signs of life inside.

Curious, he approached, but stopped abruptly as a familiar stench filled his nose. He covered it instinctively, his stomach twisting. ‘A demon!’ he thought. And not just any demon — it felt powerful. Like the one he faced during Final Selection… or perhaps even stronger. ‘A Lower Moon?’ Tanjiro wondered, then broke into a sprint.

As he drew closer, the stench of blood overwhelmed him. He gasped, guilt tightening in his chest. ‘Was I too late?’ he thought, gritting his teeth. ‘If only I hadn’t idled… If I had been more careful… If I hadn’t fallen under Muzan’s hands…’ He mourned the thought as he raced toward the mansion, heart pounding.

“Please… don’t let me be too late.” Tanjiro pleaded as he found himself once again in the same scenario — desperately hoping his family was safe, just as he had done while running toward his house all those years ago.

The presence of the demon was growing stronger, closer. Tanjiro gripped his katana tightly. Then, another scent reached him — musky, warm, and screaming justice. It was fiery, like… 

The sound of a child’s screams and cries pierced the air.

His head snapped up, eyes darting around to locate the source of the distress. He followed the trail where the demon’s scent was strongest — and there he saw it.

The demon stood tall, grotesque and serpentine. It had the body of a massive snake with a human torso protruding from its coils. Despite having no feet, it slithered with terrifying speed, closing in on a small, long-haired child who was desperately trying to escape.

Tanjiro wasted no time. He lowered his body into a stance mid-run, inhaling deeply — the sound of his breath whistling through the air.

“Hinokami Kagura, Third Form —” He barrelled toward the Snake Demon and the child with speed, slashing the demon’s arms just in time before they could grab the child’s head. 

“Raging Sun!” The demon recoiled in surprise at Tanjiro’s sudden appearance. She had been too focused on catching the boy to notice him. The slits in her eyes narrowed as she shrieked in anger and pain, her arms slowly regenerating before she swung her reforming claws down toward Tanjiro and the boy.  

“I’ll bring you two down with me!” the Snake Demon sardonically grinned.

Tanjiro’s eyes widened at the incoming claws. The distance was too small — they could be slashed in an instant. He could evade and use his Seventh Form, but that would mean letting the boy get hit by the demon’s claws.

Without thinking, Tanjiro twisted his body to shield the child with his own. A sharp, stinging pain tore through his back as he cried out. The air filled with the scent of blood, making the demon screech in glee.

With practiced ease, he carried the boy in one arm and twisted his body toward the demon.

“Water Breathing: Ninth Form — Splashing Water Flow, Turbulent!”

Due to poor footing, he only managed to slash the demon’s shoulder, but it was enough to escape. He leapt a few feet away as she licked the blood from her claws, regenerating her wounds instantly.

She smiled sardonically at Tanjiro, her eyes widening in realization.

“You,” she hissed, eyeing Tanjiro with predatory delight, as if she had won the lottery.

“Red hair and eyes... green checkered haori... Hanafuda earrings,” she noted, her voice slow and deliberate. She beamed ominously.

Tanjiro glared at her, pushing the child behind his back to shield him from her view.

“You’re the slayer he’s looking for! Today is my lucky day!” the demon laughed, making Tanjiro’s eyes widen in confusion. He didn’t know who she was referring to. Who could be looking for him?

‘Is it... Kibutsuji Muzan?! ’ Tanjiro thought, gritting his teeth. This was bad. If Muzan was actively searching for him, it could put his family — and anyone he’d come into contact with — in danger. The Shinazugawa family. The temple.

The demon raised her hands, revealing sharper claws.

“I shall have your head and earn his approval!” The demon shrieked and lunged. Tanjiro’s grip tightened around his sword, his breath steadying despite the pain searing through his back. He could feel the child trembling behind him, clutching his haori.

“I won’t let you.” Tanjiro growled, his eyes burning with resolve.

The demon’s claws slashed downward, but Tanjiro sidestepped, his feet skimming the ground like flowing water. He spun, drawing the demon’s attention away from the child, and slashed upward — just enough to force her back.

“You’re fast,” she hissed, licking the blood from her claws. “But you’re bleeding. You won’t last long.” She laughed.

Tanjiro didn’t respond. He focused on Total Concentration Breathing to numb the pain in his back and stop the bleeding. He couldn’t afford to pass out here. He heard the boy crawl farther away, hiding behind a tree. 

‘Smart boy.’ Tanjiro thought in relief, his gaze never leaving the demon in front of him.

The demon lunged again, faster this time, her body twisting unnaturally. Tanjiro leapt into the air, narrowly avoiding her claws. As he descended, he called out:

“Water Breathing: Tenth Form — Constant Flux!”

His blade spiraled, a torrent of slashes crashing down like a waterfall. The demon shrieked, her arms shredded mid-swing. She staggered, regenerating — but slower this time.

Tanjiro landed hard on his feet. He didn’t hesitate. 

“Hinokami Kagura: Flame Dance!”

His sword ignited with fiery energy, slicing through the air in a blazing arc. The demon screamed as the blade tore through her torso, severing her limbs in the process.

She collapsed, writhing, her body struggling to reform. Her eyes locked onto Tanjiro’s — no longer mocking, but terrified. “No... I was supposed to bring your head to him... I was chosen…”

“You mongrel! You ruined it! My temple! My sanctuary! I was preparing a great feast — that child! My sweet, my destined meal! His blood was to be the wine of my ascension!” she screeched, writhing on the ground in pain and fury. Her body wasn’t regenerating properly, and she didn’t understand why. ‘Is it because of that slayer’s sword?!’ she thought, gritting her teeth.

“I was to be praised — worshiped! More than Upper Moon Two! Then, he would finally look at me!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the forest. 

Tanjiro stepped forward. The wind picked up, making his ponytail swing and his Hanafuda earrings sway with it. The Snake Demon gasped in fear, staring at the man before her. Suddenly, his presence was suffocating. 

The image of the man once clad in a green checkered haori was now replaced by one in a red haori. She wondered if they were the same person. In his hands, he clutched a red blade. The Snake Demon screamed in agony as a series of memories flickered through her mind. She hadn’t seen this man before — she was certain! But these weren’t her memories. They were his . 

She gasped as Tanjiro stopped in front of her, his red blade glistening ominously. Tanjiro didn’t know what kind of expression he was wearing. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears.

The sight of the boy’s bloodied bandages across his face, Shizu-san’s disintegrating figure, the children’s expressions of fear and hopelessness, his family’s mangled bodies, the corpses of the Corps scattered across the battlefield, Muzan’s bloodied form untouched by the red swords — all of it filled his vision with crimson. 

He felt a blood-curdling anger seep from the pit of his stomach into every vein in his body. It clawed at his insides. His fists trembled, not from fear, but from the unbearable urge to destroy, to avenge, to make the enemy feel even a fraction of the torment he carried. His heart pounded in his ears. He felt rage — raw, unrelenting, and all-consuming. The world around him seemed to vanish.

The demon took advantage of the moment as Tanjiro wasn’t attacking and focused her energy in regenerating her limbs. She felt refreshed but also tired. ‘Good thing I ate all those pesky little bitches — I have more than enough energy to spare!’ she thought, gritting her teeth. She stood tall and raised her claws. “Blood Demon Art!…” she yelled. But before she could even finish, Tanjiro was already behind her.

She blinked as the world began to spin, and suddenly she was falling — upside down. Her body remained standing upright. “Huh… Why… Why am I upside down?” she muttered, her head rolling away from Tanjiro as she watched her body disintegrate into ashes.

Her eyes locked onto Tanjiro as he slowly turned toward her. She felt as though she were already in hell, staring into those red eyes as her consciousness faded, carried away by the wind.

Tanjiro exhaled deeply, coughing as he watched the last remnants of the demon vanish. He collapsed to his knees, his strength draining as the blood loss finally caught up to him. His vision swam, dizzy from the adrenaline. 

He panted, trying to collect himself. ‘ Breathe! Nii-chan, breathe!’ He could hear his sister’s voice echoing in his ears. He didn’t know what had happened — it was as if he’d been possessed. But he couldn’t deny the raw, seething anger that had overtaken him when he saw the demon.

As his sight cleared, he noticed the boy he had saved earlier now kneeling in front of him, silently patting his face and arms, his gaze filled with worry as he looked at Tanjiro’s wounds.

Tanjiro smiled in reassurance. “I’m okay, don’t worry. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Tanjiro asked, scanning the child for injuries. The boy shook his head, and finding none, he sighed in relief. 

He was grateful he had arrived in time. A few seconds later… The regret would have haunted him forever. He had already taken too long to reach this place. He could only hope the child’s family was safe too. 

Tanjiro finally got a good look at the boy’s features now that they were face to face. And he froze.

The child looked up, fear etched into his face. Burgundy eyes met familiar teal and yellow ones. The boy trembled under Tanjiro’s gaze, bloodied bandages wrapped around his face and chin, long black hair cascading down his back. A white snake was coiled around his shoulders — Kaburamaru, Tanjiro recognized instantly.

He looked younger, but there was no mistaking it.

The boy in front of him was the Serpent Hashira — Iguro Obanai.

Tanjiro hadn’t expected to meet Obanai here, especially not like this. But he quickly schooled his surprise and gently patted his head with a smile.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe now. You did great running away. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” His voice was soft, reassuring. Tears began streaming down the boy’s cheeks as he clung once more to Tanjiro’s haori. 

Then, the fiery scent returned — murky and warm, unmistakable.

Tanjiro’s head snapped toward the sound of footsteps approaching. His eyes widened. His breath hitched. Tears welled in his eyes, and he didn’t know what expression he was making.

A man stepped into view.

His hair blazed like a living flame — long strands of golden yellow streaked with vivid red, flowing wildly around his shoulders. Across his back billowed a haori unlike any other: white at the shoulders, fading into yellow, ending in jagged red flames. His smile was slightly different, but Tanjiro didn’t care.

He didn’t know if he was hallucinating. He didn’t want to know.

“That was a very impressive move you pulled off on that demon, my boy!” The exuberant voice rang in his ears, and tears spilled freely down Tanjiro’s cheeks.

If this was a dream, he didn’t want it to end. It was too good to be true.

His mouth moved before he realized it.

“Rengoku-san…?” he whispered, hopefully.

The sword guard on his katana felt heavy — as heavy as his heart.

Chapter Text

Tanjiro found himself standing in front of his house. The snow was thick, and each breath escaped his lips in a puff of smoke. Everything was numb. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet, nor the wind brushing against his face. The world was silent — except for the pounding in his ears.

Then, his senses returned like a flood, overwhelming him. The first thing he recognized was the metallic stench rushing into his nostrils, nearly choking him. He bit back a gasp.

The wooden door creaked beneath Tanjiro’s trembling hand. A gust of cold wind swept through the entrance, carrying with it the scent of iron and ash.

The room was dark. Long shadows covered the tatami floor, broken by streaks of blood. His mother lay near the hearth, curled around her youngest child. Her kimono was torn and soaked, her eyes empty and void.

Scattered nearby were the bodies of his brothers and sisters — limbs twisted unnaturally, faces frozen in expressions of terror and pain. A wooden toy lay beside one of them, cracked and stained red.

A trail of blood led toward the doorway, smeared as if someone had tried to crawl — tried to escape.

He gasped, confused. No one was at the doorway — until he turned around. Just outside the entrance, Nezuko was lying there. He couldn’t stop the scream from escaping him.

From the shadows, voices echoed. He blinked — and suddenly, he was in a dark place. Everything was black and muffled. He frantically looked around in confusion.

“Why weren’t you there, Nii-chan?” Nezuko’s voice, trembling and broken. 

“You promised to protect us.” His mother’s voice, distant and cold. 

“You said you’d never let us die.” His younger siblings, their faces pale and eyes hollow.

Tanjiro reached out, desperate, but his hands passed through them like mist. In an instant, they vanished. ‘No! Don’t go!’ He pleaded.

Suddenly, the scenery twisted.

He was kneeling on the ground. Rain poured down on him. His hand gripped a broken sword. He trembled. Tanjiro looked at the scene before him, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

Before him lay his mentor, Urokodaki. His mask was shattered, his chest torn open. Tanjiro screamed, but no sound came. His sword was broken. His legs refused to move.

A demon loomed over the corpse, eyes glowing with cruel satisfaction. Tanjiro tried to move his body but he felt as if he was chained to the ground.

Then the sound of rain vanished.

In the blink of an eye, he was standing in the middle of what seemed like the aftermath of a great war. His eyes widened. He couldn’t breathe. He recognized the scenery in front of him. This was hours before daybreak.

He was no longer in the forest. He stood on a battlefield soaked in blood. The corpses of Demon Slayers littered the ground, twisted and mutilated. The stench of death was suffocating.

He stepped forward, eyes wide. He was back — back in the future he had come from. His foot caught on something, and he looked down. A cry escaped his lips.

Mitsuri’s body lay limp, her sword snapped in half. Beside her, Muichiro’s form was barely recognizable, his eyes wide open and dull. Tanjiro couldn’t see the rest of him. Where was it? Where was his body?

Tanjiro staggered through the carnage, his breath ragged, his heart pounding in his ears. The battlefield stretched endlessly — a graveyard where Asakusa Tokyo once stood. The sky above was gray and dark. There was no sun, no wind, no signs of spring. Only the scent of blood and burning flesh.

He saw more as he walked.

Tomioka Giyuu, the Water Hashira, slumped against a shattered tree. His blade lay beside him, drenched in crimson. His eyes were open, but lifeless.

Tanjiro dropped to his knees beside him, trembling.

A gust of wind blew behind him.

“You weren’t enough.” 

“You let us die.” 

“You failed.”

The voices weren’t real — but they felt real. They clawed at his mind. He reached for his head and clutched it, a sorry attempt to block the voices.

A crow circled overhead, its voice echoing.

“Kocho Shinobu is dead after encountering Upper Moon Two! Upper Moon Two is dead!”

“Shinazugawa Genya is dead after encountering…” 

“Tokito Muichiro is dead…”

Each name was a dagger. Each announcement is a funeral bell.

Tanjiro clutched his chest, gasping. The battlefield blurred as tears mixed with blood. He had failed. He wasn’t fast enough. Strong enough. He wasn’t there.

And then — he heard Muzan’s laughter.

Low. Mocking. Eternal.

“Look at you — filthy, broken, clinging to a broken blade.”

The voice echoed. Tanjiro snapped his head around, trying to locate the sound. He waved his broken sword maniacally, seeing red. But no matter where he looked, Muzan was nowhere to be found.

“You’ve lost everything. Your family. Your comrades. Even your humanity. And for what? A fleeting dream of justice? A fantasy of peace?”

Tanjiro felt the voice in his left ear. He slashed his broken sword toward the source — only to meet air and silence. He felt suffocated. His breaths came in short gasps. Total Concentration Breathing — long abandoned.

“You will never win, Tanjiro. You were born to suffer. To watch those you love die. That is your fate.”

Tanjiro’s grip tightened, knuckles white. Blood dripped from his fingertips. ‘Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP.’ Tanjiro screamed in his mind, tears dripping from his wild, manic eyes. He clutched his head, trying to silence the voice.

“The Corps will fall. Your so-called loved ones will fall. Your name will be forgotten. And I… I will remain. Eternal. Unchanging. While you rot beneath the soil with the rest of your kind.”

The voice leaned in — mocking, sardonic laughter echoing in his ears.

“Give up. Die knowing you were never enough.”

Suddenly, the ground beneath him cracked.

He fell — plunging into darkness.

Tanjiro gasped as his eyes snapped open. The world around him was a blur, distorted by the tears streaming freely down his face. His chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breathing, each inhale shallow and strained. Slowly, his vision began to clear, and the first thing he saw was a polished wooden ceiling — warm-toned and unfamiliar.

‘Where am I…?’ The thought flickered through his mind as he attempted to turn his head, but everything felt unbearably heavy. 

His limbs refused to respond. A deep, aching soreness pulsed through his body, and a sharp, stinging pain radiated from his back. The pounding in his ears grew louder, drowning out everything else.

He couldn’t move. Not even an inch.

He felt hot — like his body was burning from the inside out. His head throbbed violently, and everything around him sounded distant and distorted, as if submerged underwater. The pain was unbearable, far worse than anything he’d endured in battle against the Upper Moons. Tears welled in his eyes. 

He parted his lips, trying to steady his breathing, but it was futile. His chest heaved, his lungs refused to cooperate. Total Concentration Breathing — his lifeline — was out of reach. He felt useless. Helpless. Scared.

Faint voices echoed around him, muffled and far away. He heard the pounding of footsteps — someone running. Then, that scent returned. The musky, fiery smell he knew so well. But this time, it was different. Softer. Milder. Warm.

Something cool was draped across his forehead. A damp cloth. The sensation grounded him, cutting through the haze. His body trembled, but he felt a flicker of calm. Amidst his short gasps, he couldn’t suppress the quiet sigh of relief that escaped his lips.

Then a cold hand held his cheek. It was soft, careful and loving. He could smell worry and kindness from that hand. They don't mean harm. The hand continued to caress his cheek,  as if checking his temperature. He could still smell the same fiery, musky smell. It hasn't left his side yet.

He tried opening his eyes. Through the haze of blurriness and dizziness, he glimpsed a black-haired woman with reddish eyes that were firm yet filled with worry. Her features remained indistinct, as if veiled by fog, impossible to fully make out.

The hand left his face and he mourned the loss of the comforting touch when much smaller hands replaced it. The hands slid up from his cheeks towards his forehead. With obvious clumsiness and weak grip, they attempted to massage his head gently. He could feel the knots on his head loosen up, his headache thinning bit by bit.

Simultaneously, he felt another pair of hands gently wiping his arms and neck. Through half-lidded eyes and a veil of unshed tears, he watched the silhouettes moving around him — soft, blurred shapes bathed in dim light. His lips parted unconsciously and whispered.

“Mother…”

In that moment, the weight of battles, blood, and loss dissolved. He wasn’t a warrior. He wasn’t a Demon Slayer. He was just a boy — aching, broken, and desperate for the warmth he once knew. 

The scent of her kimono, the sound of her voice humming in the kitchen, the way her hands used to brush the hair from his forehead when he was sick. He missed it all. He missed his Mother.

He missed being small enough to be held.

He didn’t know how long he remained awake, suspended between pain and memory, before everything faded into black.

The second time Tanjiro woke up, he was no longer delirious. His sleep had been dreamless, and he had no idea how long he’d been out. But he woke up feeling light — dizzy, yes, but better. His body no longer felt heavy.

Tanjiro blinked as he registered the muffled sound of birds chirping in the distance, beyond the closed shoji doors. ‘Where am I?’ he wondered, trying to move his heavy head to look around.

Soft light filtered through the shoji screens, indicating it was already nearing noon. He lay on a futon, neatly arranged on the floor, a folded blanket still draped over his legs.

His gaze drifted back to the mahogany ceiling. He realized he’d been seeing a lot of ceilings lately. He really needed to stop getting hurt — or Koshi might have a heart attack one day, either from worry or pure rage. ‘Or he’d simply pluck my eyeballs out.’ Tanjiro thought wryly.

Little by little, his senses returned. He could feel his toes, his fingers, his legs.

Then he noticed a weight on his chest.

He blinked and slowly looked down, as far as his neck would allow. A patch of black hair lay beside him, nearly on top of his chest. Small, familiar hands clutched the blanket tightly — shy, but firm. The figure’s back rose and fell gently, deep in sleep.

Tanjiro recognized the child as the one he had saved that night. ‘Iguro-san!’ he thought, and considered calling out to him — until a white snake appeared in his vision, hissing softly.

Tanjiro gasped in shock at the sudden sight of the snake, but then blinked, recognizing Kaburamaru — Obanai’s snake. He had never interacted with Obanai for long periods, and for some reason, the Hashira seemed to dislike him. Obanai would always scowl in his direction and speak harshly. Yet, during the final battle with Muzan, he had saved Tanjiro. Tanjiro didn’t know if it was simply out of duty as a member of the Corps, or if the Snake Hashira had, even briefly, cared for him.

He felt Obanai stir in his sleep, his head turning slightly toward Tanjiro. His eyes remained closed, and he looked deeply asleep. His face was peaceful — so different from the fear and distrust Tanjiro had seen in him that night.

Tanjiro smiled at the boy’s calm expression. His heart ached at the memory of the terrified look Obanai had worn, the scent of fear so strong it had nearly choked him. He was relieved to see him safe now.

‘Young Iguro-san is adorable. I hope he stays this way forever.’ Tanjiro thought, chuckling silently. Obanai reminded him of Takeo when he got a little extra clingy.

His mouth and chin were still bandaged, but they looked clean and freshly wrapped. Gone was the boy’s tangled hair — it was now smooth, as if someone had carefully combed and tended to it. That must have taken time. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ he wondered.

He tried lifting his arm slowly, but it fell back onto the futon. He took a deep breath and tried again. This time, he managed to raise it enough to gently pat Kaburamaru, who hissed softly in response. Tanjiro smiled as the snake wrapped itself gently around his arm.

Then, moving carefully, he reached toward Obanai. His hand landed softly on the boy’s hair, caressing it gently, trying not to wake him.

But it seemed he wasn’t successful.

Obanai’s eyes snapped open, and he jerked awake. 

If he could see the boy’s mouth right now, Tanjiro was sure it would be hanging open in shock.

Obanai’s head darted around in panic before he scrambled a few feet away, curling himself tightly near the wall — as if afraid his very presence might bother Tanjiro. His movements were quick, almost desperate.

Tanjiro watched quietly as Obanai tucked his hands into his lap, knees drawn to his chest. He sat there, small and guarded, eyes locked onto Tanjiro with a mix of guilt, uncertainty, and something deeper — fear. 

Tanjiro raised his hand again and spread his palm, gently inviting Obanai back to his side. He smiled warmly, reassuring the boy that everything was okay — that he was okay.

“It’s okay. Don’t sit too far, or I’ll get lonely here,” he mumbled.

It worked. Slowly, Obanai crawled back to his side. With uncertainty, he reached out and held Tanjiro’s outstretched hand, watching his reaction carefully.

Tanjiro smiled wider, his grip gently tightening around Obanai’s small hand. Fatigue was beginning to wash over him again. He let go of his hand and patted Obanai’s head gently.

“I’m glad you’re okay. You’re safe now. Thank you for being alive,” Tanjiro murmured, his voice low and tender as his eyes grew heavy with sleep.

Just before slumber claimed him, he felt the child shift — Obanai snuggled closer to his side. Not fully embracing him, but close enough for Tanjiro to feel his warmth.

With a quiet breath, Tanjiro let himself drift into sleep once more. This time, it was peaceful. This time, it was warm.

Obanai had never felt safe.

Not truly.

Even in sleep, his body stayed tense, curled up like he was hiding from the world. But this time, something was different. There was warmth — not just from the blanket, but from the person beside him.

The man who saved him — he didn’t even know his name. He never got the chance to ask for his savior’s name.

When Obanai stirred, he heard the quiet sound of birds outside and felt someone caressing his head. He blinked, confused, then realized he wasn’t alone. The man lay beside him, watching with gentle eyes and a small smile.

Obanai froze for a moment before jumping to his knees and moving away from the man. His heart beat fast, afraid he had done something wrong. He didn’t want the man to get angry at him — or worse, to be disgusted by him. He wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Then the man raised his hand again and spread his palm, gently inviting Obanai back to his side. He smiled warmly, reassuring the boy that everything was okay — that he was okay.

“It’s okay. Don’t sit too far, or I’ll get lonely here,” he mumbled.

Obanai sat, unsure, before slowly crawling back to the man’s side. He couldn’t say no to him — not to his savior. But he also couldn’t ignore the request, not when it was spoken so gently and lovingly, as if he had the freedom to choose.

The man didn’t flinch when Obanai reached out to grab his hand. He didn’t pull away when Obanai got too close. He held his hand like it was something worth holding.

Obanai basked in the way the man looked at him. Not with pity. Not with judgment. Just warmth. Like he mattered.

The man let go of his hand and reached out slowly, placing a hand on Obanai’s head, fingers brushing through his hair with care.

“I’m glad you’re okay. You’re safe now. Thank you for being alive,” The man murmured, his voice low and tender as his eyes grew heavy with sleep.

Obanai didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His eyes watered, as tears started streaming down his face. His throat felt tight, and his chest ached in a way he didn’t understand. But he didn’t pull away. He let the man’s hand stay there — warm and steady.

The man didn’t ask questions. He didn’t push.

The man’s eyes began to close, his breathing evening out. Obanai felt relieved to see him healing. He still carried guilt for the wound the demon had inflicted — because of him. It was his fault the man got hurt.

With guilt heavy in his heart, Obanai crawled closer and lay beside him. When he realized how close he was, he didn’t mind it. His hand reached out and grasped the edge of the man’s blanket for comfort.

Obanai’s eyes slowly closed again, fatigue and lack of sleep catching up to him after countless nights of visiting the man in secret.

For the first time in a long while, he felt like he could sleep without fear.

The next time Tanjiro woke up, he smelled that musky, fiery scent again. But this time, it wasn’t the milder version — it was stronger. It screamed reliability and strength. It smelled like...

‘Rengoku-san…’ Tanjiro thought as he blinked his bleary eyes, staring up at the mahogany ceiling once again.

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep. ‘How injured am I, to be losing consciousness like this?’

Something shifted at his side, and a familiar voice beamed, echoing around the room.

“Oh! Are you okay, my boy?” the man said.

Tanjiro turned his head slowly — and his eyes widened.

There sat his old mentor, the Flame Hashira, Rengoku Kyojuro. His signature haori was draped over his shoulders, with long strands of golden yellow streaked with vivid red flowing wildly around him.

Tanjiro’s eyes welled with tears. It was as if he were looking at a ghost. He didn’t know if he was dreaming again. This dream is too good to be true. But too cruel to happen. His fingers itched to draw his sword. 

But now that he was feeling a little better and no longer delirious, Tanjiro was able to observe the man properly. Though they looked the same, they were completely different. The color and hue of their eyes, the way they lit up — everything was off. Even their smiles were different.

Tanjiro couldn’t help but stare at the Rengoku sitting in front of him.

‘It’s not Rengoku-san…’ he thought, finally.

He felt a painful tug in his heart as the man in front of him continued to beam at him, now tilting his head in confusion upon noticing Tanjiro staring, completely lost. His eyebrows furrowed slightly in concern.

“Boy, are you okay? Does your wound still hurt? Your fever finally broke yesterday — I thought you were doing better now,” the man said, reaching out to feel Tanjiro’s forehead.

Tanjiro closed his eyes, quietly basking in the cool touch of the man’s hand. A flush of embarrassment crept across his cheeks. He felt guilty for taking up so much space, for being a burden to those caring for him.

He tried to sit up, but his body wavered. The man quickly supported him, helping him sit upright so he wouldn’t fall back down.

“A-Ah… thank you,” Tanjiro mumbled, cheeks still red.

The man simply shook his head, a gentle smile on his face.

“Don’t push yourself too hard. You just recovered,” the man said gently. “It’s amazing how quickly your wounds healed, though your fever lasted almost two days.”

He hummed in deep thought, eyes fixed on Tanjiro with a curious, searching gaze.

Tanjiro shifted under the intensity of it, feeling as though the man was looking for something hidden beneath the surface. He chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in self-consciousness.

“I heal fast. What I do puts me at risk all the time, and I get hurt a lot,” he said vaguely, watching the man closely. Without a doubt, he knew the man was aware of demons and the Demon Slayer Corps — after all, the Rengoku family had been slayers for generations.

But Tanjiro didn’t want to take any chances. He couldn’t risk exposing himself or jeopardizing the cover the Ubuyashiki family had worked so hard to give him. His mission depended on secrecy, and his purpose was too important to be careless.

He hadn’t received any letters or word from Koshi, nor from the Master — understandable, given his current condition. Still, Tanjiro knew he had to tread carefully.

Because changing the past came with great consequences — and even greater sacrifice. 

He remembered one interaction he had with the master. Tanjiro wouldn’t really call it a conversation — the Master only communicated through vague messages and cryptic missions. But one warning had always stayed with him.

“Be mindful, Tanjiro. You walk through borrowed time, where each step may shift the threads of fate. You are not only fighting demons… you are fighting against history. One misstep, and you may vanish — like a breath never drawn.”

The warning had lingered in Tanjiro’s mind ever since as he tried to tread carefully while fulfilling his mission: to save everyone, to give them peace, to make them happy. Yet the risks remained unknown, shadowy and silent, as if waiting for him to falter… to finally claim him.

But Tanjiro didn’t care.

He had long accepted the consequences, the sacrifices. If it meant his friends, loved ones, and family could live in a future free from fear — if it meant Muzan’s existence could be erased from the world — then he would gladly offer his soul to the gods, to fate itself.

The man hummed thoughtfully, his reddish-orange eyes fixed on Tanjiro as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface. After a moment, he nodded, the suspicion in his gaze quietly fading.

He reached behind him and pulled something out, placing it gently in front of Tanjiro.

Tanjiro gasped in recognition and relief — it was his sword, safely sheathed, clean from dirt and blood. His hands reached out slowly, fingers curling around the hilt with reverence. A smile of gratitude spread across his face.

“Thank you for retrieving my sword,” he said warmly, his voice sincere.

The man blinked, startled by the kindness in Tanjiro’s expression. His eyes widened briefly before softening. In that moment, he saw not just a warrior — but someone who cherished his blade as much as his duty.

To the untrained eye, a sword is just steel — cold, sharp, lifeless. But to a Demon Slayer, it is something far more sacred. It is a companion in battle, a mirror of their resolve, and a promise to protect.

A Demon Slayer does not simply wield a blade. They carry it — with reverence, with purpose. Every swing is a vow to protect.

And the man respected him for it. He liked him for it.

Unbeknownst to the man, the sword was not the only thing Tanjiro cherished. His fingers gently traced the flame-shaped tsuba, its edges chipped and worn. He hadn’t had time to repair it — parts of it had been damaged during his battle with Muzan. But he couldn’t bear to be apart from it.

Because the man who once owned that tsuba was the reason he kept moving forward. Despite the fear that gripped his heart, despite the uncertainty of what the future held, Tanjiro pressed on.

He moved forward — setting his heart ablaze.

The man noticed Tanjiro’s quiet moment and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That is a beautiful tsuba. It’s just like our Flame Breathing,” he said, causing Tanjiro to perk up in surprise. Tanjiro laughed earnestly and nervously. If only he knew. 

The man blinked, suddenly remembering — then cleared his throat awkwardly. He had forgotten to introduce himself. Shifting on his knees, he turned to face Tanjiro properly.

“I am Rengoku Shinjuro. I serve as the Flame Hashira. Judging by your Corps uniform and the Nichirin blade you carry, I assume you’re part of the Demon Slayer Corps,” he stated.

Tanjiro gaped. ‘Shinjuro?!’ he thought in disbelief.

He studied the man in front of him more closely. He looked so different from the Shinjuro he had met in the future — his features were younger, his posture stronger, and his eyes brighter. He looked almost like Kyojuro. In fact, Tanjiro suspected they might be around the same age now.

The man in front of him looked youthful, hopeful, and bright — like someone untouched by the weight of sorrow. There was no trace of intimidation, detachment, or anger in his expression. The scowls that once carved deep lines into his face were nowhere to be found.

Instead, he radiated warmth.

Tanjiro couldn't help but feel happy to see Shinjuro, it was indeed surprising to see a version of him like this but sorrow filled him as he thinks of what could the man have gone through to be like the man he met in the future. It must have been hard.

“Our father changed when our mother passed away. It left a great impact — a wound he never recovered from. He wasn’t the same ever since.”

Senjuro’s words echoed in Tanjiro’s mind. Now, everything made sense. If Shinjuro was still a Hashira, then Ruka — his wife — must still be alive.

Tanjiro wondered where she might be, since the house was so quiet. But for some reason, he could smell a musky, earthy scent accompanied by a softer, fiery note — like Shinjuro’s. It drifted from behind the shoji doors, quiet but lingering.

Tanjiro’s eyes flickered toward the shoji doors behind him, catching a subtle movement. Shinjuro stifled a chuckle.

“Well, they’re certainly some people who can’t sit still,” he said with amusement. “But pay them no mind.”

Tanjiro blinked in confusion, unsure who Shinjuro was referring to.

Shinjuro cleared his throat, and the sound of muffled shuffling echoed behind the shoji doors before fading down the hall.

Tanjiro sweatdropped. He wasn’t sure he was ready for visitors — especially while still recovering from the shock of seeing a much younger Shinjuro in front of him.

One more surprise, and he might actually slip back into a coma.

Shinjuro suddenly turned back to him, his expression serious.

Tanjiro straightened instinctively, sensing the shift in the air. He could smell curiosity — and a hint of suspicion — radiating from the man.

“Well then, I’ve introduced myself. What’s your name and rank?” Shinjuro asked, his tone direct. “I thought I’d seen every member of the Corps, but it seems I was mistaken. I would’ve remembered a strong slayer like you… and yet, I’ve never seen you before.”

He wasn’t being hostile, but the weight of his gaze made it clear — Shinjuro couldn’t shake the curiosity he felt about the boy before him.

Someone skilled enough to wield Breaths — especially one so eerily similar to his own. It was strange. He didn’t recall ever taking in disciples, nor did his master mention another during his training as a slayer.

He couldn’t help but feel suspicious.

Tanjiro exhaled and met Shinjuro’s gaze with a gentle smile.

“My name is Tanjiro. Rank Kanoe, last time I checked. I wouldn’t really call myself skilled, but I try my best to serve the Corps and protect the people. Thank you for taking care of me these past few days, Rengoku-san,” he said, smiling gratefully and bowing with respect.

Shinjuro grimaced slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. He had been suspicious of the boy, yet here Tanjiro stood — honest, sincere, and clearly devoted to his duty as a slayer.

Clearing his throat, Shinjuro offered a small smile in return.

“Nice to meet you, Tanjiro. Just Tanjiro? No family name?” he asked, subtly probing for more information, wondering if the boy might be from a branch of the Rengoku family.

Tanjiro shook his head.

Shinjuro deflated at the revelation, a quiet sigh escaping him. 

On the other hand, Tanjiro sweatdropped, his smile tight. He couldn’t reveal his last name — not now. If word got out, he risked being hunted down by either the Corps or demons. After all, at this time, he was just a child.

He bit his lip at the thought of his family — alive, happy, and complete somewhere out there. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. A part of him wanted to drop everything and run back to the mountain where his family’s ancestral home stood. But how could he explain himself if he suddenly appeared?

‘Should I pretend to be a distant relative? A long-lost son?’

Tanjiro shook his head. He couldn’t afford to be impatient. Not now.

Meanwhile, Shinjuro hummed, completely unaware of Tanjiro’s internal dilemma. With a sudden burst of energy, he slapped his thigh and beamed.

Tanjiro jolted at the sound, startled out of his thoughts.

“Well then, that doesn’t matter — you’re under my care now.” Shinjuro said with a confident grin, crossing his arms. His suspicions remained unanswered, but the questions swirling in his mind would have to wait.

First, he needed to report back to the master. The mission had just ended, and his plans to report to the master right away were postponed due to the boy’s condition. Still, Shinjuro plans on mentioning Tanjiro in his report. Maybe even check the Corps records beforehand.

Perhaps the master would know the boy and he would get his answers from him. 

Tanjiro grinned sheepishly, genuinely grateful he was taken in by someone he knew well. Still, he couldn’t help but feel wry about his situation. He had returned to the Rengoku estate once again, though this time under very different circumstances.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to go head-to-head — literally — with Shinjuro this time.

Suddenly Tanjiro remembered the boy he’d saved that night — Obanai.

“The boy… is he doing okay?” Tanjiro asked, voice trailing with concern. “He was bleeding that night…”

As if the mention triggered something, Shinjuro’s expression shifted. Tanjiro caught the scent — oppressive, angry, fuming — but it wasn’t directed at him.

“That damned clan,” Shinjuro muttered, jaw tight. “After digging around I found out some information, it seems they’ve been serving that serpent demon for decades. Sacrificing children and clan members for glory and riches.”

He paused, debating whether to continue or not. But Tanjiro deserved to know.

“That boy…” he began again, voice lower, heavier. “He’s one of the few who survived. Barely.” He said before pausing.

“That boy’s family had cut his mouth open,” Shinjuro said quietly, his voice heavy. “It will scar him for life. I don’t know what kind of trauma he went through, but when he arrived, he wasn’t eating properly… nor sleeping.”

He looked downcast, the memory of those first few days weighing on him. Even with the help of his own exuberant, outgoing son — who tried everything to coax the boy out of his shell — the child remained withdrawn, hidden away in his room like a caged animal.

The only times Shinjuro saw him were during the day, when his son managed to drag the boy out for a breath of fresh air… or when he came to check on Tanjiro.

“Obanai would only come out of his room to see you and curl up by your side. He refused to be apart from you until my wife managed to coax him away.” Shinjuro said, shaking his head in exasperation — completely unaware of Tanjiro’s red face, flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry for the trouble…” Tanjiro mumbled dejectedly.

Shinjuro huffed and ruffled his hair again. “Don’t apologize. I can’t blame the kid. You saved him, after all,” he said, smiling down at him.

Tanjiro felt a warmth bloom in his chest at the revelation. The thought that Obanai had stayed by his side the entire time touched him deeply. He was glad he had arrived in time to save him — no child deserved what Obanai had endured.

But even in that comfort, guilt gnawed at him.

He felt useless, even contemptuous toward himself for being too late. He hadn’t been able to save Obanai’s family. Though he could never agree with the clan’s twisted beliefs, he still wondered if he could have done something — anything — to stop it sooner. To kill the demon before Obanai was scarred.

But he knew the truth: he couldn’t be everywhere, couldn’t always be on time.

And now, with this strange phenomenon of time travel, everything felt uncertain. He didn’t know if it was permanent or temporary, if it was the work of a demon — or Muzan himself. He didn’t even know if he had come back alone… or if someone else had followed.

There was so much to do. So much to fix.

And he didn’t know where to start. He started feeling overwhelmed and alone. 

“Even when everything feels uncertain, even when you feel not enough or completely useless, even when fear grips your heart — move forward. Set your heart ablaze.”

Kyojuro’s words echoed in Tanjiro’s mind like a mantra. ‘That’s right… No matter how uncertain the future is, I will move forward — for the sake of my friends, my family, the Corps, and humanity.’

He wiped his eyes, brushing away the tears that hadn’t yet fallen, and turned to Shinjuro with a bright, determined smile. The older man’s gaze softened in response.

“Then, during my stay here, if you ever need anything, please let me know. I’d be happy to assist Rengoku-san,” Tanjiro said, bowing slightly.

Shinjuro waved his arms dismissively. “You’re a guest, boy — no need for that.” 

Just then, the door to the room slammed open with a sharp thud, startling them both.

A woman stepped inside, her presence commanding. She wore a purple, flowery kimono that swayed gently with her movements. Her long, dark hair was loosely tied over one shoulder, and her crimson eyes — piercing and unreadable — looked down at them.

Behind her legs, two small heads peeked out — one with hair strikingly similar to Shinjuro’s, beaming brightly at the sight of Tanjiro. The other was Obanai, who glanced shyly toward him, half-hiding behind the folds of her kimono.

Tanjiro offered a timid wave just as Shinjuro stuttered and raised his hands in a desperate attempt to calm the woman.

“R-Ruka, listen…” he began, voice cracking under pressure.

Tanjiro perked up, finally getting a proper look at the woman. His breath caught — this was her. Kyojuro’s mother. Shinjuro’s wife.

‘She’s beautiful…Her eyes look like Rengoku-san.’ He thought, eyes wide.

Ruka’s eyes, usually soft and warm, narrowed with quiet intensity. Her voice, though calm, carried a sharp edge that sliced through the room like a blade.

“That is enough,” she said, her tone calm but commanding. “I told you not to bother him while he’s resting, and yet here you are — interrogating the poor boy.”

Her gaze locked onto Shinjuro, who was now sweating bullets.

He stood up with a wry smile, gently reaching for her hands in a coaxing gesture. “My dear, I was just checking over — ow!”

Before he could finish, Ruka had him by the ear, dragging him out of the room with practiced precision. His pleading echoed down the hallway, growing fainter with each step.

Tanjiro sat there frozen, sweatdropping as the two children beside him watched the scene unfold in silence.

Tanjiro glanced at Obanai, who silently shook his head. Just then, his gaze locked with a child who looked eerily like Kyojuro — same golden eyes, same radiant smile, only younger.

The boy’s face lit up the moment he realized Tanjiro was looking at him. If he were the sun, Tanjiro might’ve been blinded by his brightness alone. Without hesitation, the child scrambled over and grabbed Tanjiro’s hand with both of his own.

“Hello! I’m so glad you’re awake! How are you feeling?! You’re so pretty! Is your hair really red?! Are you a Hashira?!” he exclaimed, firing off questions in rapid succession, his voice loud and overflowing with excitement.

Tanjiro blinked, overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions. His head began to spin from the sheer energy radiating off the boy. He glanced toward Obanai for help, but the other child was already tucked into the farthest corner of the room, wearing a deadpan expression that clearly said, You’re on your own.

That little traitor.

As much as Tanjiro wanted to answer every question, he simply couldn’t keep up.

He took a moment to truly observe the boy in front of him. The eyes, the smile, the warmth — it was unmistakable. This child was none other than the future Flame Hashira himself: Rengoku Kyojuro. 

“My name is Rengoku Kyojuro! But you can call me Kyojuro! What’s your name, pretty mister?!” the child exclaimed, visibly vibrating with excitement. 

Tanjiro couldn’t help but smile, his eyes welling up with tears that gently spilled down his cheeks.

Kyojuro’s smile faltered instantly. He leaned in and cradled Tanjiro’s face with small, gentle hands. “Oh no… why are you crying? I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice laced with guilt as he deflated, thinking he had upset him.

Obanai was beside Tanjiro in an instant — not touching him, but clutching the edge of his blanket tightly, his hands twitching as if they longed to reach out.

Tanjiro wiped his tears and smiled through the wetness. “These are happy tears,” he said softly. “I’m just… so grateful. I have two kind and amazing little brothers looking after me. Thank you.”

He reached out and gently patted their heads, his touch earnest and warm. The two boys stilled, basking in the affection, their eyes wide and hearts quietly full.

Kyojuro beamed brightly. “I helped Mom take care of you! And Iguro-kun watched over you too!” he announced proudly, gesturing toward Obanai, who shyly looked away, his ears tinged pink.

Tanjiro smiled warmly and reached out to ruffle both of their heads. “Yoshi, yoshi… What good children. Thank you for helping Ruka-san,” he said earnestly.

The two boys lit up at his praise, basking in the gentle affection.

Yet despite the warmth, Tanjiro couldn’t help but feel a flicker of worry. Shinjuro hadn’t returned yet, and he hoped the man wasn’t in trouble. He hadn’t meant to intrude on their home, and guilt began to creep in.

As if sensing his unease, Kyojuro tugged gently at Tanjiro’s yukata. Tanjiro looked down, tilting his head in confusion.

“Father may be the Flame Hashira,” Kyojuro said with a grin, “but Mother is the true pillar of this house. Don’t worry — Father will be alright!”

Tanjiro sweatdropped, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He hopes Shinjuro-san will be strong enough to ‘defeat’ the pillar.

He was not.

Despite being a fierce Flame Hashira, Rengoku Shinjuro had one undeniable weakness: his wife, Ruka.

Not because she yelled. Not because she threatened. No — Ruka didn’t need to raise her voice. Her calm tone, paired with that piercing gaze and unshakable moral compass, was enough to make even demons reconsider their life choices.

Shinjuro could face a demon head-on without flinching, but the moment Ruka folded her arms and said, “Shinjuro, we need to talk,” his spine straightened like a soldier standing at attention.

He’d mumble excuses, scratch the back of his neck, and suddenly remember urgent errands that didn’t exist.

Ruka, ever composed, would simply tilt her head and say, “I’m waiting.” And that was it. No escape. No Flame Breathing technique could save him now.

Even Kyojuro once joked, “Father may be the Flame Hashira, but Mother is the true pillar of this house.”

And Shinjuro agreed — silently, of course.

Kagaya sat on the engawa, hands outstretched as he gently petted one of his crows. The bird purred softly, tilting its body to guide his fingers. The master smiled at the gesture.

On the table before him lay an open scroll. With delicate fingers, Kagaya tied the capsule containing his reply to the crow’s body, adjusting the collar around its neck where the Ubuyashiki crest hung.

Crows bearing the crest work closely with the Ubuyashiki family. They are entrusted with confidential letters and documents, and even deliver direct orders from the master to the Hashira.

But this time, the letter wasn’t meant for a Hashira or a Corps veteran. It was for one of his quiet projects — something he had been asked to oversee, a plan that would one day benefit the Demon Slayer Corps.

He hummed in satisfaction once the capsule was secured around the crow. His head lifted slightly, sensing a presence behind the shoji doors.

With a knowing smile, he called out, “Come in.”

He paid no mind to the soft sound of the door sliding open and closing again. He remained still, quietly acknowledging the figure now kneeling behind him.

Neither spoke for a moment. Then, with a gentle flick of his hand, Kagaya dismissed the crow, watching it take flight into the sky.

“Shinjuro, what do you think of a temple that trains slayers before they go to the Final Selection?” he asked, prompting a confused hum from the man behind him.

Shinjuro shifted on his knee. He had never heard of a temple built solely to train demon slayers. He knew of temples that cared for orphans and occasionally taught them, but not one divided between a place of worship and a training ground.

“It may sound odd at first,” he said slowly, “but it does seem useful — to prepare candidates in the fundamentals before sending them to the Final Selection.”

‘And maybe lessen the number of deaths.’ he thought, unable to voice it aloud. He knew how deeply the master was affected whenever news of a Corps member’s passing reached him. His ever-magnanimous master.

Kagaya hummed in agreement. “It will lessen the number of deaths and increase the number of successful candidates. Isn’t that right, Shinjuro?”

Shinjuro suppressed a flinch, as if caught in his own thoughts. He felt foolish for trying to hide anything from the master — Kagaya always seemed to know and understand everything. He nodded silently.

“A temple that offers both sanctuary and strength — a home for those seeking refuge from demons and suffering, and a place to learn the fundamentals of being a slayer. Those who show potential will be trained in combat, breathing techniques, and spiritual discipline. It will be a great asset to the Corps. He’s truly an exceptional man to have thought of this,” Kagaya murmured, picking up his brush and quietly jotting something down.

Shinjuro remained silent. He wondered who his master was referring to. Still, he admitted to himself that anything benefiting the Corps and helping its members grow would be a game changer. 

He was quietly amazed at how Kagaya always seemed to find the right people to strengthen and evolve the organization.

Silence fell between them once more, until Kagaya finally placed his brush down and turned to face Shinjuro. Shinjuro straightened at the sudden attention from the master. Kagaya only smiled knowingly.

“I heard you took in an injured slayer recently. I hope they’re doing okay,” he said, earning a nod from Shinjuro.

“Yes. I met him while I was on my way back home from a mission,” Shinjuro began, recounting the moment he saw the boy fight.

“My crow alerted me to a sudden demon sighting nearby, so I rushed over — only to see this boy effortlessly kill the demon with skill and speed that’s definitely not typical of a Kanoe.” He emphasized the last part, watching the master, who only hummed in acknowledgment. His face showed no surprise or questioning — only quiet amusement. That confused Shinjuro.

“He said his name is Tanjiro, but after checking the records, I couldn’t find anyone named Tanjiro listed under the Kanoe rank. And you always update them, Oyakata-sama,” Shinjuro said carefully, studying the master.

That’s right — Kagaya personally updates the records whenever a slayer rises through the ranks, ensuring they’re congratulated. He never misses a slayer’s milestones or death. He keeps their wills safe and honored.

Shinjuro was certain the master knew who the boy was. Yet Kagaya simply acknowledged everything he said, offering no explanation — only that same quiet smile.

“What rank do you think he falls in?” Kagaya asked, making Shinjuro hum in thought.

“At least Rank Hinoe. The boy looks like he’s fought an Upper Moon already,” he replied.

‘And that would be impossible — because no one has ever met an Upper Moon and lived to tell the tale.’ Shinjuro thought, feeling a wave of unease.

He continued, “The boy’s breathing style is similar to mine. It has aspects and traits of Flame Breathing, but at the same time, it’s entirely different,” he said, recalling the fight he had witnessed that night.

“What kind of Breathing is it?” Kagaya asked.

Shinjuro crossed his arms, thinking hard. Then he perked up, remembering the name. “I heard him call it ‘Hinokami Kagura’ and I haven’t heard of a Breathing Style like that. I’m thinking it may be derived from Flame Breathing,” he added.

Kagaya said nothing. He stood up and crouched beside a nearby cabinet. After a moment, he returned and knelt in front of Shinjuro, a textbook in hand.

“Shinjuro… have you ever wondered how the Breathing Styles came to be?” Kagaya asked, placing several textbooks between them. Shinjuro nodded, his eyes scanning the titles written on the covers.

“The very first Breathing Style was Sun Breathing, created by Tsugikuni Yoriichi. The styles we know today are all derived from it,” he answered, earning a quiet nod of acknowledgment from Kagaya.

“He wondered how we could fight against demons and their supernatural strength and prowess.  — Then Yoriichi realized that by syncing his breathing with his body’s movements, he could dramatically increase his strength, speed, and awareness. That led to the creation of Sun Breathing — the first and most powerful style,” Shinjuro explained, flipping through the textbook absentmindedly, as if he knew its contents by heart.

“He gave humanity a fighting chance. Every Breathing Style used by the Demon Slayer Corps today is a fragment of that original technique,” he finished, gently closing the book.

“Yes, for his disciples, though skilled, could not master the intensity of Sun Breathing. So he adapted it — reshaped it to their strengths, temperaments, and instincts. Thus were born the five fundamental styles,” Kagaya said, raising five fingers in front of Shinjuro.

Shinjuro nodded and listed off the five Breathing Styles known today. “Water. Wind. Thunder. Stone. And Flame.”

He was well aware of the history of Sun Breathing. His ancestor — Tsugikuni Yoriichi’s co-worker, or perhaps his friend, as the Rengoku would say in his journals — was the first to learn how to breathe and use what they now know as Flame Breathing.

Shinjuro couldn’t help but feel amazed at the man who created the Breaths.

“And many more styles have been derived from the five fundamental ones, creating countless Breathing Styles over time,” Kagaya stated as he stacked the books together.

Shinjuro knew all of this, of course, but he didn’t understand why the master was telling him this now. Among all the Hashira, the Rengokus had always been the most enthusiastic about the history of Breathing Styles — because their ancestor was a close friend of Tsugikuni Yoriichi.

But no one knew exactly what happened to the man. In many of the records of the Rengoku family, there was always mention of him — but one day, he was simply gone. Unspoken, as if he were just a legend. 

No one knew what became of the Breathing Style he created. Over time, it was considered a dead style, lost to history. No one could say whether it had been passed down through generations or buried alongside its creator.

Still, Shinjuro couldn’t ignore the growing suspicion in his chest. Why was the master telling him all this now, when he had only been summoned to discuss the slayer he’d taken in a few days ago?

He didn’t want to assume — but after everything Kagaya had said, he couldn’t shake the eerie similarities between Tanjiro’s Breathing and the long-lost Sun Breathing. Flame Breathing couldn’t compare. Flame Breathing didn’t stop demon’s limbs from regenerating.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He needed to know. He met Kagaya’s unwavering gaze.

“Oyakata-sama, with all due respect, I know you’re aware that I know all of this by heart. But what is it that you’re trying to tell me?” Shinjuro asked, nerves taut as his master’s expression remained unchanged — his gaze resolute.

“I believe that Sun Breathing was passed down and inherited. Not by legacy... but by blood.”

(A few days after Tanjiro left the temple)

Koshi had been flying for a day and a half, and now the sun was already up. He lamented the dwindling rations of cashews Tanjiro had given him and cursed his own greed.

The crow squawked, fuming. “It’s not my fault he gave me less than usual!” he chirped, pridefully flapping his wings and accelerating through the sky. He conveniently ignored the fact that he’d been given two pouches and had devoured one out of hunger.

His eyes caught movement — a crow perched on a branch just a few meters ahead. It was Shiro, one of the messenger birds working under the Ubuyashiki family. Contrary to his name, which meant “white,” Shiro’s feathers were darker than any crow Koshi had ever seen. “If that’s even possible,” Koshi mused, landing beside him.

Shiro tilted his head and cawed in surprise. “Koshi! I was just looking for you,” he chirped, earning a curious tilt from Koshi. “The master is requesting you. He wants you to deliver a confidential letter to the ‘Cashew Man’!”

Koshi perked up at the name, then sputtered in embarrassment. He had once introduced Tanjiro to Yuzuki, the late master of the Corps, as “the cashew man” when he’d forgotten his name. The nickname stuck, much to Koshi’s dismay, and the master had found it endlessly amusing.

“Out of all nicknames…” Koshi groaned. He huffed. “Understood. I must hurry — but I still have a letter to deliver northeast.”

Shiro chirped in surprise. “That’s odd. You never accept orders unless they’re from the master!” Koshi squawked, flustered. “This is because of the master!” he insisted. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t. He’d never admit his soft spot for Tanjiro — not to anyone but the master, who always saw through him anyway.

“Well, instead of you heading northeast, I can deliver the letter for you. And you can take this one back to the master — it’s from the Northeast, from one of the wisteria houses in that region.” Shiro offered.

He hesitated, not wanting to stray from orders, but then remembered Tanjiro’s advice:

“You have to take whatever opportunity you can to get close to Miu-chan, or else she’ll think you’re not interested enough to be consistent!”

Koshi stood still, then used his beak to untie the capsule from his body and passed it to Shiro, beaming. “Then, I’ll count on you!”

“I don’t know what you’re planning, but… good luck, I guess,” Shiro said with a sweatdrop as they exchanged capsules. “Stay safe!”

With a burst of energy, Koshi took off, barreling through the bright sky, leaving Shiro alone on the branch.

Shiro flapped his wings. He’d rested enough — it was time to head back to the northeast. But his journey was unexpectedly delayed by rain. He found himself hiding in tree gaps and caves, feathers soaked and spirits dampened. “That was stupid of me,” he muttered, shaking off the water. He wished he just went ahead and delivered the letter to the master himself.

Finally, after days of flying and seeking shelter, the skies cleared. The rain stopped completely, and Shiro took off towards the northeast.

The crow flew across the night sky, its dark wings gliding silently under the moonlight.

The night was silent — still. Then, without warning, a sharp, dark whip-like shape sliced through the air and struck the crow mid-flight. In an instant, it plummeted to the ground with a sickening crunch. It lay motionless, wings splayed, as a pool of blood slowly spread beneath its lifeless body.

The sound of footsteps crunching over dry leaves and brittle branches echoed through the night, halting before the lifeless crow. A shadowed figure knelt, reaching for the bird to inspect the collar around its neck.

Dangling from it was a small, circular wooden plate — carved with the Ubuyashiki family crest.

The figure’s grip tightened. With a sudden, violent motion, he crushed the crow’s neck along with the crest. His body trembled with manic rage as he hurled the corpse to the ground, blood dripping from his fingers.

‘That damned Ubuyashiki.’

For centuries, no matter how hard he tried, he could never find them. He could never locate the Demon Slayer Corps base. It was as if the Ubuyashiki family didn’t exist at all, or the Corps.

“Damn pesky snakes. Wriggling away like worms,” he seethed.

His crimson eyes lifted to the moon, burning with contempt. He cursed his body — useless under the sun, bound by the limits of daylight. His skin itched with impatience, his obsession with the Blue Spider Lily growing more desperate with each passing day.

Then he saw it.

Muzan staggered, his breath hitching as a memory — flashed violently before his eyes. One from one of his own creations, a child, running in terror from that slithering wretch. But it wasn’t the child that made him freeze.

It was the heat.

That familiar, suffocating heat that gripped his chest and made every heart within him pound, it was deafening. He knew this feeling. He recognized it. That presence. That voice. 

The man appeared before Muzan like a phantom summoned from the depths of his worst memories. That cursed red blade — hot, searing — pressed against his neck again. Muzan’s body reacted before his mind could catch up, stumbling backward, crashing to the forest floor.

His vision blurred, then cleared.

The forest was quiet.

No man. No blade. No green checkered haori.

Only the rustling of leaves and the pounding in his ears.

Muzan gasped, breath ragged, fury rising like bile in his throat. Raw, unfiltered rage surged through his veins, burning hotter than any wound.

‘How?’

‘HOW IS HE STILL ALIVE?’

He clawed at the earth beneath him, eyes wide, blood boiling. That man — that ghost — should have been dead. Shredded. Forgotten. Yet he kept returning. In visions. In memories. In the minds of demons. 

He was supposed to be gone.

He remembered the feeling of the man with Hanafuda earrings dying in his hands. Muzan had sliced him apart in a frenzy of fear and rage, not because the man was strong, but because he looked like him.

This one wore a green checkered haori. Not a red one. 

But the resemblance was undeniable. The same burgundy hair, the same piercing eyes, the same cursed earrings swaying in the wind like a taunt. Muzan had never known fear like that — not since him. The one he despised. The one he feared. 

Centuries had passed. Muzan was stronger now. More powerful. Unstoppable. His foundation was solid, his influence vast. No pesky Demon Slayer could touch him. He had transcended mortality, transcended weakness.

And yet — he appeared.

A ghost. A memory. A nightmare wrapped in flesh.

The man stood tall, red hair tied back, his earrings catching the moonlight. Muzan told himself it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. But his body betrayed him. His composure shattered. And when he came to, the man lay in pieces, bathing in his own blood.

Muzan had shredded the haori. Crushed the Hanafuda earrings beneath his heel. He celebrated the victory with a manic joy, creating more demons, offering his blood freely to his upper and lower ranks. This was a triumph. A cleansing. A purge.

But then came the whispers.

From the mouths of his own demons. From their memories. From their dying breaths.

A man in a green checkered haori. Burgundy hair. Hanafuda earrings.

Why?

Why did his face haunt Muzan still? Why did he appear in the minds of others? Was he a ghost? A curse?

Did that man have relatives?

Unforgivable. Unforgivable.

He would not live. None of them would. Muzan would crush everything tied to that man. Every bloodline. Every memory. Every thread of resistance.

For Muzan was a God. A powerful being. Unstoppable. The world would be his, and no one — no one — would hinder him.

And yet —

He ignored the pounding in his ears. The cold grip of fear tightening around his hearts.

Because in his mind, in the deepest recesses of his memory, he saw it again.

The man in the checkered haori.

Sword raised.

Inches from his neck.

Chapter Text

Tanjiro matched Kyojuro’s laughter as he held him high up in the air, his hands planted on Kyojuro’s stomach as the boy dangled horizontally, arms wide open as if he were flying. The cool wind blew through his hair, making it dance as though he were truly soaring.

“I’m flying! I’m flying! I’m so high up!” Kyojuro cheered, flapping his arms like a bird. Tanjiro gently swayed him side to side, earning a giggle from the child.

Obanai fidgeted nearby, clutching his yukata as he shyly waited for his turn. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he watched Tanjiro move Kyojuro through the air like a paper plane.

After placing Kyojuro down on the futon, Tanjiro gestured for Obanai to come to him. Obanai hesitated, then shyly raised his arms, allowing Tanjiro to lift him by the waist and dangle him horizontally like Kyojuro. He gasped, afraid of falling, but Tanjiro expertly balanced him with steady palms.

Obanai gasped in excitement as he shyly raised his arms forward, pretending to fly. Tanjiro beamed before gently moving Obanai forward, prompting a silent giggle from the boy as Tanjiro felt his stomach vibrate with laughter. Kyojuro cheered, running around the room in mock superhero flight, joining Obanai in his imaginary adventure.

Tanjiro’s heart warmed as he played with the kids. He had already been declared healed by a Kakushi who visited the Rengoku estate, after two days of being forced to rest by Ruka. He remembered the tension as he and the children waited with bated breath for Ruka’s final verdict: Tanjiro was finally free to leave his room.

He had earned a bruise on his jaw when Kyojuro, in a burst of excitement, bumped his head against it. That meant one more day in bed — just for a bruise. Tanjiro lamented the situation; he wasn’t some sickly, fragile maiden. But Ruka was unshakeable. Shinjuro was no better, leaving Ruka to run the household — whether out of fear, love, or both. Tanjiro chuckled to himself. The two clearly loved each other, and Ruka’s worry and care for him made him feel warm inside. It reminded him of his own mother.

His respect for Ruka only grew. And that’s why the knowledge that she was destined to die soon left him heartbroken and anxious. If only there were a way to cure her illness before it worsened. He will watch for any symptoms. This was one of those moments he wished he knew how to find Tamayo and Yushiro. Surely, they might know something — after all, they had been researching medicine for years.

For the two days he had been recovering, the two boys were excellent visitors. They made sure to bring him his food and medicine. They ensured he was entertained and never alone, even if it meant letting Kyojuro talk his ear off.

Even Obanai was starting to look annoyed at how loud the child was, and Tanjiro could only laugh wryly. He would watch the two interact and play together as he lay in bed under strict orders.

He knew that no matter how annoyed or hesitant Obanai seemed towards Kyojuro, there was always a brightness in his eyes whenever he watched or listened to what Kyojuro had to show. Tanjiro was glad — Obanai was making friends.

Shinjuro would visit Tanjiro whenever his wife couldn't, often with little Senjuro cradled in his arms. During one of those visits, he mentioned that he reported what had happened that night at the serpent’s mansion to the master.

Tanjiro couldn’t help but feel a surge of curiosity — wondering what had been said and what was talked about. But Shinjuro didn’t elaborate.

“Get yourself comfortable. I don’t know who you are to the Master, but he asked me to look after you for the time being,” Shinjuro said, smiling at Tanjiro.

“You’re under the Rengokus’ care now.”  

Tanjiro warmed at the thought of the master always looking out for him. Throughout his journey, the master had been a guiding presence — supporting him, protecting him and giving him hope. Tanjiro couldn’t wait to meet him again.

He felt a deep surge of yearning towards the man he hadn’t properly thanked for sparing him and his sister. He had not repaid the favor, not to the master, nor to the Demon Slayer Corps who had embraced him.

This time he wouldn’t sit idly by. He would change what he can, grow stronger and do everything in his power to ensure that his efforts would benefit the Corps in the future.

Shinjuro slid the door open and blinked in amusement at the scene before him. It was chaotic: Kyojuro was all over the place, and Obanai was up in the air. Shinjuro chuckled, drawing the attention of all three.

“Father! You’re home!” Kyojuro cheered, barreling towards his father’s legs. Shinjuro beamed and patted Kyojuro’s head. A smaller child, with the same fiery-colored hair, peeked out from behind Shinjuro’s legs, watching Tanjiro — who still had Obanai suspended in the air — with sparkling eyes.

Tanjiro noticed the child’s unconcealed awe and smiled warmly. He gently set Obanai down on the ground before walking towards the youngest Rengoku. Kneeling in front of him, Tanjiro watched as the boy immediately brightened.

“Senjuro, did you just wake up from your nap?” he asked — just before the air was knocked out of him as Senjuro tackled him in a hug, clinging to him like a koala. Tanjiro laughed warmly, wrapping his arms around Senjuro and lifting him into his embrace.

Senjuro shyly fidgeted with Tanjiro’s yukata before nodding. “Missed Nii-chan!” he beamed, flashing a bright, soft smile that made Tanjiro double over, prompting worried calls from the others.

‘Senjuro is so cute! This little brother is so cute! Ahh, my heart…’ Tanjiro clutched his chest, trying very hard not to burst into a fit of cute aggression. He chuckled and tickled Senjuro’s sides. “Yoshi, yoshi, you are so cute, Senjuro!” he exclaimed, as Senjuro giggled and tried to swat his hands away.

Shinjuro chuckled at the scene, then sweatdropped at the sight of two clearly pouting boys on the side, sulking from the lack of attention. Kyojuro’s cheeks were puffed out, lips curled downward. Obanai looked silent and nonchalant, but the downcast shadows in his eyes betrayed his feelings.

Shinjuro shook his head and sighed, deciding to intervene before things escalated. He clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention.

“I came to tell you that lunch is ready. Let’s not make your mother wait,” Shinjuro announced, prompting Kyojuro to cheer.

“Yay!! Sweet potatoes!” he brightened, barreling down the hall towards the dining area. Tanjiro laughed as Senjuro wiggled out of his arms and ran after his brother. Shinjuro sighed and followed the two down the hall.

Tanjiro began walking out of the room when he noticed Obanai standing still, eyes fixed on the floor. Tanjiro couldn’t see his face, but he could smell the sadness and anxiety radiating from the boy.

Worried, Tanjiro walked in front of Obanai and knelt down to his level. Tanjiro wasn’t oblivious — he knew why Obanai hadn’t been eating with everyone and chose to eat alone in his room. He’d heard from Kyojuro that sometimes, Obanai left his food unfinished. Tanjiro couldn’t help but worry about his health. He was a growing boy and needed his daily nutrients.

Tanjiro held Obanai’s hands, which the boy instinctively gripped back. “Big brother is finally allowed to join everyone for lunch. Do you want to join him?” he asked, watching Obanai battle with himself. The scent of anxiety grew stronger. Obanai finally shook his head and stared at the ground, refusing to meet Tanjiro’s eyes.

Tanjiro smiled sadly. “I know you only eat in your room alone. That must have been really lonely,” he said. Obanai perked up and met Tanjiro’s eyes briefly before looking away again.

“I’m used to it. I don’t eat with anyone else,” he mumbled, fidgeting with Tanjiro’s fingers. Tanjiro gave him a wan smile and gently patted his head.

“Food tastes best when you’re eating it with someone. They say the flavor improves when it’s shared!” Tanjiro chuckled, watching Obanai’s shy eyes flicker with emotion.

Obanai wanted to go. He wanted to be with Tanjiro more than anything. But he was scared — terrified that Tanjiro would stop liking him if he saw how disgusting he was. If he saw his scars. Obanai wouldn’t be able to bear it. It was safer to be alone than to risk Tanjiro hating him.

Obanai stood silently. Tanjiro rubbed his head and stood up, their hands still linked. “That might be the case, but you shouldn’t worry too much. It’s also perfectly fine to eat alone if that’s what you prefer. As long as you’re enjoying the food, that’s what matters,” Tanjiro said, grinning down at him.

Obanai’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked up at Tanjiro in awe.

He hadn’t been forced. He’d been given a choice. And it was okay if he didn’t follow it. He wouldn’t be punished. He wouldn’t be locked up. It was okay to want.

Tanjiro breathed in as he watched tears stream down Obanai’s cheeks. He smiled softly, wiping them away before pulling the child into a hug. Obanai raised his arms and hugged Tanjiro back desperately.

“You don’t need to worry anymore. You’re safe now, and we’re here for you. I know it’s hard to trust someone right away, but no matter what happens or what you do, you’ll always be loved,” Tanjiro said, ignoring the gasp that escaped the child.

“Because you’re so kind and amazing — who wouldn’t love someone like you? They must be blind!” he huffed in mock anger, gently patting Obanai’s trembling back.

The child’s silent tears turned into sobs as he clung to Tanjiro for dear life.

How he longed to hear those words — to be loved like this. Obanai’s worries melted, little by little, as Tanjiro patiently caressed his back. The weight on his shoulders lightened, even just a little.

He still couldn’t fully trust Tanjiro. The voices in his head were louder than the soothing words. They told him he’d be hated eventually. Left alone again. But he couldn’t help the tiny hope blooming in his chest — that maybe...

Maybe...

Tanjiro would let him stay by his side, even after seeing all the ugly things about him. Even if he wasn’t worthy. Because Tanjiro was the kindest person in the world, and Obanai wouldn’t mind spending his life with him.

It took a while before Obanai calmed down. He felt guilty that Tanjiro might have missed lunch. But Tanjiro only smiled and continued to pat his head as he settled.

Obanai pulled away from the hug, blushing. He felt embarrassed for bothering him and crying like a baby.

But Tanjiro didn’t complain. He didn’t sigh in irritation. He simply took Obanai’s hands again and smiled warmly.

“Let’s eat lunch. I’ll bring your food to your room, so you can wait for me there,” Tanjiro said. Obanai nodded, letting Tanjiro guide him towards his room.

He stepped inside and peeked through the door, watching Tanjiro wave happily in his direction before walking down the hall towards the dining area.

Obanai watched until Tanjiro’s figure disappeared from sight, then gently closed the door.

That’s their setup for the next couple of days. Since Tanjiro started eating with the family, he always makes sure to bring Obanai his meal before joining the rest. Tanjiro sees no problem with it, as long as Obanai is eating well and feels comfortable.

The Rengoku family is also supportive. They make sure to wish Obanai a happy meal and remind him to eat slowly and enjoy the food whenever they drop it off inside his room. Tanjiro smiles warmly at how Obanai’s head ducks shyly in response to their open affection and understanding.

Even if it takes years for Obanai to feel truly comfortable and heal, Tanjiro and the Rengoku family are more than willing to support him side by side. Until Obanai is ready to let them in, they will wait patiently outside his door.

Obanai sat inside the room, moonlight spilling through the open window as he fiddled with the hem of his yukata.

It was already dinnertime, and he could hear the loud chatter and laughter outside his room. The kitchen and dining area were just around the corner, and the crackling of firewood and sizzling of pots and pans filled the air.

Obanai shifted slightly. He felt guilty for making Tanjiro go out of his way to prepare a separate meal and deliver it to his room — just because of something as small as two scars. He was already burdening the family by staying with them, and now he was troubling Tanjiro with his personal affairs.

His stomach twisted, guilt gnawing at his mind. He could feel bile rising in his throat, though he remained calm. Kaburamaru hissed softly and bumped its head against his cheek. Obanai raised his hand to gently pat his companion in reassurance.

“I’m okay,” he whispered.

He perked up when a knock echoed through the still room. The door slid open, revealing Tanjiro holding a tray.

Tanjiro locked eyes with Obanai and smiled brightly. “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long. Kyojuro ate all the sweet potatoes, so we had to make a new batch,” he chuckled wryly.

Obanai shook his head vehemently. “It’s okay. I don’t mind waiting for Tanjiro-san…” he mumbled.

Tanjiro smiled warmly and patted his head. Obanai leaned into the touch, basking in the comfort. When Tanjiro removed his hand, Obanai already missed it.

His disappointment was quickly replaced by a growl coming from his stomach. Embarrassed, he clutched it, his face turning red. Tanjiro chuckled and placed the tray in front of him.

Obanai’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the various dishes and he gulped. It smelled delicious. He wondered if Tanjiro had cooked it himself or if Ruka-san had helped. Looking up, he noticed Tanjiro wearing a white kappogi.

Tanjiro noticed Obanai staring and smiled. “What’s wrong? Is the food not to your liking?” he asked.

Obanai shook his head, almost in disbelief that Tanjiro would worry whether he would like the food or not.

He is grateful for the food and the roof over his head. Grateful for the Rengoku family taking him in, and for Tanjiro — for saving him. If it weren’t for Tanjiro, he wouldn’t be alive now. He owes him his life.

He reached out and grabbed the small bowl of steaming miso. The ceramic was warm against his hands. He paused, a pink flush dusting his cheeks at how warm it felt. How loved he is now. How safe he is now.

How foolish he had been. How blind. To not see how blessed he is — to have a loving family take him in, to experience warmth and safety he had never known before. To have someone as kind and gentle as Tanjiro by his side.

Tanjiro was about to stand up to give Obanai his privacy when tears began streaming down Obanai’s face. He knelt back down, hovering his hands towards Obanai in concern. Kaburamaru hissed softly, slithering around Obanai’s arm and down to the floor.

The steaming miso soup now sat cold on the tray, untouched. Tanjiro remained patiently in front of Obanai, who wiped his face furiously, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He had bothered Tanjiro again with his problems. He hadn’t done anything right. No matter how much he wiped his face, fresh, silent tears kept falling. Obanai didn’t know why he couldn’t stop crying.

Tanjiro smiled softly and scooched over. Obanai perked up, watching as Tanjiro slid closer to him. Tanjiro reached out and hugged him. Obanai instinctively clutched the green checkered haori, holding on tightly.

“It’s okay to let it out. You’ve gone through a lot. It must have been very hard and scary. You are so strong,” Tanjiro spoke gently, swaying left to right, rocking Obanai as his body trembled with sobs.

The bandages around his mouth felt tight and suffocating as he gasped for breath between sobs. His small hands wiped at his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop. He didn’t know why he was crying — it felt like a dam had burst.

He didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t deserve to be loved like this. Someone like him — tainted, born from filth and sin — would only ruin everything he touched.

And yet, his grip on Tanjiro’s yukata was so tight, as if he never wanted to let go. If he could be selfish, he would never part from Tanjiro.

“Why… why are you so kind to someone like me?” Obanai found his voice, trembling as he asked. Tanjiro didn’t stop patting his head.

“Someone like you?” Tanjiro echoed, making Obanai nod.

“Someone like me… dirty and born from sin. Someone like me doesn’t deserve nice things,” he said, burying his face into Tanjiro’s chest.

Tanjiro hummed but remained silent, sensing the hesitation and fear radiating from Obanai. He waited patiently.

Obanai was quiet for several minutes, playing with the hem of Tanjiro’s haori. He contemplated telling Tanjiro everything — because he deserved to know. He deserved to know that he was harboring a demon, a monster. But Obanai was scared. Scared that after tonight, he would find himself alone again.

But he couldn’t deceive Tanjiro anymore. Obanai’s arms around Tanjiro tightened. He thought he would bask in the last warmth he’d receive before telling Tanjiro everything — all the ugly truths about himself.

He finally continued. “My family… worshipped a demon serpent for centuries in exchange for riches. They… they would sacrifice children to the demon to feed it, in return for wealth and status,” he said, closing his eyes in resignation. Tanjiro continued rocking him gently.

“I was the only male born after 370 years, and they said I was special. The chosen one. So they caged me — they said it was to protect me,” he murmured, shuddering at the memory. He could still remember the cell, the smell of mold and rotting food, the darkness every night, and the feeling of someone watching his every breath and move.

“But it was terrifying. The demon was always watching me, and children kept disappearing. I was afraid I’d be next,” Obanai said, tears streaming down his face. Slowly, he pulled away from Tanjiro’s embrace and reached for the bandages on his face.

Little by little, he unwrapped them, letting the cloth fall onto his lap, revealing what he had desperately hidden. He heard Tanjiro gasp. Tanjiro raised his hand slowly and gently caressed the scars lining Obanai’s face. They weren’t fully healed yet — just beginning to scab over — but both of them knew the scars would remain deep as time passed.

“One day, they took me to meet the demon, it said I was still too small for it to eat, but ordered them to cut my face so that it would resemble its own since it had taken a ‘liking’ to me.” he mumbled, his face stinging as the cold air met his scabbing skin. He reached up and covered his face with trembling hands.

“They were monsters… and I was born from them. That m-makes me… a monster too…” he whispered, heart pounding and deafening in his ears. He had more to say, but he couldn’t continue. Tanjiro wasn’t saying anything. He must have been shocked, disgusted, angry. Obanai couldn’t blame him — not at all. But he couldn’t look Tanjiro in the eyes. He didn’t know if he could bear seeing a disappointed expression. He would rather remember Tanjiro’s warm face than see it change.

He flinched when a pair of hands gently removed his own from his face. He immediately ducked his head, avoiding Tanjiro’s gaze.

Tanjiro held his hands tightly, yet gently, and spoke. “Obanai, could you please look at me?” he asked softly.

Obanai hesitated, steeling himself. Finally, he looked up and met Tanjiro’s soft, reddish eyes.

Obanai’s eyes widened as he stared at Tanjiro’s warm expression and gentle, understanding smile. His eyes held no contempt or disgust — only kindness, compassion, and love. And they were looking at him. Obanai’s breath hitched.

“You’re finally looking at me,” Tanjiro teased lightly, making Obanai feel a pang of guilt. “Thank you for telling me all of that. It must have been terrifying to open up. You’re very brave,” Tanjiro said, brushing Obanai’s hair away from his face. Obanai sat there, dumbfounded by the unshakable kindness of the man before him.

“You’re not a monster, nor a demon. All I see is a kindhearted and adorable child who loves my snake origami and being tossed in the air. I see a child who always checks on me at night to make sure I’m okay, and one who makes sure Kyojuro always gets the biggest sweet potato during snack times,” Tanjiro said, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a comb.

Obanai turned around, his back now facing Tanjiro.

Tanjiro undid Obanai’s ponytail and began brushing his hair. Obanai sat still, basking in the comforting sensation of the comb, paired with Tanjiro’s gentle touch, running through his hair and across his scalp.

He hadn’t known that Tanjiro noticed him giving the biggest portion of sweet potato to Kyojuro. He liked seeing Kyojuro gush about the things he enjoyed — not that he’d ever admit it. Kyojuro always managed to brighten his day, even if his methods were a bit annoying.

“All I see is a child who is trying his best — and a child who is strong and brave,” Tanjiro said as he finished combing Obanai’s hair and tied it back into a low ponytail.

“Your past doesn’t define you. It doesn’t make you anything but you,” he added, just as Obanai’s eyes shifted towards the small mirror sitting on the table beside them. He could see the ugly streaks of scabbed lines across his face, but for the first time, he felt nothing.

“You’re not ugly. Your scars are proof that you fought back. That you didn’t let the pain win. That you’re free now — and that you can start over and live the life you want,” Tanjiro said, smiling at Obanai through the mirror.

“You’re not your family. You’re not a monster. You don’t deserve what you went through. You deserve to be happy and loved.” Tanjiro said, caressing Obanai’s hair. It breaks Tanjiro’s heart hearing Obanai say all of those bad things about himself. He feels sad about how he thinks he is unlovable, that he isn’t worthy. He wants him to feel and remember that those were not true.

“And you’re not alone anymore. You have Kaburamaru,” he said, smiling softly as he watched Kaburamaru climb back onto Obanai’s shoulder, hissing gently as if licking away his tears. Obanai giggled.

“You have Kyojuro, Senjuro, Rengoku-san, Ruka-san…” he continued, then raised a finger towards himself with a grin. “And me.”

Obanai watched him, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. You’re safe now, and you won’t be hurt anymore. I’ll make sure of it — as long as I’m alive,” Tanjiro said, gathering Obanai back into his arms.

Tears began streaming down Obanai’s face once more — but this time, they were happy tears.

And for the first time, Obanai didn’t feel monstrous. He felt seen.

The next day, the Rengoku family sat at the table in shock as Tanjiro beamed at them, standing in the doorway to the dining room, holding Obanai’s hand. On Obanai's other hand were the bandages that used to cover his face, exposing what he hated most. His eyes were shut, and his head was bowed towards the ground.

Obanai trembled as he felt Tanjiro nudge him gently. “It’s okay. Look,” Tanjiro said.

Obanai took a deep breath and looked up. His eyes widened at the sight before him.

Shinjuro was grinning at him. Ruka wore a soft smile, holding a plate of sweet potatoes, and Senjuro and Kyojuro were beaming.

“I’m glad you made it, Obanai. Let’s eat — otherwise Kyojuro will devour all the sweet potatoes,” Shinjuro said, laughing loudly, making Kyojuro pout.

“I will not! I’ll leave some for Tanjiro-san and Iguro-kun!” he huffed, while Ruka shook her head as if she never believed him.

Tanjiro laughed and gently tugged Obanai towards the table. Obanai’s eyes glistened with unshed tears and his heart fluttered. The room felt warm, but nothing was as warm as what he was feeling right now. 

He thought that if Tanjiro and the Rengoku family were willing to accept him — despite everything he hated about himself — then maybe he could accept himself too.

Since then, Obanai had been eating with them. He was still hesitant and self-conscious about his scars, but with the Kakushi's help, his wound was healing properly. Unfortunately, it would still leave a deep mark. That made Tanjiro sad, but Obanai would only look at him with soft eyes and quiet acceptance.

“Tanjiro-san shouldn’t be too worried. I will manage,” Obanai said, adjusting the bandages over his face. Tanjiro nodded silently at the Kakushi, who bowed and left.

Tanjiro felt his stomach twist painfully. The past few days had been full of tension within the Rengoku family. Kakushis and doctors had been in and out of the estate for one reason.

Ruka had collapsed.

Tanjiro tried to push down his fear and the stench of disease that seemed to grow stronger each day, emanating from Ruka.

He tried to bury the anticipatory grief pooling in his stomach — the feeling of helplessness, of being unable to do anything. He even contemplated searching for Tamayo and Yushiro. ‘But where? I don’t know where they are. Are they in Asakusa?’ he thought. He desperately wanted to go.

The doctors said it was a miracle that Ruka still had the strength to walk and help around the kitchen, but ever since Tanjiro arrived, he had taken over the chores and cooking for the family.

Yes, Shinjuro had hired a caretaker to look after the estate — an old lady named Shima-san — but since she had her own granddaughter to care for, she wasn’t a live-in. She would only come by a few times a week to help out. Sometimes, Shinjuro had to take on the responsibility himself to ensure his wife didn’t overwork.

But Ruka had always been stubborn and strong-willed. She didn’t want to appear weak or useless. Even during her illness, she hadn’t stopped being a mother and a wife. Tanjiro’s heart warmed at her selflessness. Her love for her family was stronger than any disease.

Yet the illness she had contracted after giving birth to Senjuro had finally caught up to her. Tanjiro could still remember the hysterical panic and screams he heard from Shinjuro the day Ruka collapsed.

“I… I deeply apologize, Rengoku-sama. For years, we searched for a cure — tried everything we could — but nothing worked. Her illness… It's relentless. It’s taken so much from her already. Now, all we can do is wait… and stay by her side, until the very end.”

Shinjuro’s form was hunched over, his hands gently clutching his unconscious wife’s limp hand. Tanjiro stood outside the room, away from everyone’s eyes. He wanted to give them privacy, but he was deeply worried. The smell of sickness — of death — was growing stronger each day.

Tanjiro’s heart ached — not just for her, but for Shinjuro, Kyojuro, and Senjuro.

He felt it creeping in — the grief before the goodbye. That quiet sorrow that settled in the bones, whispering that time was slipping through their fingers.

Shuffling was heard down the hall — the faces of the three children peeking around the corner, tear-streaked and frowning, worry etched across their expressions.

All Tanjiro could do was gather them in his arms and whisper, “Everything will be alright. I promise.” He knew, deep down, that he couldn’t just sit around. If he did, he would never forgive himself.

Tanjiro snapped out of his trance when he felt Obanai’s hands grip his. He smiled reassuringly at the boy’s worried gaze and reached out to pat Obanai on the head.

“I’m sorry I got lost in thought. Were you saying something?” he asked. Obanai shook his head, unconvinced. Tanjiro stretched and sighed. He had no time to mope around and get depressed. There was still so much to do — and one of those things was making sure the children were well fed.

“It’s a bit cold today. I should start preparing lunch! What do you want to eat, Obanai?” he grinned at Obanai, who blushed and shyly looked away.

“Anything that Tanjiro-san makes…” he mumbled, making Tanjiro blink in disbelief.

“Ehh, there must be something you like eating! Do you have a favorite food?” Tanjiro asked, and Obanai perked up at the question.

He nodded and shyly played with the hem of his yukata. “Tororo kombu…” he said, making Tanjiro beam at the familiar delicacy.

“Tororo kombu! My little brother loves that too! He wouldn’t stop begging me to make it every time!” he chuckled, clapping his hands. Obanai perked up at the mention of his little brother.

“You have a brother?” Obanai asked, but immediately regretted it when Tanjiro’s expression softened into a sad smile. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Tanjiro spoke first.

“Yeah, I have little siblings. I’m the oldest of six,” he said, smiling gently, though a hint of sorrow lingered in his eyes. Obanai decided not to ask further. He simply tugged at Tanjiro’s haori.

Tanjiro grinned and patted Obanai’s head. “Then I’ll go make tororo kombu! Do you want it mixed into rice bowls with soy sauce or mentsuyu?” he asked.

“Mentsuyu,” Obanai confirmed, earning a nod from Tanjiro. With one last pat on the head, Tanjiro left the room and walked towards the kitchen. He hummed as he grabbed the white kappogi and tied it around his yukata and haori. Then he took a white cloth and tied it tightly around his head.

Being back in the kitchen stirred a familiar warmth in Tanjiro’s chest — a memory of the Shinazugawa family. He missed the comforting weight of carrying little Koto on his back, and he missed sharing meals with them, surrounded by their laughter and quiet understanding.

He wondered when he might be able to visit them again, if time and Oyakata-sama would allow it. Stretching with a soft smile, he hoped they had received his letter. The last thing he wanted was for them to worry.

Suddenly, he gasped, realizing he hadn’t written to Gyomei and Tetsu yet. He had promised, but the days of illness had made him forget. With a sigh, he reminded himself to write to Gyomei soon. He didn’t want the children to be anxious, especially not after everything.

He was also curious about the proposal he had submitted to the Master. Koshi had mentioned that the Master liked the idea, but Tanjiro hadn’t heard anything since. He hadn’t seen Koshi either, which was unusual. Perhaps he was busy, delivering letters and messages across the Corps.

He huffed in pride. ‘Koshi is really hard working! I should give him more cashews.‘ he thought, giggling. 

‘Well, time to get down to business.’ He thought as he began preparing the ingredients for lunch. First, he needed to prepare the sweet potatoes — knowing Kyojuro, he would devour them in seconds. To avoid him burning his tongue, Tanjiro always prepared them first so they’d have time to cool.

A soft hum escaped his lips as he reached for the basket of sweet potatoes resting near the hearth.

He picked each one carefully, brushing off the remnants of soil with a cloth. Then, he filled a pot with water and placed it over the firewood stove. As the water heated, Tanjiro sliced the sweet potatoes into thick rounds, the knife gliding smoothly through their firm flesh. The scent of raw starch filled the air.

Steam began to rise, curling around his face as he leaned over the pot. He gently lowered the slices into the bubbling water, watching them sink and soften. The kitchen grew warmer, filled with the quiet rhythm of cooking — the bubbling pot, the occasional pop of firewood, and Tanjiro’s steady breath.

Tanjiro continued humming as he busied himself when a familiar tuft of fiery hair popped up under his arm and elbow.

Tanjiro blinked and looked down in surprise. There, under his elbow, stood Kyojuro — beaming excitedly at the boiling pot with unconcealed awe.

“Sweet potatoes!” he exclaimed, breaths coming in short. Tanjiro noted that he was sweating and smelled like the sun. In one hand, he held a small bokken. ‘Did I just summon Kyojuro away from his training with sweet potatoes?’ he thought, chuckling.

Sure enough, Shinjuro came barreling down the hallway and entered the kitchen as if he had been searching for Kyojuro. He huffed and grabbed Kyojuro by the collar in an attempt to drag him away, but Kyojuro clung to Tanjiro’s waist, burying his face in his stomach in defiance.

“Kyojuro! We’re not done training yet! Those sweet potatoes won’t go anywhere while you’re training!” he scolded, but Kyojuro looked back at his father, beaming.

“I want to help Tanjiro-san with cooking!” he exclaimed, eyes sparkling, making Shinjuro exhale exasperatedly. Tanjiro laughed at their antics and decided to save Shinjuro the stress.

Tanjiro patted Kyojuro’s head, who was still beaming as he hugged Tanjiro’s waist. “It’s okay, Rengoku-san. I don’t mind if Kyojuro helps out. I could use another hand,” he said, looking down at Kyojuro and winking. Kyojuro grinned in return.

‘This little demon.’ Shinjuro thought as he watched Kyojuro shamelessly cling to Tanjiro. It didn’t help that Tanjiro was willing to go along with his son’s antics. At this point, there was no letting go of Tanjiro, especially as Shinjuro once again saw that look in his son’s face.

No. He’s too young for this. It’s just a child’s little crush — something that happens when they meet someone they admire. He’ll outgrow it as he gets older. Shinjuro sighed in defeat and left, while Kyojuro and Tanjiro giggled together.

With Kyojuro’s help, they began preparing rice and tororo kombu. Kyojuro blinked as he stirred the shredded kelp inside a bowl.

“Is this kelp? It’s so thin. Like hair!” he asked, making Tanjiro nod.

“That’s right, it’s shredded kelp. It’s Obanai’s favorite food,” he said, making Kyojuro hum in curiosity.

“I thought his favorite food was sweet potatoes! He eats them a lot.”

“That’s because you always give them to him during snack times,” Tanjiro laughed, making Kyojuro go pink in embarrassment. Tanjiro silently giggled at Kyojuro’s hair, which looked like a nest. It seemed training had been intense — he looked completely disheveled.

He reached out and smoothed Kyojuro’s wild hair. Kyojuro blushed at the contact but ducked his head, basking in the gentle touch.

“There. You look decent now — not like you just came from fighting a demon,” he chuckled, and Kyojuro giggled in return, looking up at Tanjiro with wide, beaming eyes.

“Do I look handsome now?” he asked, and Tanjiro nodded. He smiled, leaned down, and booped his nose.

“Uh-huh. Very handsome. You’ll grow into a very handsome young man,” Tanjiro grinned down at Kyojuro, who blushed at the gesture. Kyojuro pursed his lips, face red. ‘No, I’m not handsome at all. Tanjiro is much more handsome — the prettiest among everyone.’

“Then if I’m handsome, when I grow up, will you stay by my side? Once I’m strong enough to stand beside you, will you stay by my side?” he asked, grabbing Tanjiro’s hands, eyes hopeful and shining.

Tanjiro blinked and laughed. He smiled sadly as he reached out and patted Kyojuro on the head. Kyojuro’s death had affected him the most. Though he had only known the man for a short time, he had left an impression. Tanjiro regretted not being strong enough to fight beside him and protect him. He regretted being weak — having to be protected.

But this time, it was his turn to protect Kyojuro and make sure he was happy. He would stay by his side. He would protect him.

This time, he wouldn’t fail.

“Of course. I will remain by your side and watch you accomplish amazing things. I’ll be there to support you. I’m not going anywhere,” he assured, patting Kyojuro’s head. He continued:

“And you don’t have to prove anything to be strong or worthy. You’re already strong as you are, and I know you’ll become even stronger,” Tanjiro said, and Kyojuro’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“But what if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough? What if I don’t become a Hashira like my father, and I’m not strong enough to protect Mother and Senjuro?” ‘Or you?’ Kyojuro thought, though he couldn’t voice it aloud. Tanjiro smiled sadly and knelt down to his height. He stretched his arms out and gathered Kyojuro into a hug.

“Even when you feel like you’re not enough, I’ll be here. You don’t have to prove anything to earn love or support. Rengoku-san, Ruka-san, and Senjuro love you just the same. And I will love you the same,” Tanjiro said as he gently caressed Kyojuro’s hair. Kyojuro sniffled and buried his face in Tanjiro’s shoulder.

“You have to remember that you’re still young, and there are so many things you’ve yet to accomplish. So you have to set your heart ablaze — no matter how uncertain the future is or how unsure your heart feels, you must strive forward for the people you love,” Tanjiro said as he gently pulled Kyojuro from the hug and patted his head, smiling warmly.

“You have to remember that whatever happens, you are more than enough.”

Kyojuro felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For the past few days, no, ever since Senjuro was born, he had been trying his best to become a Hashira just like his father was — the one the Rengoku clan had produced for generations.

He trained relentlessly. He swung again. And again. He told himself it was discipline. That if he trained hard enough, he wouldn’t hear the coughing from the room down the hall. That if he became strong enough, maybe his father wouldn’t look crestfallen whenever he thinks he is alone.

His mother, Ruka, was growing paler by the day. Her voice was softer now, her hands colder. Yet she still smiled at him like he was already the man she believed he would become. That smile terrified him — because he hadn’t done anything remarkable. He hadn’t even mastered basic sword techniques yet. And he was losing time. But he always strove forward, setting his heart ablaze no matter how terrifying everything felt — for his mother, his father, and Senjuro. And now, for Tanjiro.

He didn’t want to disappoint his family — especially Tanjiro. Part of him thought Tanjiro didn’t understand what he meant when he asked him to stay by his side. But that was okay. He would make sure Tanjiro understood in the future. When he became a Hashira.

Kyojuro grinned and beamed at Tanjiro. He grabbed Tanjiro’s hand, held it, and placed his forehead against it. Tanjiro blinked in confusion as Kyojuro looked up at him.

Kyojuro merely grinned. Tanjiro huffed, smiling. He stood up and grabbed a wooden paddle, scooping some of the soup they had been cooking along with the sweet potatoes, and tasted it. Tanjiro hummed in satisfaction.

“Umai,” he mumbled.

“Me too!” Kyojuro exclaimed, jumping up. Tanjiro scooped another spoonful of soup, blew on it, and let Kyojuro taste it.

Kyojuro’s face dusted pink, and his eyes sparkled. “UMAI!” he exclaimed, making Tanjiro laugh. His heart tugged painfully — he missed hearing that from Kyojuro. He couldn’t help but bask in the moment, being with his mentor again. He would make sure he didn’t die this time.

They spent the rest of the time cooking lunch together, testing the different dishes Tanjiro made. It became their routine — morning, afternoon, and dinner. Kyojuro became Tanjiro’s little taste tester in the kitchen, wholeheartedly finishing every meal Tanjiro created and experimented with. Each bite was enough to make Kyojuro exclaim in delight.

Obanai soon joined them, appreciating Tanjiro’s cooking more quietly, but with the same intensity as Kyojuro.

Tanjiro couldn’t help but feel warm and happy with the two kids. Cooking hadn’t felt this fun in a long time — especially with his two little taste testers.

Gyomei perked up at the familiar sound of wings flapping and instinctively outstretched his arm. A gentle smile formed on his face as he felt the crow’s feet settle on his forearm. He called out softly, “Tetsu.”

Tetsu, the only one among them who could read, came running out from the temple. The crow shuffled and cawed as Tetsu’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“It says it’s from Ubuyashiki Kagaya! Do you think there’s anything about Tanjiro-san?” he asked eagerly, already unfolding the letter.

He began to read aloud:

“Himejima-san, I hope you are well. By the time you receive this, the Kakushi under the Corps, along with our partners, will be arriving to assess the grounds.”

Gyomei’s smile deepened as he heard the bustle of voices and footsteps around the temple. Kakushis and other workers were already discussing the foundation, outlining the area, and planning renovations.

Just days after Tanjiro’s departure, Gyomei had received a letter from the Master. Upon hearing it, he was left speechless. The Master had proposed the construction of a temple — one that would also serve as an estate for children in need. A sanctuary not only for worship, but for the orphaned and the lost.

Gyomei was certain he had never met the leader of the Corps, nor had any affiliation that would warrant such generosity. But then he remembered Tanjiro.

Tanjiro was part of the Corps. Gyomei wasn’t sure of his rank or position, but for the Master to act on his behalf, Tanjiro must be someone important — someone deeply respected.

Gyomei’s appreciation for Tanjiro grew tenfold. He suspected Tanjiro had something to do with all of this, especially after their heartfelt conversation before he left the temple. The care Tanjiro showed for the children and their futures warmed Gyomei’s heart. And the thought that Tanjiro might be nearby made him giddy.

He tried asking the Kakushis and the masked workers if they had come with Tanjiro, but received only confused looks and tilted heads. It seemed no one knew who Tanjiro was. Gyomei quietly squashed the disappointment pooling in his stomach.

He must be patient. He knew that one day, in one way or another, they would meet again. And when that day came, he would make sure he was someone Tanjiro could be proud of — someone Tanjiro could rely on. If only there were a way to be closer to him.

Turning to Tetsu with a gentle smile, he said, “Let’s write back to the Master.”

Tetsu nodded, and together they walked back into the temple.

If Tanjiro would not come to him, then he would simply go to Tanjiro himself.

Demons had attacked one of the Wisteria Houses in the northern region. Ryosuke, the current Wind Hashira, was urgently dispatched to assist the village, being the closest among the Hashira to the location. Alerted by his Kasugai crow, he surged northeastward with unwavering speed.  

Ryosuke furrowed his brow in disbelief. For years, this northern Wisteria House and its village had reported no demon attacks since coming under the Corps’ protection. Yet now, demons had attacked with brutal force, and the Demon Slayers had fought valiantly, defending it with their lives. 

Reports confirmed that more than ten slayers were injured in the assault. As the silhouette of the village emerged on the horizon, Ryosuke clicked his tongue in frustration, the bitter taste of urgency sharpening his focus.

It was already nearing dawn, and the slayers had fought off hordes of demons while protecting civilians. Ryosuke knew demons weren’t foolish enough to attack a village filled with slayers — but what baffled him most was how they attacked in groups, how they were banded together. Demons didn’t work as a team. They often acted on their own. Not unless they were following orders from someone higher up.

‘Was it an Upper Moon? Or… was it Kibutsuji Muzan himself?’ He frowned at the thought. 

Why would Muzan target a village out of spite?

Ryosuke exhaled sharply as he ran down the streets. Everything was in ruins, but the absence of civilians meant the slayers had evacuated them completely.

A few demon slayers perked up at the sight of him. Ryosuke skidded to a stop. The slayer in front of him quickly bowed and saluted.

“Sir! We’re glad you made it,” he said, out of breath. His clothes were torn and bloody, but he looked stable.

“How is the situation?” Ryosuke asked, worried.

“Under control,” the slayer replied. “The demons sent were weak. Some looked feral. We think they were newly turned. We managed to exterminate some of them.”

Ryosuke huffed and unsheathed his sword.

“Some of them doesn’t mean all of them. They’re still lurking. Continue searching,” he ordered, then sprinted down the road.

What felt like hours passed as he killed numerous demons along the way, searching for survivors, the injured, and any demons hiding in the shadows just to be safe. The number of demons in this place was unsettling.

‘I need to report this to Oyakata-sama,’ he thought, slicing through a demon’s neck. Its head rolled across the ground and disintegrated into the air.

His head perked up when a scream echoed from an alley. Alarmed, he sped towards the sound. As he got closer, what he thought was a scream became clearer — cries of anguish and shouted profanities. He skidded around the corner and paused at the sight before him.

A demon lay on the ground, its torso crushed beneath a large anvil, blood splattered across the pavement. Its head had been severed from its body, and its arms were pinned to the ground with a variety of tools.

The severed head was still screaming — cursing, crying in fear. But what caught Ryosuke’s attention wasn’t the mangled demon — it was the white-haired child standing dangerously still. His white haori and brown yukata were stained with blood.

In one hand, the child held the demon’s screaming head, which thrashed and yelled at him to let go.

“What the fuck are you?! Let go of me! You demon! You’re insane! You’re insane!!” it shrieked, blood spilling from its mouth.

In his other hand, the child gripped a long, bloodied, and chipped nata — a blade worn down from overuse. Ryosuke stepped forward cautiously, worry and wariness in his eyes. As he got closer, he noticed the child’s bloodied arms.

The child jolted at the sound of Ryosuke’s careful footsteps, whipping his head around. His purple eyes were twisted and piercing, staring at Ryosuke as if unsure whether he was human or demon. 

Then he blinked, recognition settling in. His gaze dropped back to the screaming head in his hand, and without hesitation, he struck it with the nata, pinning it to the ground and silencing it.

Ryosuke exhaled slowly, realizing the child had done all this — alone. A mere child, no older than twelve, with such intense strength and fighting power. He could feel the boy’s livid aura, the hatred radiating off him like heat. Ryosuke stared silently before speaking.

“It won’t die that way,” he said.

The child glanced back at him, a deep frown etched into his face. Ryosuke noted the long scar across his cheek, the blood smeared across his face. He looked exhausted, worn down — as if he’d been fighting all night. He looked more like a demon slayer than the ones running through the village.

“Then how can they die?” the child asked, voice low. 

“No matter what I do, it always regenerates.” He pulled the nata from the demon’s head, eyes still burning.

“Demons are strong and hard to kill. But they have weaknesses,” Ryosuke said, walking towards the child.

“The most powerful enemy of a demon is sunlight. When sunlight touches them, they burn and turn to ash. No demon can survive it.” He looked up as the sky shifted to dark purple and red — the sun beginning to rise.

The demon pinned to the ground widened its eyes and screeched. With a sudden burst of strength, it regenerated its body from the severed head in seconds. The child’s head whipped towards it in alarm, but Ryosuke remained calm.

“Demon Slayers use special swords called Nichirin Blades,” he continued. “These swords are made from metal that absorbs sunlight. If a slayer cuts off a demon’s head with one—”

He paused.

The demon lunged at him with unmatched speed, claws outstretched, inches from his eyes. Time seemed to slow. With a fluid movement undetectable to untrained eyes, Ryosuke swung his blade. The demon’s head detached mid-air, but he didn’t stop there. He slashed through it again and again, dicing it into pieces with inhuman speed until nothing remained but ash. The rising sun bathed the demon’s body, burning it into dust.

The child gasped, watching as Ryosuke calmly sheathed his sword, his forest green haori fluttering in the wind. Ryosuke gently caressed the hilt and slowly turned towards the child.

“…the demon dies,” he finished.

The child looked up at him in awe. He had never seen a demon slayer kill a demon up close — never had the chance to witness one in action. He gripped his nata tightly, leveling his gaze with the man.

Ryosuke’s eyes flicked to the child’s bloodied arms, the wounds clearly self-inflicted.

“Those are self-inflicted,” he said.-

The child looked down at his arms and nodded.

“Demons always lose their minds at the smell of my blood. They call it a rare type — marechi. It distracts them and makes killing them easier,” he explained.

Ryosuke shook his head. It was a reckless move. The child used it to his advantage in battle — exposing his blood to lure demons, provoke them, and make them vulnerable. It was dangerous and brutal.

‘Is he even a child?’ Ryosuke thought. No child should carry this much bloodlust and hatred towards demons. He suspected the boy had lost someone important — someone irreplaceable. He sighed.

Demons don’t bring anything good.

“Stupid move,” Ryosuke said. “You’re risking injuries that could stop you from killing the demon. Demons are stronger than you. They can regenerate and heal wounds. You can’t.”

He walked past the boy, his haori trailing behind him. The child was silent for a moment before shouting:

“What do you think I should do then?! Stay still and watch more of the people important to me die and never return?!”

He gritted his teeth in anger. This man would never understand the grief of being too weak, too ignorant to do anything. The questions he has haunting his mind that might never be answered.

Ryosuke paused. Silence filled the air between them. In the distance, the sound of villagers returning echoed through the streets as the sun rose higher. A voice called out for a brother nearby, but the child only stared at the stranger’s back, eyes burning.

Ryosuke turned and locked eyes with him.

“If you want to know how… then keep up,” he said, beginning to walk away.

The child jolted out of his trance and ran to Ryosuke’s side. The sun was warm on his face — but not as warm as the hope filling his cold, unbeating heart.

Finally, he felt closer to answers after all this time.

If he couldn’t find the answers now…

“What’s your name?” Ryosuke asked.

The child looked up at him with a grin.

“Sanemi. Shinazugawa Sanemi.”

…he’d go search for them himself.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, Rengoku-sama. There’s nothing we can do.”

Tanjiro sat on the engawa, gazing up at the sky. It was a full moon, and the moonlight spilled gently across parts of the wooden veranda. His long hair and earrings swayed in the breeze. Time was slipping through their fingers as Ruka’s condition worsened day by day.

Today marked his third month with the Rengokus, and he was confused as to why he hadn’t been assigned any new missions, nor received orders or messages from the master. Koshi would occasionally visit to demand cashews and ask for advice about Miu — requests Tanjiro gladly entertained. Still, he wasn’t sure if his mission had ended after rescuing Obanai from the Snake Mansion.

He didn’t know his purpose for staying with the Rengokus anymore. He felt useless and powerless, unable to do anything to prevent Ruka’s impending death. His knowledge of medicine was limited, and the resources available were far less advanced than those during the Taisho Era. Tanjiro believed that, with Shinobu’s records, they might have identified what was afflicting Ruka and how to treat it.

But no one could determine what was wrong, and every medical procedure attempted had failed. Ruka had asked them to stop the futile efforts and simply enjoy the time they had left with her.

Tanjiro clenched his fists as he watched the four Rengokus embracing each other — silent tears streaming down Shinjuro’s face, the two children sobbing in their mother’s arms. Ruka wore a wry, accepting smile. She looked as though she had cried all the tears she could and was now trying to stay strong for her family.

Tanjiro felt small hands grasp his own. He jolted slightly and looked down to see Obanai standing beside him, his anxious face turned upward. But his hands were warm and reassuring. Tanjiro relaxed and gently squeezed Obanai’s hands, offering a soft smile.

If only there were something Tanjiro could do. If only one small miracle were within reach…

There was still something Tanjiro could do.

“Dear Oyakata-sama, thank you for everything you’ve done for me and for your guidance. I wish you continued good health.”

Tanjiro changed into his slayer uniform, fastening the buttons one by one. He noticed it was a new set — not his old one. He assumed it had been replaced, likely because the previous uniform was too torn to be mended. A small smile of gratitude formed on his lips.

He turned and looked thoughtfully at his green checkered haori, hanging neatly on an emonkake. He had first encountered Muzan in Asakusa, and knowing that Muzan believed him to be dead, he couldn’t risk wearing his haori there. He wondered where he might find a spare.

“I apologize for only writing now. I believe Rengoku-san has filled you in on what happened at the Serpent Mansion. I was temporarily incapacitated. Since then I’ve recovered and am ready to resume missions.”

Tanjiro picked up his Nichirin sword and secured it at his waist, his fingers unconsciously brushing the flame-shaped guard as if seeking comfort. He stepped out of the room, heading off to find Shinjuro.

“I would like to ask permission to travel to Asakusa, Tokyo. There is someone I wish to meet there — someone who may prove to be a valuable ally to the Corps in the future.”

‘Time is ticking. Move, before time makes the decision for you.’

It had been ages since Tanjiro last heard those words from Koshi. Not since during his time with the Shinazugawa family, before he left and crossed paths with Gyomei. Not even after he found himself with the Rengoku family. Now, hearing them again sent a sharp twist through his stomach — a familiar cocktail of anxiety and dread. Those words always carried a warning, a signal that something terrible was looming, and he had to act before it was too late.

What gnawed at him most wasn’t the fear — it was the helplessness. The crushing frustration of not knowing what to do, of standing at the edge of something dark and uncertain without a clear path forward. He didn’t even know if he was doing the right thing.

“Set your heart ablaze.” He would sometimes hear it deep in his mind, like a whisper. Like a hand gently pushing him forward. Despite the uncertainty and the anxiety clouding his thoughts, he continued to strive forward.

‘Maybe, when the time is right, I could bring them along to meet you. They are amazing people, I assure you. I trust them with all my heart.’

He wasn’t sure when the master had first met Tamayo and Yushiro — or even if he’d heard of them at all. But Tanjiro couldn’t afford to take that risk, not yet. Not until he was certain the master already knew about them and had accepted their presence.

There hadn’t been a moment to ask, no opening for that kind of conversation. But waiting for the perfect chance — or even a delayed response — was no longer an option. Time was slipping through his fingers, and every second mattered for Ruka.

‘I will be away for a few days or weeks, but I promise to return as soon as I can. Once I’m back, if it’s not too much to ask, I would be deeply honored to speak with you. There are questions I’ve carried for some time — ones I had hoped to ask the late master, who guided me so kindly in the beginning.’

The previous master, Yuzuki, would always dodge the request whenever Tanjiro asked for an audience, and he was never sure why. He didn’t know whether it was connected to the strange phenomena surrounding him or if granting the request might lead to serious consequences. After a while, he learned not to ask again.

But now, speaking directly to the current master, Kagaya — rather than through Koshi — Tanjiro wondered if things had changed. Perhaps it was finally acceptable to meet Kagaya face-to-face.

Tanjiro rounded the corner and spotted Shinjuro stretching in the garden. Just beside him, Kyojuro and Obanai mirrored his movements with earnest concentration. Tanjiro stifled a chuckle — Kyojuro and Obanai looked genuinely adorable trying to imitate Shinjuro’s form.

“Rengoku-san,” Tanjiro called out, making all three perk up at the sound of his voice. Shinjuro turned his head and smiled warmly at the sight of him.

“Tan—”

“TANJIRO-SAN!!” Kyojuro cut him off with a loud exclamation, dashing towards the engawa where Tanjiro stood. Tanjiro sweatdropped as he caught the flying Rengoku, who crashed into his legs with full force.

“Hello, Kyojuro. Good morning to you too,” he chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair. At his side, he noticed Obanai looking up at him, clutching the hem of his hakama pants with wide eyes, curious about why Tanjiro was in uniform.

“And good morning to you too, Obanai,” he added, gently patting his head.

Kyojuro’s eyes shifted to Tanjiro’s attire, and he asked with concern, “Where are you headed, Tanjiro-san? Are you finally leaving us?!”

His voice trembled with worry and panic as he hugged Tanjiro’s waist tightly. Obanai, horrified by the question, clung to him as well, silently pleading for him to stay. Tanjiro couldn’t move an inch under their combined grip and laughed wryly at their strength.

He knelt down and placed reassuring hands on their small shoulders. “No, I won’t be leaving you guys. Don’t worry, okay? Nii-san just has to go somewhere for business, and he’ll be back soon,” he said gently, feeling relieved as the panic in their expressions slowly faded.

Obanai let out the breath he’d been holding, comforted by the promise that Tanjiro wasn’t leaving for good. He didn’t want to be apart from him — he wanted to stay close to him.

Kyojuro, too, was happy to hear that Tanjiro would still be with them. But deep down, he knew that one day, Tanjiro would have to leave. He was a Demon Slayer, after all. He couldn’t stay home forever, preparing meals and playing big brother. He had a duty to fulfill. Still, for now, while he could, he would bask in Tanjiro’s presence.

“How long will you be gone?” Obanai asked softly.

Tanjiro looked up at Shinjuro, who gave him an assuring nod. If he were being honest, Tanjiro was reluctant to leave the family alone for days or weeks  — especially with Ruka’s condition weighing heavily on his mind.

Shinjuro had already asked the master for permission to stay home with his wife, only leaving for the field if absolutely necessary — despite Ruka’s scolding. It was the first time Tanjiro had seen Shinjuro defy her. Yet Ruka didn’t protest. She allowed it to happen, as if afraid she might not see her husband in her final moments.

Tanjiro couldn’t help but feel a mix of sadness and frustration for the couple — for the entire family. He was determined to find Tamayo and Yushiro, even though he had no idea where they might be. He wouldn’t know unless he tried.

“I don't know how long I'll be gone for, but I’ll make sure to return immediately,” he said, hugging the two children. They clung to him tightly and for longer than usual, as if trying to make up for the days he’d be away. When they finally let go, Tanjiro turned to Shinjuro.

“Rengoku-san, do you have any spare haori I can borrow?”

Shinjuro hummed thoughtfully and nodded. “Let me see if I still have my spare haori from when I was a Kanoe,” he said, stepping inside the house. Tanjiro, Kyojuro, and Obanai following closely behind.

They reached Shinjuro’s room, where he began rummaging through a sliding-door cabinet in search of the haori.

“Aha!” Shinjuro exclaimed, pulling out a red haori and dusting it off. It was a deep crimson, looking brand new and untouched by time. “I don’t think I ever used this one. I remember outgrowing it, so I put it aside. You’re free to have it,” he said, handing it to Tanjiro.

Tanjiro beamed and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Rengoku-san! I really like the red,” he said, admiring the haori in his hands. ‘This looks like…’ His thoughts trailed off as he recalled the man from his inherited dream — wearing the exact same haori. Tanjiro smiled warmly and slipped it on.

It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for him. He spun around, earning a sound of awe from the two children.

“Red looks great on you, Tanjiro-san!” Kyojuro exclaimed, while Obanai nodded, his eyes sparkling at Tanjiro’s new look. Obanai thought red truly was Tanjiro’s color.

Tanjiro smiled and patted their heads. “Thank you!”

“Are you heading out now?” Shinjuro asked.

Tanjiro nodded. They escorted him out of the house, and as he stepped outside the gate, he turned back and waved at them with a grin.

“Stay safe, Tanjiro-san!”

“Get home soon!”

They waved enthusiastically, and Tanjiro waved back, smiling until they disappeared from view. A familiar caw made him perk up as he extended his shoulder for Koshi to perch on.

“Heading towards Asakusa! Make haste! Make haste!” Koshi squawked into Tanjiro’s ear, making him wince.

“Koshi, not in my ear,” he groaned, as the crow flapped its wings intentionally, smacking Tanjiro’s face. He sighed — Koshi was definitely bullying him at this point.

“Message from the master!” Koshi announced.

Tanjiro perked up. Koshi turned his back towards him, allowing Tanjiro to access the capsule strapped there. He opened it and retrieved a small scroll, unrolling it carefully.

‘Give Tamayo-san my regards.’

Tanjiro’s eyes widened, then quickly shifted to a look of firm resolve. He couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across his face — this was the confirmation he had been waiting for. It was enough to give him the push and confidence he needed to move forward.

The master was, as always, profoundly wise. Tanjiro felt a flicker of shame for ever doubting him, even for a moment. He vowed to return with something that could shift the tides in the Corps’ favor — especially at this early and crucial stage.

On the way to the city, Tanjiro passed by a familiar ramen stand. He paused, reminiscing about the time he had eaten there with his sister. A faint memory surfaced — his sister nodding off to sleep as he enjoyed a warm bowl of ramen. A smile tugged at his lips, and his gaze softened.

However, the memory of encountering Muzan in that same city made him pause, his heart stirring with vindictive hatred. His expression hardened, and his grip on the hilt of his katana tightened. He thought to himself that if he ever met Muzan again in Asakusa, he feared he wouldn’t hesitate to cut the man down on the spot. Still, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that for there are civilians he has to consider. 

He made his way towards the ramen stand and smiled politely at the vendor. His eyes widened in surprise — the man looked much younger than he did when they first met. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties. ‘He has hair!’ Tanjiro exclaimed inwardly. The vendor noticed him and grinned, waving him over.

“Good-looking fella! Are you hungry? Come grab a bite!” he called out, his excitement bubbling over as if Tanjiro were his very first customer. Tanjiro sweatdropped as he approached, watching the man head inside, ready to take his order.

Tanjiro couldn’t help but laugh wryly. ‘Wow, he’s so different from before, but just as demanding,’ he thought. “Then I’ll have a bowl of yam udon, please!”

“Coming right up!” the vendor replied enthusiastically and got to work.

Tanjiro reflected that the man must be deeply dedicated to his craft — he remembered that the vendor was still selling ramen even a decade into the future, if his calculations were correct.

He decided it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy a bowl of yam udon before his mission. At least he didn’t have to eat for two anymore. That thought left a bittersweet taste lingering on his tongue.

He took his time eating, quietly savoring every bite of the udon. There was no rush — just a lingering sentimentality for the places he had once visited with his sister. When he finished, he paid the vendor, who waved him off with a warm smile. Tanjiro returned the gesture, smiling back with a soft promise to return someday. He continued down the path until he reached the entrance of the city.

Tanjiro walked through the bustling streets of Asakusa. The city was just as overwhelming as it had been the first time he arrived, but now, familiarity guided his steps. He moved with quiet confidence, his sword concealed beneath his haori, weaving effortlessly through the crowd.

Though he had been sent years into the past, the streets remained largely unchanged. Only a few unfamiliar storefronts caught his eye. ‘Perhaps new establishments were built during the Taisho era,’ he mused.

He inhaled deeply, scanning the air for any trace of demon scent. Nothing. No sign of Muzan, no lingering stench of malevolence. He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or uneasy. If demons weren’t nearby, then Tamayo and Yushiro might not be either. Still, there was a chance they were cloaked by Yushiro’s Blood Demon Art, hidden in plain sight for safety.

Tanjiro continued walking calmly, his long burgundy hair swaying in the cold night breeze, his Hanafuda earrings chiming softly with each step. Suddenly, a scent stopped him in his tracks.

It was familiar — but unlike the usual acrid, rotting odor of demons, this one was gentle. Fragrant. Peaceful.

‘Flowers?’ he thought, puzzled.

Before he could react further, a small, smooth hand gripped his wrist tightly, halting him mid-step.

Startled, he spun around. His eyes widened, breath catching as he recognized the figure before him.

The woman wore a dark purple hōmongi kimono, adorned with vivid red flowers and cinched with a cream-colored obi. Her bluish-purple eyes shimmered — not just with recognition, but with desperation. A haunting mix of yearning and grief flickered in her gaze.

Thundering footsteps echoed behind her. A man with mint green hair skidded to a stop beside her, his expression twisted in confusion and concern. His hands hovered protectively around her, eyes narrowing at Tanjiro.

“Tamayo-san! Why did you run off like that?!” he exclaimed, glaring at Tanjiro with distrust.

Tanjiro’s breath hitched.

There they were. The very people he had been searching for. They looked exactly as they had when he first met them — and just as they had before Muzan absorbed Tamayo.

The ones he owed everything to.

‘Tamayo-san… Yushiro-san…’ he thought, heart pounding.

Tanjiro’s eyes burned as he fought back tears. How deeply he had missed them. He turned fully towards Tamayo, who slowly released his wrist, her touch lingering. Confusion swirled within him. ‘Why did she look at me as though she knew me?’ He thought.

‘Was she also brought back to the past?’ he wondered, hope rising in his chest. If Tamayo had returned too, they could begin their mission anew — strike Muzan early, prevent the bloodshed, and save lives. But that hope faltered as he caught the scent wafting from her: embarrassment tinged with grief.

Tamayo’s eyes welled with tears. She dabbed them gently with a handkerchief. Her crestfallen expression made Tanjiro frown in worry.

Yushiro’s jaw dropped. He pointed at Tanjiro with a furious glare.

“You cretin! What did you do to Tamayo-san?!” he shouted, voice sharp and protective.

Tamayo turned to him with a disapproving glance. Yushiro stiffened, posture rigid, and looked away as if scolded without words.

“Yushiro,” she said softly.

“I… I’m sorry,” he muttered, subdued.

Tamayo returned her gaze to Tanjiro and bowed deeply, her voice low and trembling. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I… mistook you for someone. A dear friend from long ago.”

She offered a sad smile, her lips pressing together in quiet embarrassment. The air between them hung heavy.

Even after years of living among humans, Tamayo still struggled to grasp the fleeting nature of their lives — their sense of time, their aging, their mortality. There was no way the young man standing before her could be the same one who had saved her centuries ago.

Yet when she first saw his silhouette from afar — his red haori fluttering in the wind, long burgundy hair tied into a ponytail, and those unmistakable Hanafuda earrings swaying gently — her heart had leapt.

Without thinking, she ran towards him. Towards the man she had never properly thanked. The man who had seen her not as a demon, but as a person. Who had given her hope, dignity, and the strength to fight. The man to whom she owed her freedom.

Tsugikuni Yoriichi.

But as she drew closer, her breath caught in her throat. The hope that had surged within her began to crumble. The man before her was younger — his face softer, his aura different. And yet, the resemblance was uncanny.

The same long burgundy hair. The same scar etched across his forehead. The same piercing red eyes. And most haunting of all, the exact same earrings Yoriichi had worn.

It was as if she were staring at Yoriichi’s echo — familiar, yet undeniably different.

Tamayo’s thoughts spiraled. ‘Did Yoriichi have descendants?’ She had never known. Their encounters had been rare, fleeting. Even after he left the Demon Slayer Corps. Even in his final moments, she had not been there.

For hundreds of years, she had honored his legacy with unwavering devotion. She poured herself into her research, her studies, her mission. Every step she took was in pursuit of the goal he had once carried alone: the destruction of Kibutsuji Muzan.

She didn’t care how long it would take. She had all the time in the world. And she would use every moment to finish what he started.

As the years passed and eras shifted, Tamayo’s research had begun to stagnate. There was no progress at all.

Despite her tireless efforts and Yushiro’s unwavering support, their limitations — especially their inability to walk under the sunlight — kept them from advancing in their research. She tried not to lose hope, but the goal she had chased for centuries now felt farther than ever.

Yet, standing before this young man, something stirred within her. A flicker of possibility. ‘Could he be a descendant?’ she thought.

There was a chance — however slim — that he might be Yoriichi’s descendant. Tamayo’s heart clung to that hope. This was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to let slip away. 

She glanced at Yushiro, exchanging a silent conversation with him. His eyes widened in realization, and though reluctant, he stepped aside — still close, still protective, but no longer a barrier between them.

Tanjiro blinked, watching her with quiet curiosity. It was clear she didn’t recognize him as himself. She saw someone else in him. And though he didn’t know who that person was, he sensed the weight of her emotions. Still, he didn’t pry. Instead, he offered her a warm, understanding smile.

“It’s alright, Miss,” he said gently. “I do look pretty ordinary. Maybe I reminded you of someone.”

He chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. The Kamado bloodline had spread wide over generations, diluted and scattered as family members married and branched out. Tanjiro often wondered how many distant cousins he might have across Japan — faces he’d never know, names he’d never hear.

Tamayo couldn’t help but shake her head. Tanjiro blinked, confused, as she stared at him with unwavering certainty in her eyes.

“No one bears such a deep resemblance to that man like you… except himself and…” Her voice trailed off, her gaze drifting to the Nichirin blade resting at Tanjiro’s waist. A knowing smile tugged at her lips as she locked eyes with him.

“…Upper Moon One,” she finished.

Tanjiro’s eyes widened; alarm flashing across his face. The mention of Upper Moon One stirred memories — fragments of information passed down by the crows during the final battle. He had learned that Upper Moon One was none other than the original creator of Breathing Styles: Tsugikuni Yoriichi’s twin brother. Two souls born of the same blood, yet destined to walk opposing paths. Sun and Moon. Human and Demon.

But what truly unsettled him was Tamayo’s certainty. She had seen Yoriichi in him.

Tanjiro’s thoughts raced. His family had always been humble charcoal sellers. Even when he had examined the Kamado family’s oldest records, there was no mention of swordsmen — no trace of warriors or Breathing Styles. His lineage was simple, unremarkable. There was no way he could be related to Yoriichi… was there?

And yet, Tamayo’s words lingered. Her gaze, her conviction — it planted a seed of doubt. 

Perhaps his family simply didn’t know. But Tanjiro wanted to understand the history of his father’s bloodline — truly understand it. There was a growing sense within him that something had been deliberately hidden, erased from the records. Whether for protection or for reasons lost to time, the truth felt buried beneath layers of silence.

Tanjiro’s heart stirred with quiet resolve. If there was even a fragment of truth to Tamayo’s words, he would find it. He would uncover the story behind his father’s bloodline — no matter how deeply it had been buried.

Tamayo offered Tanjiro a warm smile as her eyes swept across the bustling streets of Asakusa. “This isn’t a conversation meant for a place like this,” she said gently, extending her hand towards him in a quiet invitation.

Tanjiro met her gaze, his eyes reflecting the same intensity and hope that stirred within her — as if this moment marked the beginning of a shift that could alter the course of the future.

He nodded silently.

Without another word, Tamayo turned and began walking, Yushiro close beside her. Though he kept a protective distance, his steps were no longer defensive. The trio moved away from the crowded streets, slipping into the quieter alleys of Asakusa, far from prying eyes and curious ears.

If he had been any ordinary slayer, he would have lost Yushiro and Tamayo in the endless maze of twisting alleys they passed through. But Tanjiro kept up without issue, moving from wall to wall as if he were a spirit himself. Yushiro glanced left and right, checking that the coast was clear — just as he had done before. Tamayo followed calmly behind, while Tanjiro stayed close on their trail.

After a while, they reached a dead end. Tanjiro noticed that the entrance to the courtyard was different from the one they had used previously. He suspected they changed it from time to time to avoid being tracked. Still, he was relieved — they were still in Asakusa. That alone brought him comfort.

Tanjiro watched as Yushiro and Tamayo passed through a wooden fence wall. He followed, stepping through the barrier, and was met with the sight of a large, familiar house. It was the same place where he had first met the two. He paused, slightly awestruck. He hadn’t taken a good look around before, but now he noticed how well the house had been cared for over the years.

Due to his gaping, Tanjiro didn’t notice that Tamayo had already gone inside, and Yushiro was calling out to him from the doorway.

“Stop gawking like a child and come inside,” Yushiro huffed, making Tanjiro sweatdrop as he walked towards him.

“Listen, don’t be rude when you’re talking to my master,” Yushiro said calmly.

He glanced around to make sure Tamayo wasn’t within earshot before suddenly barreling towards Tanjiro, his face twisted into a snarl, lips curled back to reveal clenched teeth. Tanjiro froze, his stance faltering as Yushiro leaned in close.

“I don’t care if you’re dead or alive, but she insisted on bringing you along to talk. I don’t trust you, and I won’t hesitate to turn you into demon food if you make one wrong move!” Yushiro’s brows furrowed so deeply they cast shadows over his eyes, which gleamed with feral intensity.

Tanjiro sweatdropped and waved his hands nervously to ease the tension. “Y-Yeah, don’t worry,” he stuttered.

Yushiro leaned back with a huff, opened the door, and promptly closed it in Tanjiro’s face, causing his nose to bump into the wooden surface.

‘Yushiro-san, how petty can you be?!’ Tanjiro cried out internally as he opened the door and followed Yushiro inside.

Yushiro was definitely not being petty about Tamayo-san bringing this man over. And he was certainly not jealous. He just didn’t like having new people around — simple as that. He was selectively hospitable, thank you very much!

Tanjiro and Yushiro walked down the halls of what looked like a clinic, lined with numerous pieces of medical equipment and materials. Tanjiro could smell a faint hint of antiseptic in the air.

Yushiro knocked on the door, and a faint, muffled voice echoed from inside. “Come in,” Tamayo called out.

Yushiro opened the door to Tamayo’s study. She was already seated at her desk, a half-written letter lying untouched before her.

Tanjiro looked around the room. Various old books and scrolls were stored neatly on the bookshelves, though some were scattered across the desk and floor — opened and unfinished. ‘It seems Tamayo-san has never stopped researching how to turn demons back into humans,’ he thought, smiling softly.

He knew that Tamayo’s research and antidote, alongside Shinobu’s efforts, had played a major role in weakening Muzan during the final battle. Yet his heart clenched in dismay. It hadn’t been enough — they were nowhere near victory when he was transported away.

He wondered if time had stopped in that world while he was here. He couldn’t help but feel impatient and worried about how his absence might affect the world he came from. Or if there was even a way back.

He shook off the thoughts as they approached Tamayo. She turned to greet them and smiled.

“Welcome to our humble abode. I hope you don’t mind the mess,” she said softly.

Tanjiro shook his head and mirrored her smile. “Not at all.”

A brief silence filled the air as Tamayo shifted in her seat, as if contemplating something. Yushiro, on the other hand, looked ready to attack and restrain Tanjiro if he made a single wrong move.

Tanjiro wanted to appear trustworthy. He wondered how he could earn their confidence quickly, like before. After a moment of thought, he spoke — hoping to ease their concerns.

“You run a clinic. It must be challenging, but it’s amazing how devoted you are to your work,” he said, smiling gently at Tamayo.

Her eyes widened at his words. As if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders, she relaxed.

“You are aware that we are demons,” she stated, earning a nod from Tanjiro.

Tanjiro’s arms hung loosely at his sides, deliberately kept away from his blade to show he came in peace. In his peripheral vision, Yushiro seemed to relax and stepped farther away. He smiled to himself.

“I could tell the moment I met you,” he confirmed — just before coughing as Yushiro swung his fist and struck him in the chest. Tanjiro doubled over, clutching his ribs.

“Are you saying Tamayo-san looks hideous?!” Yushiro raged, glaring at him.

Tanjiro raised his arms in mock surrender, trying to ease the tension.

Tamayo frowned and stood abruptly. 

“Yushiro, be nice to our guest. Why must you treat him so roughly?” she scolded gently, though her tone was firm.

Yushiro ducked his head, gritting his teeth.

Tamayo sighed and placed a hand over her chest. “I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Tamayo. That boy is Yushiro. I hope you two get along,” she said, introducing them.

Yushiro trembled with suppressed irritation, snarling quietly at Tanjiro, who sweatdropped.

‘Whatever I do, I’m hated by Yushiro-san! How are we supposed to get along this early?’ Tanjiro cried out in his mind as he watched Yushiro restrain himself from strangling him on the spot.

Tanjiro bowed and introduced himself. “I’m Tanjiro. I’m part of the Demon Slayer Corps,” he said.

Tamayo nodded. “I can see that. I recognize your uniform,” she replied. 

‘Despite wearing different clothing, you still resemble him from every angle,’ she thought as she observed Tanjiro. She wondered if he had already met Muzan. She would bet her life that Muzan would lose his mind.

“Like you mentioned, I do treat humans despite being a demon,” she said, her eyes lingering on the medical records scattered across her desk. 

“It’s not difficult for me. I believe I’m gentler than the average demon. That’s because I’ve extensively modified my body,” she explained, examining herself. “I freed myself from Kibutsuji’s curse,” she finished.

Tanjiro knew all of this, having met Tamayo and Yushiro before with his sister. Still, he couldn’t help but feel sad that they had to prove themselves again. But considering this was technically their first meeting in this timeline, he didn’t want to overwhelm them with questions.

“I assume that if you’re no longer under his influence, you were able to regain your humanity,” Tanjiro stated.

Tamayo nodded. “That’s right. In addition to regaining our humanity, we’ve learned to survive without consuming humans. All we need is just a small amount of human blood,” she explained softly.

She watched Tanjiro from beneath her lashes, but he didn’t seem disturbed — only understanding, as if it were expected. Tamayo couldn’t tell if he was simply kind or skilled at hiding his emotions and intentions.

“You must be feeling a bit disturbed. Rest assured, we buy blood from cash-strapped individuals under the guise of transfusions. Of course, never to the point that it affects their health,” she added quickly. The last thing she wanted was to plant a seed of doubt in the slayer’s mind.

Tanjiro merely shook his head and met her gaze. “Whatever way you’ve found to regulate yourself and survive — so long as it doesn’t harm humans or cause destruction — is fine. Even if it means sleeping for years instead of eating humans,” he said with a bittersweet chuckle.

Tamayo and Yushiro couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe and warmth at Tanjiro’s unwavering compassion and understanding of their circumstances and beliefs.

“Why are you so trusting of us?” Yushiro gritted out, glaring at Tanjiro.

Tamayo shot him a reprimanding look, but Tanjiro didn’t flinch at the hostility.

“I have a feeling that Yushiro-san and Tamayo-san are good people. You devote yourselves to treating humans despite being demons — even finding a way to alter your bodies so you no longer crave human flesh and can survive…” he trailed off and smiled. 

‘Diving into research to turn demons back into humans… Aiding in Muzan’s defeat…’ he continued in his mind, deciding it wasn’t yet time to reveal everything.

“And I think that’s enough reason to believe in you,” he said, his gaze meeting Tamayo’s eyes — glistening with unshed tears.

For years, for decades, or perhaps for as long as she had lived, Tamayo’s greatest hatred — aside from Muzan — was her identity as a demon.

Despite her nature, Tamayo had long rejected her demonic identity and worked tirelessly to reclaim her humanity. Tricked by Muzan into becoming a demon, all she had ever wanted was to atone for her sins. She would do anything to make up for them. That desire became her obsession: saving human lives without expecting anything in return. Her life had been devoted to Muzan’s destruction.

And now, to be recognized for her efforts, her duty, and to be seen as human despite the skin she so desperately wished to shed — Tamayo couldn’t help but sob. It was a moment of profound validation and hope filling her chest.

Tanjiro jolted, panicking as he waved his arms in the air at the sight of Tamayo crying. 

‘W-Wha! I didn’t mean to upset her! What should I do…?!’ he thought frantically.

Yushiro could only gape — at the sobbing Tamayo in front of him, and at Tanjiro, who had somehow caused it.

“You cretin! This is the second time you’ve made Tamayo-san cry!” Yushiro screeched, jabbing Tanjiro’s chest painfully as he doubled over with each hit.

Yushiro furrowed his brows in anger, unsure if he’d heard him right. ‘Faith? In him? In Tamayo-san?’ he thought, scowling.

He knew that affiliating with the Demon Slayer Corps would eventually lead to their downfall — Tamayo’s downfall. Humans were selfish by nature, always choosing self-preservation. If things went awry, only he could be relied upon to protect Tamayo.

Humans — especially demon slayers — couldn’t be trusted. Their swords could be just inches from your neck the moment you turned your back. And yet, Yushiro couldn’t help but feel at peace around this man. The entire time he’d been observing him, Tanjiro had been genuine, sincere. He looked like he was hiding something — but so were they.

Yushiro couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. Maybe he was different. Maybe he could be of assistance to Tamayo, especially since their ability to advance their research was limited by their inability to go out during the day or travel far from home.

He gritted his teeth, feeling betrayed by his own instincts. He shouldn’t trust a slayer they’d just met — especially one who was spewing such idealistic nonsense.

Tamayo dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and scowled softly at Yushiro. “Yushiro, I will punish you if you keep hitting him,” she threatened.

Yushiro straightened up immediately. “Understood!” he replied, his eyes sparkling. 

‘Tamayo-san is so beautiful when she’s angry! She cries beautifully too!’ he thought, determined to etch the memory into his mind.

Tamayo shook her head and turned towards Tanjiro with a soft smile. “You just met us, and yet you believed in us,” she said.

Tanjiro returned her gaze with a knowing smile and a look of quiet understanding.

“I believe in what people choose to become, not what they were made to be,” he said.

Tamayo froze, her eyes widening at the familiar words.

“I believe in what people choose to become, not what they were made to be.”

For a moment, Tamayo felt as if she were back in time — sitting on the porch of her humble clinic, a man with long burgundy hair fluttering in the wind seated in front of her. She blinked and met Tanjiro’s burgundy eyes, so much like the man from her memories.

She couldn’t help but feel drawn to Tanjiro, as if she’d known him for a long time.

“I feel like I’ve known you for a long time, Tanjiro-san,” she said.

Tanjiro perked up and smiled. “Perhaps we used to be friends in another life.”

Yushiro kicked him.

“Are you flirting with her?! Where are your manners?!” he screeched, kicking him repeatedly.

“Yushiro.” Yushiro immediately stood up straight at her tone. “I merely nudged him, Tamayo-san!” he defended himself, earning a sigh from Tamayo.

Tanjiro slowly stood up, rubbing his aching legs. He wondered if Yushiro’s love language was physical violence — because he’d certainly been violent with him today.

Then Tanjiro remembered why he had come to seek out Tamayo. He turned to her with a serious expression. “Tamayo-san, I have a favor to ask.”

Tamayo and Yushiro looked at him curiously.

“Do you know about the legend of a flower that can heal any illness if prepared properly?” he asked, noticing how Tamayo perked up at the familiar topic. Yushiro straightened at the question.

“Yes. I assume you’re talking about the blue spider lily,” Tamayo said, and Tanjiro nodded.

“The blue spider lily has long been rumored to be either mythical or real. No one has ever recorded seeing one in history — it’s incredibly hard to find,” Tanjiro explained.

Tamayo walked over to a shelf and pulled out a worn book, flipping it open. She returned to Tanjiro and showed him a sketch of what she believed the flower looked like — similar to a red spider lily, but blue.

“The blue spider lily is said to cure any illness or wound. Its potency is so strong that its healing success rate is estimated at 95%. However, there’s no evidence to support that claim, as no one in recorded history has ever used the flower medicinally,” she said before snapping the book shut.

“Except for one,” she added, and Tanjiro whipped his head towards her in curiosity.

“Who was it?” he asked.

“During my time as Muzan’s subordinate, I discovered that the blue spider lily was the key component in the treatment that made Muzan what he is today. The treatment wasn’t completed properly, which is what turned him into the powerful creature he became,” she explained, flipping the book open again and stopping at a page detailing the flower’s attributes.

“While it’s potentially great for humans, it’s also highly beneficial for demons. And it’s dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands. If consumed, the flower could be the key to making demons immune to sunlight — though that’s only a hypothesis,” she continued.

“As a result, Muzan has been desperately searching for the flower for years, but has been unsuccessful so far — because it’s incredibly hard to find,” Tamayo finished, and Tanjiro nodded in confirmation.

“The flower only blooms during the day, once a year; sometimes, it’s not guaranteed, and only for a few hours. When not in bloom, it resembles a common herb, camouflaging itself among other plants,” Tanjiro added, fully aware of the blue spider lily’s elusive nature.

Tamayo was amazed at how well-informed Tanjiro was on the subject.

“That’s right. That’s why no one knows exactly where it is — or if it’s even real,” Tamayo confirmed, placing the book down.

Silence fell over them as the weight of the information settled in. It seemed all hope was lost, as Tamayo had no leads on the flower’s location. But Tanjiro thought differently.

He would do anything to save Ruka and create something that could aid the Corps in the future. Determination painted his face as he looked at Tamayo.

“Do you know how to perform the blue spider lily treatment?” he asked.

Tamayo paused, then nodded. “I may have an idea after researching it for so long, but I wouldn’t be able to say for certain — I’ve never handled the flower directly,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“That’s okay,” Tanjiro replied, walking towards the desk. He flipped the book and stopped at the page where the blue spider lily was illustrated.

“I know where the blue spider lily blooms. And we’re in luck — it’s set to bloom in a few days.”

It was that time of year again, when the breeze turned cool as autumn approached. Tanjiro was no older than seven when his mother gently woke him from sleep. He rubbed his eyes, blinking up at her soft gaze.

“Mama, is it time?” he asked, prompting his mother to nod with a gentle smile.

“That’s right. Unless you want to miss it, you need to get dressed,” she chuckled.

Tanjiro beamed and jumped up immediately, grabbing his green checkered haori.

“Is Dad coming along?” he asked.

His mother shook her head. “Not today. Your father needs to rest,” she said, and Tanjiro nodded in understanding.

After dressing properly, he stepped outside their house and found his mother waiting on the porch. He ran towards her, grasping her hand, which she held firmly. Together, they began ascending the mountain trail.

For as long as he could remember, every year without fail, they watched the majestic event of the blue spider lilies blooming. The flowers would bloom only during the day, precisely at 5 AM, lasting for just 2–3 hours before fading. 

The next bloom would come the following year, on the same day and time — unless it skipped a year, which made it nearly impossible to predict.

That’s why, every year, the Kamado family would venture up the mountain, just a few minutes walk from their home, to a secluded little garden and a quiet hut.

They finally reached the secluded garden and pushed the hanging vines aside. Years of untouched wilderness had allowed overgrown greenery to cover the place. 

As they walked down the path, a little hut came into view. Over the years, the Kamado family members had tried to maintain it, but time had taken its toll. Still, it stood — weathered but proud — even after hundreds of years.

The surroundings were lush with greenery, but there was no sign of any flowers. Tanjiro’s excitement dimmed. They hadn’t seen the flowers bloom last year, and he had hoped to witness them this time. He sat down on his mother’s lap as they settled on the abandoned hut’s engawa, waiting for any sign of the blooms. But an hour passed, and nothing happened. Tanjiro began to lose hope.

His mother merely smiled. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry — we still have next year. And the year after that,” she said, caressing his hair affectionately.

“But that’s too long. How long do I have to wait?” he asked, a frown tugging at his lips. His mother hummed softly.

“Do you know the story of the blue spider lily?” she asked. Tanjiro shook his head. His mother smiled and began to tell him.

“A long time ago, no one knew whether the blue spider lily truly existed. No one had seen it, and even if they had, there was no proof of its existence. But our ancestor loved it so deeply, she refused to believe it wasn’t real,” she began.

“She dreamed of witnessing the flower bloom — just once — to see its majestic form, even from afar,” she said, spreading her hands towards the green yard, as if imagining a field full of spider lilies.

“She grew up losing hope. Years passed, and its existence remained a mystery. But then, she met a swordsman,” her voice brightened, making Tanjiro gasp with curiosity. His mother smiled and raised her left index finger.

“They became friends, and eventually fell in love. The swordsman discovered her dream to see the blue spider lilies,” she said.

Tanjiro jumped up from her lap. “Did the swordsman discover where they grow?!” he asked excitedly, making his mother laugh.

“I’m not done yet — but we’re getting there,” she said, making Tanjiro skittish and sit right back down.

“The swordsman wasn’t much better. He didn’t know anything about the flower either. But to make his wife happy, he wandered through the quiet wilderness, searching for the elusive blue spider lily,” she said, tracing an imaginary map in the air for Tanjiro to follow.

“For years, he searched for the blue spider lily his wife loved so dearly. They had a family together, and as their children grew older, he never stopped looking,” she said, pausing her movements and booping Tanjiro on the nose. Tanjiro held his nose and giggled.

“Then finally, as if the heavens favored him, he found a field filled with fully blooming spider lilies. It covered the entire meadow in bright blue, glistening under the sun. It welcomed him with open arms.” Tanjiro gasped and cheered. His mother laughed.

“But the blue spider lily could only stay in bloom for a few hours. The once blue-filled field turned green again — dull and quiet. The bouquet in his hands withered immediately. It broke his heart that his wife wasn’t there to witness the sight,” she said, making Tanjiro’s smile fade. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. His mother leaned down, kissed his head, and continued.

“But he loved his wife so much, he built a house where the blue spider lilies bloomed. His family moved in, and from that day onward, his wife witnessed the flowers bloom every year until her last breath,” she finished, exhaling softly as she gazed down at Tanjiro, who was now smiling up at her.

“I’m so happy she got to see it finally!” he cheered, making his mother nod.

“The house we’re in right now is the one he built for her. Our ancestors tried their best to preserve it. But time is strong — there’s only so much we can do,” she said, and they both glanced around the house, noting its decaying tatami floors and run-down roof.

“This house?!” Tanjiro gasped in shock, and his mother nodded. He was in awe, realizing they were standing in a place steeped in family history — where their ancestors once lived. But he was still saddened that the flowers hadn’t bloomed again this year. Hearing about the death of his ancestor and how she wouldn’t be able to see the flowers bloom anymore made his heart ache.

“She might be sad because she won’t get to see the flowers bloom anymore,” he said quietly. His mother gave him a wry smile.

“I hope we get to see it this year — so we can watch it for her.”

Noticing his downcast expression, she booped his nose again. “If neither of our ancestors gave up, then you shouldn’t either. The blue spider lilies only bloom in the presence of those whose intentions are pure,” she said.

Just then, a movement caught her attention. She glanced behind Tanjiro, her eyes widening as a grin spread across her face.

“I told you…” she whispered, pointing at the sight in front of her and urging Tanjiro to look behind him.

“The blue spider lilies bloom in the presence of those whose intentions are pure,” she finished, just as a breeze swept across Tanjiro’s face. In the blink of an eye, the once green garden was covered in blue. The garden danced with fully bloomed blue spider lilies, the air thick with the scent of pollen and a sweet fragrance.

Tanjiro abruptly stood up and ran towards the garden, his mother following with a gentle smile. He ran around joyfully, arms raised high, his face beaming with delight.

“Mama, it bloomed!” he cheered, making his mother giggle.

Tanjiro’s heart swelled as he looked up at the sky. ‘Are you watching?’ he thought, grinning — hoping that his ancestor and her beloved husband were gazing down at them, watching the blue spider lilies dance.

Tanjiro’s eyes fluttered open, meeting the sight of a dark wooden ceiling above him. He glanced around, realizing he was lying on a futon — not in a garden. Slowly sitting up, he reached for his cheeks, surprised to feel them damp. Tears had fallen in his sleep. He blinked away the ones still clinging to his lashes.

All the talk about the blue spider lily last night had stirred something deep within him, making him dream of the flower — and of his mother. 

Tanjiro knows where the blue spider lily blooms. He remembers that for as long as the records go, the Kamado family has always had a strange obsession with blue spider lilies. He now recalls his mother telling him his favorite story whenever they went out each year, on the same day and at the same time, to witness the blooming. Turns out there was a swordsman in his family, he wondered why the records didn’t mention him.

Tanjiro sighed as he got out of bed. After refreshing himself, he got dressed and slipped on his red haori, the fabric fluttering behind his back. He grabbed his sword and secured it at his waist. He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a moment before heading out of the guest room.

With the time of the blue spider lily’s blooming fast approaching, he couldn’t afford to waste another moment. He needed to harvest it before it withered. 

At first, he had felt hopeless — wondering how he could bring the flower back in time for Tamayo to create a medicine from it. But Tamayo, who had been preparing for this moment for hundreds of years, had already researched how to preserve the flower and its petals.

Tamayo slipped on a pair of gloves and retrieved a jar from a wooden chest sitting on her shelf. She handed it over to Tanjiro. He stared at the medium-sized jar, watching the lavender liquid inside swirl and dance with every movement.

“Tamayo-san, what is this for?” he asked, examining the jar in his hands. Tamayo raised her hand, gesturing towards it.

“That is a jar of distilled wisteria root extract. It acts as a stabilizer, and after years of testing, I’ve found that it prevents cellular decay,” she explained, as she grabbed a clear case from the shelf. Inside was a flower head resting on a wooden base, glistening under the light as if freshly picked.

“I collected this flower eight months ago. Without a stem or nutrients, it would normally have withered. But it remains fresh even now. Though it’s not perfect — it’s beginning to show signs of decay,” she said, setting the case aside.

“But wisteria is known to be poisonous to humans,” Tanjiro countered. Tamayo nodded.

“The blue spider lily, being a medicinal plant, has antioxidant properties that can neutralize poisons and toxic substances. When mixed together, it will eliminate the wisteria’s toxicity,” she explained.

Tanjiro gazed at her in awe. To think she had researched so deeply — even down to how to preserve the flower, knowing its limited blooming time.

He smiled to himself with pride. ‘Tamayo-san is so smart. She’s truly devoted to her work — and to Muzan’s destruction,’ he thought, a sudden wave of determination filling his heart. He would be of use to her, no matter what it took, even if it meant putting an end to the havoc of demons and the reign of Muzan.

However, the thought of returning to his hometown made Tanjiro slow his steps, as if he didn’t want to leave just yet. He hadn’t been back in years — ever since...

He paused. Ever since his family died.

Setting foot in the village where he once grew up, meeting familiar faces, and eventually confronting memories of his family would surely break him. He didn’t know what would happen if he saw them again. He didn’t want to put himself at risk, nor defy the Master’s warning. But he knew the only way to save Ruka was to face the hurdle standing before him.

He had a choice: turn a blind eye to Ruka’s situation and lose a rare opportunity that could change the course of medical history — research that might one day aid the Demon Slayer Corps. 

Something so potent it could heal any illness or wound, and even make demons immune to sunlight. And he couldn’t help but hold onto a childish hope in his heart: if it could bring good to Muzan, then surely it could bring good to the Master and the curse that had plagued the Ubuyashiki family for generations.

Or he could follow his selfish desire to avoid the past that haunts him, just so he wouldn’t have to suffer the guilt and consequences of his own weakness.

He felt foolish for even debating it — because deep down, he already knew the answer. He had been brought back for a reason, and he would see it through to the end.

Tanjiro continued walking down the hall towards the basement, where Tamayo’s and Yushiro’s rooms were located. He rounded the corner and saw them waiting at the foot of the staircase, sunlight beginning to stream through the windows of the house. He smiled at the sight of them.

“Tamayo-san, Yushiro-san,” he called out, and they perked up. Tamayo smiled softly at his form. He looked determined and unfazed, but if she looked closely, she could see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. She walked towards him, Yushiro following behind.

Tamayo reached out and gently took Tanjiro’s hands, prompting Yushiro to double over and glare at Tanjiro from behind her.

“Thank you for doing this, Tanjiro. This will surely shift the tides in our favor and become a breakthrough for the Corps,” she said, squeezing his hands tightly, as if reassuring herself. Tanjiro placed his hands over hers and smiled reassuringly.

“Thank you for trusting me with this, Tamayo-san. I may be weak and unable to do anything alone without relying on others, but I swear I’ll bring back the flower,” he vowed, making Tamayo smile gently in return.

Tanjiro chose to ignore the boy behind her, who was now threatening to claw his throat — his long fingernails slicing the air in a dramatic gesture. Tamayo glanced at him, prompting Yushiro to straighten up and look away, flustered.

Tanjiro chuckled at their antics and made his way towards the stairs, ready to leave, when Yushiro called out to him.

“Tanjiro.”

Tanjiro paused, confused, and turned to look back. Yushiro wasn’t facing him — his back turned, fists clenched as if in deep thought. Silence filled the air briefly. Tamayo merely smiled from the sidelines.

“You’re not weak. You’re stronger than you think you are. Don’t sell yourself short,” Yushiro said, and Tanjiro’s eyes widened.

His heart warmed. Hearing that from Yushiro felt like an honor — worth more than a hundred praises. He beamed and flashed them a warm smile.

“I’ll hold onto that, Yushiro-san. Thank you.”

“Now leave before I turn you into demon food, you cretin! I hope you fall into a ditch and die and—”

“Yushiro!”

“I’m merely wishing him good luck!”

“You are certainly not.”

Tamayo watched as the man disappeared at the top of the stairs, fading from sight. His back looked so familiar — like she was watching an old friend leave for the last time, never to return, never to be heard from again.

She crushed the fear worming its way into her heart, the fear that this might be the last time she would see Tanjiro. But she steeled herself. With a quiet sigh, she turned and walked back to her room, prompting Yushiro to follow.

She couldn’t allow herself to idle. There was still research to conduct… and a letter to write.

‘Tanjiro-san. I hope it blooms for you.’

Tanjiro exited through the same dead end they had entered the night before, his body passing effortlessly through the wooden fence. Even now, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at Yushiro’s Blood Demon Art. He flexed his palm before clenching it, as if to steady himself.

He was doing it. He was finally heading towards his hometown to witness the blooming of the blue spider lily. He knew what awaited him there — and the risks that came with it. The blooming of the blue spider lily meant that his family, perhaps even his mother and his younger self, would be present to witness it.

Tanjiro suddenly felt a wave of reluctance, knowing that the two would be present throughout the entire blooming period. He wasn’t sure if he would have enough time to harvest the lilies. All he could do was pray that he arrived before them — but deep down, he knew that was unlikely. They were always punctual, often arriving even earlier than expected.

He knew he had to be careful if his plan with Tamayo was to succeed. If it failed, it would mean Ruka’s death — and he couldn’t accept that. He didn’t want Shinjuro to fall into despair, nor did he want the two children to carry the weight of trauma and responsibility at such a young age. He remembered how he had been forced to grow up too quickly, barely thirteen and already burdened with the world.

He wanted to change their fates. But Oyakata-sama’s words echoed in his mind.

“Be mindful, Tanjiro. You walk through borrowed time, where each step may shift the threads of fate. You are not only fighting demons… you are fighting against history. One misstep, and you may vanish — like a breath never drawn.”

He didn’t know what the Master meant by consequences. So far, he had changed the fates of two people — altering the past, allowing the dead to live, and preventing accidents from ever happening. It all felt too good to be true. And yet, nothing terrible had happened to him. Nothing, except his encounter with Muzan and the brutal fight that ended with him waking up at the temple with Gyomei and the children.

He figured he’d worry about it later. ‘I have a flower blooming to catch up to,’ Tanjiro thought as he began walking eastward.

A sudden caw echoed through the sky, making Tanjiro perk up. It was Koshi. He blinked in surprise — Koshi hadn’t accompanied him on this mission. ‘Why is he here?’ Tanjiro wondered, smiling as he outstretched his arm for the crow to land.

But Koshi didn’t land. Instead, he barreled into Tanjiro’s shoulder, pecking at his cheek and tugging at his clothes, as if trying to pull him away from the direction he was headed.

Tanjiro stared at the panicked crow, concern rising.

“What’s wrong, Koshi? Did something happen to the Master?” he asked urgently.

The crow flapped his wings furiously, tugging harder on Tanjiro’s haori, clearly distressed.

“Stop! Stop! Don’t go Southeast! Don’t go Southeast!” Koshi cawed, flying in front of Tanjiro to block his path. Tanjiro blinked in confusion. This was the first time he had seen Koshi so panicked.

“Why? What’s wrong in Southeast?” he asked carefully.

Koshi finally perched on Tanjiro’s arm and screeched, “You dimwit! Are you planning something the Master isn’t aware of? Mind you, the Master warned you — don’t do anything reckless!”

The crow pecked Tanjiro’s cheek sharply, making him yelp in pain.

Tanjiro gently hovered his hand near Koshi’s beak. “I know that. I sent a letter to the Master before leaving. I’ll be careful! This will be beneficial to the future of the Corps.” he explained, wincing as Koshi pecked his hand in response. Koshi ignored his explanations.

“Kamado Tanjiro! I was sent here by the Master. Heed his message,” Koshi announced, prompting Tanjiro to straighten up, curious and tense.

“Do not go, Tanjiro. One mistake… and it will cost you your future,” Koshi said, his voice serious and cold as he relayed the Master’s warning.

Tanjiro gulped and steeled his gaze. He had known the risks even before seeking out Tamayo and Yushiro. But now, there was no turning back.

This was a battle between fate and choice — between what was meant to be and what could still be changed.

“There are things you can change… and things that were never yours to touch,” Koshi continued, his black eyes staring straight into Tanjiro’s soul, hoping the warning would sink in. But judging by Tanjiro’s expression, it didn’t seem to be working.

“Choose carefully, or fate will choose for you,” he finished, his voice grave.

Tanjiro gazed at the ground in quiet contemplation.

The thought of Ruka dying and the Rengoku family falling apart weighed heavily on him. Especially when he knew there were ways to prevent it — to steer them away from the path of misery.

But the Master’s repeated warnings, and Koshi’s desperation, made him wonder. If he defied the Master now, would the consequences be far greater than anything he had faced before?

He couldn’t help but feel baffled. This was the first time Oyakata-sama had opposed him so strongly. He had already changed the fates of the Shinazugawa family, Gyomei, and the children — and the Master hadn’t said a word. Why was he so adamant now?

Tanjiro smiled gently at Koshi and patted the top of his head with a finger. “Thank you for relaying the Master’s message. But please tell him not to worry. I’ll be careful… and I’ll come back soon,” he said reassuringly.

Koshi stared at him in shock before flying onto Tanjiro’s head, tugging at his hair with his beak.

Tanjiro yelped, trying to shoo him away. “Koshi! Stop pulling my hair!”

‘The audacity of this boy! To defy the Master!’ Koshi thought, his beak clenched around a lock of Tanjiro’s hair, glaring at him with righteous fury.

He wouldn’t deny that he was worried about the boy — and also frustrated with his thick-headed determination. He knew that even if the Master tried to stop him, once Tanjiro set his sights on a goal, he would do anything to reach it. Especially if it was for the people he loved. Tanjiro didn’t care about the consequences.

The Master had always believed that if Tanjiro refused to consider the risks that might befall him, then he would do it for him — constantly reminding him, constantly backing him up. After all, Tanjiro had been fighting alone from the moment he arrived.

But Koshi knew the Master understood that Tanjiro couldn’t be persuaded.

“I’m sorry, Koshi. I must do this. I can’t explain why right now, but I promise this will help the Corps — and the Master — more than you know. Please believe in me. I hope the Master believes in me too. I’m sorry for being selfish,” Tanjiro pleaded, his eyes glistening with worry and determination.

Koshi fell silent. It wasn’t that he or the Master didn’t believe in Tanjiro. In truth, Tanjiro had been selfless from the beginning — and that was what worried the Master most.

Koshi tilted his head, observing the boy. He recalled the Master’s request.

“Koshi, if Tanjiro refuses to heed my warnings, will you accompany him until he returns safely?” Kagaya had asked, gently stroking the crow’s head as Koshi leaned into his touch.

“That troublemaker dares to defy the Master! Whatever’s coming to him, he has it coming!” Koshi had huffed, flapping his wings in indignation, making the Master laugh softly.

Kagaya hadn’t responded — because he knew Koshi, his crow who had never been honest about his feelings, would never forsake the boy he had grown fond of.

Now, Koshi was quiet for a moment before flying from Tanjiro’s arm to perch on his shoulder. He cawed sharply.

“Make haste! Southeast, southeast! If you don’t run now, you’ll be far too late!” he cried.

Tanjiro smiled wide in gratitude. With newfound resolve, he sprinted towards the southeast — towards his hometown. The place where everything began… and where everything ended.

Welcome to “Whispers to Tomorrow” Wiki! ☆

The Blue Spider Lily

 Aoi Higanbana

The blue spider lily is a mysterious flower said to possess miraculous healing properties capable of curing any illness or wound — if prepared with utmost precision. Its potency is so extraordinary that only a minuscule dose is required for complete recovery. However, the legend warns that improper preparation can lead to severe side effects that were not expounded — or even death.

The only known record of its use dates back to the Heian Period, attributed to a mysterious doctor whose identity remains unverified. Tragically, both the physician and the treatment records vanished, leaving behind only whispers of their existence. To this day, no one has confirmed whether the doctor — or the flower — was ever real, and thus the blue spider lily remains a mythical enigma.

According to ancient records, the flower blooms just once a year, which isn’t guaranteed, for a fleeting 2 to 3 hours during daylight. Outside of this brief window, it disguises itself as a horsetail plant, blending seamlessly with its surroundings and becoming nearly impossible to identify. Only those blessed with extraordinary luck might stumble upon it in full bloom since the flower doesn’t always bloom.

The flower’s secrets were said to be passed down through generations of the Kamado family, who guarded its location and lore with unwavering devotion. Yet over time, the knowledge faded, lost to history. What remains today is a rumor — a whisper of an elusive bloom with divine healing powers, and a hidden place protected by the Kamado bloodline.

Chapter Text

The village was bustling with life. Various stores were open, each offering delicious street food and echoing with cheerful chatter. People filled the streets, moving in and out of establishments, and Tanjiro couldn’t help but be in awe of how lively the village was during this time of the day.

He stood at the entrance, taking in the scene before him. A warm feeling spread through his chest as the familiar sounds of the village reached his ears and the comforting scent of home filled his nose. He adjusted the cloak draped over his body and head, making sure none of his features were visible — he didn’t want to be recognized.

The Kamado family had lived in this village for generations, and many locals would likely remember their distinct traits. Based on what Tanjiro knew about his family tree, at least one child in each generation bore the signature burgundy hair and eyes that ran through their bloodline.

Koshi was perched securely on his shoulder, observing the new environment with keen interest. Tanjiro took a deep breath and steeled himself as he began walking down the familiar streets of his hometown.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed people casting him a mix of suspicious and curious glances. He couldn’t blame them — he did look unusual, cloaked from head to toe with a crow perched on his shoulder. He probably resembled a death god.

Shaking off their gazes, he continued towards the mountains. Along the way, he saw familiar faces — people who used to buy charcoal from his family. A soft smile tugged at his lips. He missed them. He missed selling charcoal. He missed walking this path.

He continued walking when he saw a familiar woman in a purple and cream-colored checkered kimono. His breath hitched, and for a moment, the world around him faded into silence.

The figure before him was impossibly familiar: the gentle eyes, the quiet strength in her posture, the warmth that once made Tanjiro feel safe as a child.

Grief and longing mixed with joy and surprise. Tanjiro’s heart felt heavy with all the pain and memories he had kept inside for years. Seeing his mother again — someone he had missed so deeply — was like a dream come true. Tears filled his eyes, not just from sadness, but from the overwhelming feeling of being reunited with someone he thought he’d lost forever.

Tanjiro’s lips trembled. He wanted to speak, to run forward, to embrace the woman who had shaped so much of who he was. But all he could do was stand there, frozen. The weight of Koshi on his shoulder became a reminder of the master’s warning.

He watched as a familiar child in a green checkered haori ran up to her, hugging her waist.

The woman turned to speak to the child, a soft smile on her face — the smile he missed the most. The smile he thought he’d never see again.

There stood Tanjiro’s mother, Kamado Kie.

Tanjiro’s heart ached. His mother looked just as beautiful as he remembered — strong and unwavering. Even after his father died, she had remained resilient for the sake of her family.

He watched as she spoke to the child wearing the same green checkered haori he always wore. There was no mistaking it. When the child turned around, Tanjiro saw his own face — his younger self. So full of light, untouched by sorrow, eyes wide with innocence and wonder.

He unconsciously took a step forward when Koshi, who had been silently watching, cawed softly in his ear.

“Kamado Tanjiro, do not attempt to take another step. Do not be reckless,” Koshi warned.

Tanjiro paused, clenched his fists, and closed his eyes to ground himself. He was grateful Koshi had come with him. He didn’t know how many mistakes he might have made without the crow’s guidance.

He took a step back and turned away from the family, continuing his path towards the mountain — towards the garden. ‘If my family is here, I could safely reach the garden first without being detected.’ he thought.

He ignored the pain tugging at his heart as he walked away from the familiar laughter of his family. How he wished to be a child again, to be with them. How he wished to give this timeline’s Tanjiro a happy life — with his family, without demons, death, sorrow, or misery.

Tanjiro knew that if it meant sacrificing himself to ensure his younger self, his family, the Corps, and his loved ones could live in peace, he wouldn’t hesitate.

A few tears escaped his glistening eyes as he pressed forward. He had a mission to complete, and if he succeeded… his thoughts trailed off.

‘I could save Father,’ he thought, the realization sinking in. He didn’t know what illness plagued his father, but with the blue spider lily’s ability to heal any illness or wound, there was a high chance he could save him.

Hope filled his heart as he quickened his pace, determination thundering in each step. He was back in the past for a reason, and he would do everything in his power to ensure that no one — not even his younger self — would have to walk the path of sorrow and misery.

Koshi looked back at the family fading into the distance, then turned his gaze to Tanjiro, deep in thought. He remained silent.

Tanjiro was unaware of the child staring at his figure as he walked away. The child’s confusion was sensed by his mother, who gently patted his head.

“What’s wrong, Tanjiro?” she asked.

The child looked up at his mother. “It’s Dad! Over there!” he exclaimed, pointing in the direction where Tanjiro had gone.

Kie softly furrowed her brows as she followed his finger. She couldn’t see Tanjuro anywhere. She knew it was impossible for him to descend the mountain and leave the other children alone in the house. Her son must have been imagining things.

Kie shook her head with a smile. “Your father is home, looking after your siblings. He wouldn’t just leave them,” she replied.

The younger Tanjiro furrowed his brows. “But he smells like Father…” he mumbled.

Kie took his hand and began walking towards the path the mysterious figure had taken — up into the mountains.

Little Tanjiro’s gaze lingered on the spot where the figure had disappeared, confusion etched across his face. It was definitely his father. The scent was sour, heavy, and unnatural — the same scent his father had always carried. But something was different. While his father had that scent, the stranger’s was stronger, more intense.

The scent still lingered in the air.

He had been walking for a while when his vision suddenly blurred. In the blink of an eye, he found himself on all fours, staring at the ground in a daze. His ears rang with a pounding noise, everything muffled and distant — until Koshi’s frantic wingbeats cut through the haze.

“Kamado Tanjiro! What was that, you klutz? Did you trip?” Koshi squawked, landing beside him in a flurry of feathers.

But Tanjiro didn’t answer. His thoughts were spinning.

‘W-What just happened? Did I fall?’ He looked behind him to see what had caused the stumble — but there was nothing. It was as if he had tripped on air. He took a deep breath and stood up, brushing the dust off his clothes as Koshi fluttered back onto his shoulder, huffing.

“You’re a high ranking demon slayer. Why are you being such a klutz?” Koshi scolded, making Tanjiro laugh wryly as he scratched his head in embarrassment.

“Give me a break, Koshi. I must be really tired,” he sighed, though Koshi still seemed irritated.

Tanjiro resumed his stride, pausing as he reached a familiar cottage nestled beside the path.

Unfinished Wagasa umbrellas were scattered around the hut. The scent of the person living inside drifted through the air — familiar and comforting. His heart warmed at the thought of Saburo being alive and well.

He owed the man his life. If Saburo hadn’t insisted he stay that night, he might not be standing here right now. Yet guilt still gripped his heart. He hadn’t been there for his family. And he didn’t know when Muzan would find their house and kill them again, not now… not for sure. His presence in the past, especially after his recent encounter with the Demon King, could cause Muzan to decide to search for his family sooner rather than later. 

He hoped he could move them to safety before anything happened. But the truth was — he didn’t know how. He didn’t know what to do. His mind was crowded with wishes and plans he wasn’t even sure how to carry out. Plans that could lead to serious consequences. Plans he’d have to think through carefully, no matter how desperate he felt.

The door of the house opened, and Saburo stepped out. He looked slightly younger than before, a pipe in his hand as he took a slow drag from it. In the distance, he noticed a fully cloaked man who bowed in greeting before heading up the mountain.

Saburo could only watch in wonder, curious about who the man was and why he was heading towards the Kamado family’s home. Perhaps he was a visitor — or a relative. Shrugging off the thought, Saburo crouched down to work on a discarded umbrella lying on the ground.

He told himself not to worry too much, as he hadn’t sensed anything unusual or evil from the man.

Due to Koshi's persistent warnings, they ended up taking the longer route, far from the Kamados house. As much as Tanjiro wants to pass by and see it from afar, Koshi reminds him of the possibility of encountering his family — and Koshi is right. After almost an hour of walking, they’re back on track.

He trekked up a very familiar path based on what he could only remember from memory. It’s been years since he last went up here, since he was still a child. Ever since his father died, he had become busy with responsibilities as the eldest child and taking care of his siblings. 

Sometimes, time would fly by so fast that he wouldn’t realize that the blooming of the flowers had already passed by, until much later. He would always mourn missing it, every time. But again, he didn’t have any time to feel sad, he had his family to take care of in place of their father. 

Tanjiro’s heart warmed and shook in excitement at the thought of witnessing the blooming of the flowers again. But he couldn’t help but feel anxious. He didn’t know if the blue spider lilies would bloom this year. He was full of confidence when he was talking to Tamayo and Yushiro but he felt helpless now.

Considering that his family might come this year to watch the flowers bloom, he wouldn’t be able to harvest them in time. He couldn’t risk getting caught and altering the past without meaning to. He didn’t want to cause trouble for Oyakata-sama. That is the last thing he wanted to do.

Tanjiro paused at what seemed to be a wall of vines. Koshi chirped in confusion. “It’s a dead end! Are you sure they actually exist?” He asked but Tanjiro merely stayed silent and nodded. He tried to reach out and patted the wall, feeling for any sort of entrance. Then, his hand went through one spot of the vine wall.

He slowly trudged forward, pushing away the vines that were covering his way. After what felt like a long time, he finally reached the end of the tunnel. The smell of greenery filled his nose, but what made him perk up is the smell of home.

Not just any home, the familiar smell of the Kamado Family house that they own, the same burning smell of charcoal, the smell of freshly cleaned sheets, the smell of the tatami mats that covered the floor, and the smell of safety, warmth and familial love.

Tanjiro continued walking forward before stopping in front of a run down small house, clearly abandoned and aged. Tanjiro wondered if he was only lost and found his way back to their ancestral home because there is no way that the smell of life he is so familiar with is coming from the same house in front of him. 

Tanjiro carefully stepped into the abandoned home. It felt so familiar, as if he had been there before — or perhaps it was the memories of his ancestors stirring within him. His calloused hands gripped the rotting pillars and crumbling foundation, grounding him in the moment.

He recalled asking his mother about this house once. She had told him it was the first home the Kamado family ever owned. But as time passed, they were forced to retreat further down the mountain. The land here had grown soft, unstable, and prone to landslides — too dangerous to remain.

That’s why no one had lived on this property for hundreds of years.

He wondered about the heavy feeling of grief weighing on him at that moment. He had always believed he knew his family's history — he even possessed an illustrated family tree, carefully preserved and treasured, dating back hundreds of years. And yet, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was missing. Something unexplained.

‘Was it deliberately erased? Or simply lost to time?’ He thought. He couldn’t tell.

“Look, Anata! The flowers are in full bloom!”

Tanjiro’s eyes widened. The voice was close — too close — clear as day in his ear. He spun around, heart racing, searching for the source. But no one was there. Not a soul. Confused, he scanned the empty space. ‘Am I hearing things?’ he wondered.

Beside him, Koshi tilted his head, puzzled by Tanjiro’s sudden reaction. Tanjiro shook his head, brushing off the moment, and let his fingers trace the wooden pillars of the old house. Knife marks ran all the way up to the ceiling — familiar lines carved over time. 

He recognized them instantly. They were height markers, etched by the previous families. But there were so many. Too many. It made him wonder how many generations had lived here before the house was left behind.

His gaze drifted to the garden outside. It was wild now — overgrown with weeds and scattered wildflowers. No sign of the blue spider lilies. No horsetail blooms, either. Nothing matched the records or his memories. Still, Tanjiro refused to give up. The bloom was said to happen soon. If it would bloom for him at all.

Then, a familiar scent reached him — soft, warm, unmistakable. His breath caught. It was his mother’s scent. And his own, from years ago. Panic surged through him. They came this year. Of course they did. But he hadn’t planned on how to harvest the flowers in time while they were present. ‘What if they saw me?’ He thought in panic.

Tanjiro retreated deeper into the house, trying to steady his breathing, hoping to remain unseen. Moments later, laughter echoed through the garden — gentle, familiar. At the edge of the overgrown path, two figures appeared: Kamado Kie, his mother, and the younger Tanjiro of this timeline.

He couldn’t look away.

Kie’s smile was just as he remembered — warm, soft, full of love. She gazed down at her son with tenderness, brushing a hand over his hair. Tanjiro’s chest tightened. She was so close this time. So real.

Koshi cawed softly, a whisper of shock and anxiety. He regretted following Tanjiro here, and even more so, allowing him to come despite the master’s warnings. They were definitely going to be seen and recognized — and that could create a dangerous rift between the past and the present.

Tanjiro gently covered Koshi’s beak to quiet him. His eyes never left the two figures.

Slowly, they climbed up the engawa and settled comfortably on the blue cloth Kie had laid out to keep their clothes clean.

Tanjiro's heart pounded in his ears as he did his best to stay hidden. The last thing he wanted was for his family to see the future version of himself. No lie could mend the rift or undo the damage that would follow if he disturbed this moment. He knew everything that happened in the past had its reasons — but still, he couldn't accept the idea that fate was always right.

That's why he chose to carry the burden. To change the course of events — for his friends, his loved ones, and the Demon Slayer Corps. He hoped his actions would bring healing, not more pain. But if someone had to bear the consequences, it would be him.

He felt Koshi inch closer to his neck and face, the bird's feathered cheeks and beak pressing gently against his own in a quiet act of grounding comfort. Tanjiro's eyes glistened with unshed tears, filled with gratitude for Koshi's presence.

He sucked in a sharp gasp, and Koshi froze as the young Tanjiro suddenly perked up and looked behind him — straight towards the spot where the older Tanjiro was hiding in the background. The child's expression turned confused, and his mother quickly noticed.

“What is it, darling?” she asked, earning a questioning look from her son.

“Mom, I smell Dad. Did Dad come with us?” he asked, prompting a worried glance from his mother as she looked around in confusion.

“Tanjiro, remember we left your dad to look after Nezuko and the others. How could he possibly be here?” she asked gently, patting his head as he leaned against her.

“You're right — Father saw us off!” he exclaimed, and his mother nodded.

Young Tanjiro seemed appeased, but he still couldn't shake the scent of his father coming from inside the building. He hoped it truly was his father. He had always dreamed of watching the blue spider lilies bloom with him and his siblings.

The pair talked for a moment before Kie gestured towards the garden, and young Tanjiro sat up giddily as they waited for the blooming. But time passed, and nothing happened. The child deflated, and his mother could only chuckle softly, caressing his hair gently.

“Let's be more patient,” Kie said gently, and the younger Tanjiro nodded.

Tanjiro shifted on his feet, feeling the sting in his legs from standing in the same position for so long. He hadn't realized how quickly time had passed — it felt like only a few minutes. He tried not to make a sound, doing his best to remain undetectable, forgetting that the child was still his younger self, with a keen sense of smell.

He wondered why his younger self always said he smelled like their father. Maybe it was because he spent so much time working with wood and charcoal, just like his father had. Perhaps the scent had clung to him over time. Tanjiro couldn't be sure.

Time continued to slip by as he remained hidden with Koshi. The bird seemed restless, pacing around Tanjiro's shoulders as if itching to fly and stretch his wings. The younger Tanjiro mirrored that sentiment — growing more impatient with each passing minute.

An hour passed. Still, no flowers bloomed.

The child's excitement slowly faded into sadness. Eventually, he gave up hope and curled into his mother's lap, the scent of sorrow drifting through the air and settling in Tanjiro's chest like a weight.

He couldn't help but feel a deep sadness and despair — the flowers hadn't bloomed today, not for any of them. Koshi cawed softly towards Tanjiro, who met his gaze with sorrowful eyes and gave a quiet shake of his head. Koshi's heart ached for him. Not everything unfolds the way we hope, especially when fate has other plans. There was only so much they could do.

His mother simply smiled down at his younger self. “It's okay. You don't have to worry — we still have next year. And the year after that,” she said gently, running her fingers through his hair. 

Tanjiro felt a strange comfort, as though the words were meant for him now, not just the younger Tanjiro. But young Tanjiro remained unconvinced, his lips forming a soft pout as he looked away, still saddened.

“But that's too long. How long do I have to wait?” he asked, a frown tugging at his lips.

His mother hummed softly, her gaze drifting towards the horizon. A moment of silence passed before she spoke again.

“Have you ever heard the tale of the blue spider lily?” she asked gently.

Young Tanjiro shook his head.

Her smile deepened, warm and wistful, as she beckoned him closer. “Come here,” she said, patting her lap.

Young Tanjiro leaned into her embrace, and she began to tell the story.

Tanjiro blinked, a flicker of realization crossing his face. A wave of déjà vu washed over him — it felt just like the dream he'd had. As if it had truly happened before. He and Koshi leaned in quietly, listening to the mother and son pair.

“A long time ago,” his mother began, her voice soft and steady, “No one knew whether the blue spider lily truly existed. No one had ever seen it, and even if they had, there was no proof it was real. But our ancestor loved it so deeply, she refused to believe it wasn't.”

Young Tanjiro's eyes widened, curiosity flashing in his eyes.

“She dreamed of watching the flower bloom — just once — to witness its majestic form, even from afar,” his mother said, moving her hands towards the green yard as if painting a vision of a field awash in blue spider lilies.

She continued, softening her voice.

“As she grew older, hope began to fade. The years passed, and the flower remained a mystery. No one could prove it existed. But then, she met a swordsman.”

Her tone lifted, and Tanjiro gasped, curiosity lighting up his face.

His mother smiled gently and raised her left index finger, as if revealing a secret.

“They became friends, and over time, fell in love. The swordsman learned of her dream — to see the blue spider lilies with her own eyes,” she said, her voice tinged with warmth and wonder.

Tanjiro sprang up from her lap, eyes wide with excitement. “Did the swordsman find them? Did he discover where they grow?!”

His mother laughed, the sound light and warm. “I'm not done yet — but we're getting there,” she teased, prompting Tanjiro to quickly settle back down, fidgeting with anticipation.

She chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“The swordsman wasn't much better off. He knew nothing about the flower either,” she said, her voice dipping into a thoughtful tone. “But to make his beloved happy, he ventured into the quiet wilderness, determined to find the elusive blue spider lily.”

As she spoke, she traced an imaginary map in the air, her fingers dancing like wind over mountains and rivers, guiding young Tanjiro's imagination through the journey.

“For years, he searched for the blue spider lily his wife cherished so deeply,” she said, pausing her storytelling to gently boop young Tanjiro on the nose.

Young Tanjiro giggled, clutching his nose in delight. Tanjiro smiled at the familiar gesture, warmth blooming in his chest. His mother had always loved catching him off guard with that playful tap. He rubbed his nose, lost in the memory.

“They built a life together, raised a family. And even as their children grew older, he never stopped searching,” she continued, her voice soft with reverence.

“Then, one day — almost as if the heavens had finally smiled upon him — he stumbled upon a field bathed in blue spider lilies in full bloom, stretched across the meadow, shimmering beneath the sun. It was as if the earth itself had opened its arms to welcome him.”

Young Tanjiro gasped and cheered, his joy bubbling over. His mother laughed, the sound light and full of love. The child's exuberance was infectious.

Tanjiro stifled a laugh, his heart tugged by the sight of his younger self — so bright, so full of wonder. Just like his siblings had been.

His mother gently shushed the child, who covered his mouth as giggles continued to bubble up. Her voice softened, shifting into a somber tone as she resumed the tale.

“But the blue spider lilies only bloomed for a few fleeting hours. The vibrant field, once alive with brilliant blue, faded back to green — quiet and dull. The bouquet in his hands withered almost instantly,” she said, her words heavy with sorrow. “It broke his heart that his wife wasn't there to witness the sight she had longed for.”

Young Tanjiro's smile slowly faded, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. His mother leaned down and kissed the crown of his head, her touch gentle and full of love, before continuing the story.

“But he loved his wife so dearly, he built a house where the blue spider lilies bloomed,” she said, her voice soft with reverence. “His family moved in, and from that day onward, his wife admired the flowers blooming every year — until her final breath.”

She exhaled gently, gazing down at young Tanjiro, who now smiled up at her with bright eyes.

“I'm so happy she finally got to see it!” he cheered, making his mother nod with a warm smile.

Tanjiro couldn't help but smile too. ‘A befitting happy ending,’ he thought. This tale had always been one of his favorites — the legend of the flower, the stories of their ancestors passed down like heirlooms through generations. It seems that with time and everything that had happened to him he had forgotten it. Turns out there really was a swordsman in his family, he wondered why the records didn’t mention him.

He didn't know if the story was entirely true. Tales from long ago often shift with time, retold with new voices and altered details. But even so, it felt real — like the very foundation of the Kamado family.

How else could he explain the fact that the Kamado family still possessed the land where the blue spider lilies grew? Or the presence of that abandoned hut, nestled quietly among the blooms, yet feeling so familiar. It was unmistakably a Kamado home.

“The house we’re in right now is the one he built for her,” his mother said softly. “Our ancestors did their best to preserve it. But time is strong — there’s only so much we can do.”

Together, they glanced around the room, taking in the worn tatami floors and the sagging roof. The air carried the scent of age, but also of memory.

“This house?!” Young Tanjiro gasped, eyes wide with wonder.

His mother nodded, smiling gently.

Tanjiro instinctively looked around once more, his gaze lingering on every crack and faded corner. Despite its decay, the house radiated warmth — a place that had cradled laughter, legacy, and love.

Young Tanjiro’s excitement slowly faded. His eyes drifted towards the empty, green field beyond the house, lips curling into a quiet frown.

The flowers hadn’t bloomed again this year.

He thought of his ancestor, who wouldn't be able to witness the blooming of the flowers anymore. It made him sad.

“She might be sad because she won’t get to see the flowers bloom anymore,” he whispered, his voice tinged with melancholy.

His mother gave him a wry smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I hope that we get to see them this year — so we can watch them for her.”

Noticing the shadow in his expression, she leaned forward and booped his nose again, making him blink in surprise.

“If neither of our ancestors gave up,” she said gently, “then you shouldn’t either. The blue spider lilies only bloom in the presence of those whose intentions are pure.”

She opened her arms, and the boy slipped into her embrace without hesitation, wrapping himself in the warmth of her comfort.

Kie gently patted her son’s back, her gaze lingering on the barren green garden with a wistful smile. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the quiet surrounding them until she shifted slightly and peeked down at the child nestled in her arms.

She huffed affectionately upon seeing young Tanjiro fast asleep, his breathing slow and peaceful. ‘Of course he’d be tired,’ she thought with a wry smile. He woke up so early just to witness the blooming.

Carefully, she gathered him in her arms and rose to her feet, moving with the grace of someone used to carrying precious things. She began walking away from the garden, leaving the quiet property behind.

At the edge of the path, she paused.

Tanjiro and Koshi stood frozen, holding their breaths, thinking she had noticed them. But her eyes weren’t searching for hidden figures — they were fixed on the house itself.

Without a word, Kie bowed lightly, a gesture of quiet reverence, before turning and descending the mountain.

Tanjiro and Koshi waited with bated breath for several minutes, making sure the two wouldn’t return. Only when silence settled did they finally emerge from the dark, humid room and stepped into the garden. 

Koshi flapped his wings eagerly, soaring into the cool air and landing on nearby branches with delight. “Finally, we’re out of that cramped room! I missed flying! I missed flying!” he cawed, hopping from one perch to another, his joy uncontained.

He was unaware of the quiet storm brewing inside his companion.

Tanjiro wandered into the heart of the vast garden, his steps slow and dazed. His eyes scanned every herb and weed, each leaf and stem, as if searching for something that refused to appear. His legs trembled — not from exhaustion alone, but from the weight of helplessness. He had stood for hours, waiting, hoping. But nothing happened.

After a few steps, Tanjiro collapsed to his knees. He sat quietly, shoulders trembling, eyes fixed on the empty field where the blue spider lily should have bloomed.

It hadn’t bloomed this year.

His mother’s words echoed in his mind — there would always be another chance, another season, another year. But for him, time wasn’t so generous. This year was his only chance. The only window to change fate. To save the people he loved.

And now, that chance was gone.

He was in no position to wait for another chance — because deep down, he knew there wouldn’t be one. Time would not pause for him, nor for his family, for Ruka, for the Demon Slayer Corps, or for Tamayo and Yushiro. If he didn’t act now, everything would slip away. Everything would be too late.

Koshi cawed anxiously, swooping down in front of Tanjiro. He gently pecked at Tanjiro’s clenched fingers, which gripped the weeds as if he meant to tear them from the earth itself. The crow’s soft cries echoed in the quiet garden, a fragile attempt to comfort.

Tears began to fall from Tanjiro’s eyes, silent and unrelenting.

His heart felt unbearably heavy. He had done everything he could, searched every solution he could think of — just to keep everyone safe, to bring happiness, to shield them from misery. But no matter what he did, it was never enough.

He felt useless. As if all his efforts, all his sacrifices, led only to disappointment. Every path he took ended at a wall.

“There are things you can change… and things that were never yours to touch.”

It felt as though fate had been against him from the very beginning, placing barriers in every direction, denying him the change he so desperately sought — no matter the cost. Now, all that remained was sadness. Deep, aching sadness.

His shoulders trembled as he knelt in the garden, his forehead slowly lowering to the ground. The weight of failure pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting.

“I failed,” he whispered, the words barely audible, soaked in grief. “I’m sorry, Tamayo-san… Yushiro-san…”

Memories surfaced — Tamayo’s gentle smile, Yushiro’s quiet hope. 

“I’m sorry, Ruka-san…” he sobbed, as memories of the Rengoku family and Obanai flooded his mind. “Father… Oyakata-sama…”

His voice trembled, breaking under the weight of grief. He wept for a father who would eventually be claimed by illness, for families who would lose their pillars, for people who would watch their leader fall to demons and curses.

It was too much. Too cruel. And all he could do was cry.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you all… I’m sorry for being powerless,” he wailed, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face, dripping onto the earth below.

The warmth of the rising sun touched his skin, but it did nothing to thaw the cold, mourning ache in his heart.

Koshi cawed softly and hopped over to Tanjiro, his eyes lowered in quiet sympathy. Though often strict and quick to scold, Koshi had always been his fiercest supporter — especially of someone as selfless and determined as Tanjiro.

He had watched Tanjiro give everything — going the extra mile for those he loved, striving to secure a future for the Demon Slayer Corps. Even in this unfamiliar place, surrounded by faces that felt familiar yet weren’t the ones he knew from the future, Koshi saw the same unwavering heart. And he was proud of him. He was proud of Tanjiro.

Koshi gently pecked at Tanjiro’s hands, urging him to release his painful grip on the weeds below. Thorns might have been digging into his skin, but Tanjiro didn’t seem to notice. Koshi didn’t know how to ease his pain — only that he would stay by his side.

As Tanjiro continued to sob, Koshi’s eyes caught a flicker of movement in the corner of the garden. His head whipped around, alert.

Koshi gasped and flapped his wings urgently, trying to get Tanjiro’s attention. Tanjiro blinked, confused, lifting a trembling hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

Koshi stuttered, flapping harder, eyes wide with alarm and awe. “Caw! Tanjiro! Tanjiro! Look!”

Tanjiro rose from his kneeling position, startled by the crow’s urgency. Just then, he inhaled sharply — the air had changed.

The earthy, mossy scent that had clung to the garden was gone. In its place was a rich, overwhelming fragrance of flowers. His eyes widened as the realization sank in.

The garden was suddenly filled with a rich, heady aroma that wrapped around him like a warm embrace.

Tanjiro’s tear-filled eyes widened as his gaze shot upward, scanning the garden in disbelief.

“The blue spider lilies only bloom in the presence of those whose intentions are pure.”

The green sea of herbs and wild grass shimmered — then bloomed. Suddenly, wildly, the garden erupted in rich shades of blue. A strong wind swept towards Tanjiro, carrying the scent of blossoms as one by one, every herb and plant twisted and unfurled into majestic blue spider lilies.

Tanjiro shot to his feet, stunned, as Koshi squawked and fluttered onto his shoulder. Together, they watched in awe as the entire property slowly transformed, the ground blanketed in a breathtaking wave of blue.

His mother's words echoed in his ears.

“The blue spider lilies only bloom in the presence of those whose intentions are pure,” he whispered. Tears of relief and happiness continued to fall from his eyes as he watched the garden fill with blooming blue spider lilies. The sun shone brightly on the flowers as the wind made them dance.

He huffed a laugh and spread out his arms, brushing the petals of the fully bloomed lilies with his fingertips. Dazed, he laughed out loud in bliss, the tears never stopping. Koshi cawed happily as he dove up and down through the patches of flowers.

Tanjiro couldn't believe it. The blue spider lilies had bloomed — just for him. They recognized his dream, his desperate pleas, and his pure intentions. He felt as if he could breathe again, even with his lungs filled with the fragrance of flowers.

He staggered to the front of the house and knelt, placing his palms on the ground and bowing deeply until his forehead touched the floor.

He thanked the gods. He thanked his ancestors, who had discovered the blue spider lilies and cared for them through generations. He thanked the lilies themselves, for blooming just for him. He thanked the master for allowing him to come. He thanked Tamayo and Yushiro for their unwavering support. He thanked Koshi for staying by his side. And most of all, he thanked his family — for being healthy, for being alive.

Koshi watched silently as Tanjiro knelt in gratitude. Koshi felt warm and happy for Tanjiro. That the flowers bloomed just for him. Maybe fate is on their side after all.

But Koshi still couldn’t shake off the feeling that even if things are going their way, this will still bring great consequences for Tanjiro. But Koshi shook off the fear and negative thoughts. Right now, this moment matters and he will celebrate it with Tanjiro.

Koshi flew where Tanjiro was kneeling. By the time Tanjiro rose up, he was smiling blissfully. Koshi reminded him of what he has to do. “Caw! Kamado Tanjiro, don’t forget to harvest the flowers!” 

Tanjiro snapped out of his thoughts and quickly pulled the materials from his bag. “You're right! I almost forgot!” he laughed sheepishly, while Koshi gave a quiet huff.

He stood and retrieved the floral scissors Tamayo had given him. With gentle, careful hands, he began cutting the flowers at their stems, just above the roots. One by one, he placed the flower heads into the container, repeating the process until all five rectangular containers were filled.

Then, he took out the jar of distilled wisteria root extract and poured small amounts into each container — just enough to fully submerge the flower heads and preserve them. He and Koshi leaned in, watching closely to see if anything would happen.

But nothing changed. The flowers simply looked wet.

They glanced at each other and shrugged. Maybe it was enough. Maybe the magic was already in motion.

Placing the jar down, Tanjiro closed the lids of the containers one by one and tucked them securely into his bag. Koshi hopped over to the open jar on the ground, peering curiously at the liquid inside.

“Kamado Tanjiro, what is this?” he chirped.

Tanjiro picked up the jar and sealed it. “It’s distilled wisteria root extract,” he replied, prompting Koshi to caw in surprise.

“It’s poison!” Koshi squawked.

Tanjiro laughed and shook his head. “Not quite — but it’s safer not to touch it directly,” he said, slipping the jar into his bag.

He walked towards the engawa and gently set the bag down on the wooden platform. That’s when he noticed the blue cloth — his mother must have left it behind by accident. He couldn’t return it now, but maybe someone would come back for it.

Tanjiro settled comfortably atop of the cloth and turned towards the garden. It wouldn’t hurt to borrow it for now.

The wind stirred, making the flowers sway and dance. Tanjiro basked in the cool breeze and the majestic sight before him. Koshi flew down and perched on his lap, nestling in as Tanjiro absentmindedly stroked his feathers. The overwhelming fragrance made Tanjiro’s nose itch and clog; it might take hours before the scent cleared from his senses. He rubbed his nose gently.

Koshi wiggled and sighed, content to bask in Tanjiro’s quiet thoughts. Their mission to retrieve the flower was complete — but it wouldn’t hurt to linger a little longer, to savor the final moments of the bloom before heading home.

What felt like only minutes passed before the once-vast garden, painted in shades of blue, began to fade. The vibrant blue spider lilies slowly closed, their petals folding inward until they withered into wild grass. Some curled into herbs resembling horsetails, blending back into the greenery.

Tanjiro and Koshi watched in silence as the garden transformed — its brilliance giving way to a quiet field of wildflowers, grass, and moss. A twinge of pain and sadness stirred in Tanjiro’s chest. All good things must come to an end. No matter how deeply he wished otherwise, the bloom was never meant to last.

He had hoped for more time. But in truth, it had only lasted an hour.

Tanjiro exhaled and stretched, gently stirring Koshi awake on his lap. The crow flapped his wings and hopped off, ruffling his feathers. Tanjiro smiled down at him. “Let's head home,” he said, and Koshi cawed in agreement.

Tanjiro stood, gently put the bag over his shoulder, and slipped on his cloak, securing it snugly around himself. Koshi flew up and perched on his shoulder, settling in comfortably.

He began walking towards the tunnel, but paused. Turning back to the house, he smiled. His earrings chimed softly in the breeze. With quiet reverence, he offered a small bow before exiting the property through the tunnel.

A bittersweet feeling tugged at his heart. He couldn't shake the sense that it would be a long time before he returned to this place. He hoped that when he did, the flowers would bloom again — just as beautifully — and that he'd see them with his family and friends, whole, alive, and happy.

As the pair descended the mountain, Tanjiro missed the faint crunch of dry leaves and twigs near the garden's entrance. A figure stepped out from behind a tree, burgundy eyes wide with suspicion and wonder.

The wind stirred the blue cloth in his hands, making it flutter — just like the earrings in his ears.

The same pair worn by the man who had just walked down the mountain.

Tanjiro and Koshi walked quietly down the path. It had been a few hours since they left the village, and it would take another day before they reached Asakusa — where Tamayo and Yushiro lived. Tanjiro couldn't help but feel uneasy about Koshi's presence. If the crow insisted on accompanying him all the way, he wasn't sure how Tamayo and Yushiro would react, especially with anything related to the Demon Slayer Corps.

He sighed, the weight of uncertainty pressing on his chest.

Unbeknownst to him, Koshi had been watching him closely. After a stretch of silence, the crow suddenly cawed.

“Kamado Tanjiro, I must head out soon! I still have a letter to deliver to Oyakata-sama!”

Tanjiro perked up, a wave of relief washing over him. He smiled at Koshi and gave a grateful nod of acknowledgment.

“That's okay. I appreciate you accompanying me this far. I can manage from here. Thank you, Koshi,” Tanjiro said, gently patting the crow's head.

Koshi preened proudly under the praise, and Tanjiro chuckled, continuing down the path at a relaxed pace.

He glanced at Koshi, expecting him to take flight — but instead, the crow nestled deeper into his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as if settling in for a nap.

Tanjiro blinked, confused, and came to a halt. His brows furrowed as he looked at the unmoving bird.

Koshi opened one eye and tilted his head towards Tanjiro, as if to say, What are you waiting for?

“Why did we stop?” Koshi asked, making Tanjiro blink in confusion.

“Aren't you getting off?” he replied, tilting his head. Koshi stared back, unblinking.

“Where to?” the crow asked.

Tanjiro looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “I thought you had a letter to deliver!”

Koshi cawed in outrage, flapping his wings and smacking Tanjiro in the face. “It's still too far! I'm tired — and you were a drag to deal with today! Carry me!”

Tanjiro gaped. “You have wings! You could just fly!”

“Crows get tired too!”

“Why are you making me your personal carriage?! I'm tired too!”

“I deliver letters for you all across Japan, you ungrateful man! And you haven't given me cashews in months!!” Koshi shrieked, pecking Tanjiro's head and face with relentless fury.

Tanjiro flailed, trying to push the indignant bird off, his cries echoing down the path.

Tanjiro knew he looked ridiculous — arguing with a bird in the middle of the road over something so absurd. ‘Koshi is being overdramatic!’ He internally cried out.

“Argh! Fine! I'll give you two pouches when we get home — just stop pecking me! That's my eye!” Tanjiro cried out.

“Make it four!!”

Koshi fluttered to the ground with a dramatic huff, eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction.

Tanjiro crouched down, groaning as he cradled his swollen face, hissing under his breath at the stubborn bird. As he rubbed his cheek, his eyes widened — he suddenly remembered their earlier conversation about letters.

He hadn't sent any to Gyomei or the children yet. With everything that had happened, it had completely slipped his mind.

‘I need to make sure to write to them when I get home,’ he thought, a pang of guilt settling in his chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Tanjiro suddenly remembered the letter he had sent to the Shinazugawa siblings. He had planned to write again once he received a reply from the family — but months had passed, and there was still no response. With everything happening, he knew he couldn't visit them in person right now, but at the very least, he could send another letter.

A strange unease settled in his chest. Sanemi had been especially vocal, urging him to keep in touch until he could visit. The silence felt heavier because of it.

Tanjiro stood up and brushed off his hakama pants. Koshi perked up and fluttered onto his shoulder, settling in as if their earlier squabble had never happened. With a huff, the crow nestled comfortably, and Tanjiro sweatdropped at his companion's whims.

Tanjiro continued walking, the quiet crunch of gravel beneath his feet. After a moment, he glanced at the crow perched on his shoulder.

“Hey, Koshi… do you remember the letter I asked you to send northeast?” he asked.

Koshi chirped in response.

“I haven't received any replies yet. No letters addressed to me. Are you sure they got it?” Tanjiro pressed, watching Koshi tilt his head, clearly trying to recall which letter it was among the hundreds he delivered daily.

Suddenly, Koshi perked up, cawed, and said, “I remember! I had Shiro deliver it because I wanted to see—” He paused, eyes darting away, feathers ruffling nervously. He couldn't admit he handed off Tanjiro's letter just so he could deliver one to the Master himself… and sneak a peek at Miu.

“I had an important letter for the Master, so Shiro volunteered to deliver yours!” he blurted out, voice a little too fast.

Tanjiro narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Koshi avoided his gaze. With a sigh, Tanjiro shook his head and kept walking.

“It's a relief that a more reliable crow delivered it for me. It could've gotten lost otherwise,” Tanjiro said with a sarcastic sigh of relief. Koshi shrieked in outrage, wings flaring dramatically. 

“Kamado Tanjiro, what exactly are you trying to imply?!” 

Koshi and Tanjiro finally parted ways — just two hours from Asakusa. Until the very end, Koshi was huffing and puffing, and Tanjiro could barely contain his relief. Free at last from his clutches, Tanjiro leaned against a tree, feeling unusually tired and slightly dizzy. He cringed. 

‘Being with Koshi is more exhausting than fighting a demon,’ he thought, letting out a weary sigh. After a moment, he straightened up and continued walking towards Asakusa.

By the time he arrived, night had fully settled over the city. Guided by memory and instinct, he retraced his steps with practiced ease, navigating the familiar alleys until he reached the dead end — the hidden entrance to Tamayo and Yushiro's property. He raised his hand and watched it pass through the illusionary wall. After scanning the area to ensure no one was watching, he stepped through the fence and disappeared into the shadows.

Tanjiro stepped into the front garden and smiled. The familiar scent of earth and blossoms filled his sense of smell, and as he rubbed his itching nose, he realized — his sense of smell had finally returned. Faint traces of Yushiro and Tamayo approached from the direction of the door, growing stronger with each step.

Yushiro must have sensed his arrival.

Just as Tanjiro reached for the door handle, it flew open with a violent slam, smacking him squarely in the face and sending him tumbling down the steps.

“Ack!”

“Yushiro!” Tamayo's voice rang out, sharp with reprimand.

Yushiro straightened, utterly unapologetic, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It was an accident, Tamayo-san!” he said, far too cheerfully.

Tanjiro groaned, already plotting how to get back at Yushiro the moment he got the chance.

Tamayo shook her head and stepped towards Tanjiro, who immediately stood up and brushed the dust from his uniform and red haori. He perked up at the sight of her, lifting the bag on his shoulder with a proud grin.

Tamayo's eyes widened in disbelief. She hadn't expected him to succeed — but he had. Once again, Tanjiro had proven himself. By now, she should have known better.

Without another word, she ushered him inside, urgency in her movements. Yushiro followed close behind, locking the door the moment they entered.

The three hurried into Tamayo's office. Tanjiro approached the table and gently set the bag down. With careful hands, he lifted each container, revealing the preserved heads of the blue spider lilies and placing them delicately on the wooden surface.

All three gasped.

The flowers were in perfect condition. Despite being severed from their stems and long past their natural blooming period, they remained fresh — vibrant, radiant, impossibly alive.

Tamayo and Yushiro, who had never seen the flower in their lives, stood in awe. The rumors, the illustrations, the whispered legends — none had done it justice. Not even the most vivid stories or the finest paintings could capture the sheer beauty of what now lay before them.

Tamayo smiled gently, her eyes glistening as she looked at the flower. Finally, she could see it in full bloom. She reached out and softly touched the side of the container, her gaze never leaving the petals.

The flowers her saviour so desperately sought. The very flowers Kibutsuji Muzan had longed for with maddening obsession. Now, they were in Tamayo's possession — hers, Yushiro's, and Tanjiro's. A surge of vindictive satisfaction welled up in her chest. How she longed to flaunt this triumph, to crush Muzan's ego beneath the weight of her discovery.

But the thrill was fleeting. Anxious dread crept in, cold and persistent. Possessing the flower meant danger. If even a whisper of its existence reached the ears of another demon, they would all be at risk. Tamayo knew they had to tread carefully. Very carefully.

Tamayo turned to Tanjiro with a grateful smile. “You've done it, Tanjiro. You harvested the blue spider lilies.” Her voice was filled with pride as she looked at him, eyes warm.

Tanjiro ducked his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I couldn't have done it without Tamayo-san's research on how to preserve them… and everyone's support.” It was the truth. He wasn't sure he could have managed any of it alone, and for that, he was truly grateful.

Tamayo shook her head gently and reached out, clasping his hands with quiet gratitude.

Behind Tamayo, Yushiro silently shrieked and made exaggerated throat-slashing gestures towards Tanjiro, his eyes gleaming with theatrical menace. Tanjiro sweatdropped at the display, internally crying, ‘I'm sorry, Yushiro-san!’

Tamayo, unaware of the silent war brewing between the two men, bowed slightly to Tanjiro.

“I'm grateful to have met you, Tanjiro. Perhaps it was fate that brought us together. This time, the tides may finally turn in our favor. With the blue spider lilies in our possession, we can continue our research — find a way to destroy Muzan once and for all.” Her voice carried a subtle edge, a manic undertone that betrayed the depth of her desire to see Muzan reduced to ash. She quickly composed herself and gently withdrew her hands from his.

Tamayo walked to the table and gently picked up one of the containers holding the blue spider lily heads. She gazed at them, her voice soft but resolute. “With this… imagine the medicine we can create. The treatments that could aid the Corps — and our loved ones.”

Tanjiro's heart skipped a beat.

The thought of a medicine that could heal all illnesses — even the unknown — filled him with hope. He imagined Ruka recovering, his father regaining his strength, and Oyakata-sama rising from his bed. The possibilities made him giddy with anxiety.

He wanted Tamayo to begin immediately. Every second felt precious. He needed the treatment to start while there was still time.

“You made this happen, Tanjiro. You've officially changed the fate of the Corps,” Tamayo said.

A shiver ran through Tanjiro's body. He pursed his lips, eyes glistening with unshed tears. For so long, he had felt useless — like he was grasping at nothing, producing no results. The weight of helplessness had nearly crushed him. If not for the master's guidance, he doubted he would have made it this far.

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked at Tamayo and Yushiro, resolve burning in his gaze.

Tamayo turned towards the closet, pulling out a white kappōgi and slipping it over her kimono. She donned on a pair of rubber gloves, then looked back at the two men — her eyes reflecting the same fierce determination.

“There's no time to waste. We must begin concocting the medicine,” Tamayo said, recalling Tanjiro's heartfelt request to recreate the blue spider lily treatment — the very reason he had gone to such lengths to find the flower.

Tanjiro's heart stirred with longing. He couldn't wait to return home, to walk beneath the sunlit streets with the children, Shinjuro-san, and Ruka-san by his side. The thought of their laughter and their warmth filled him with quiet hope.

Chapter Text

Tanjiro had lost track of how long he'd been awake as he helped Tamayo and Yushiro around the clinic. He ran small errands, fetched missing materials, and tidied up while they worked with the flowers. He just couldn't sit still.

Eventually, Yushiro had enough of his pacing and hovering. With a sharp smack to the head, Tanjiro dropped to the floor. Without a word, Yushiro grabbed him by the leg and dragged him back to his room. Tanjiro didn't resist — he simply lay there, accepting his fate.

'Yushiro-san is really strong…' he thought sleepily as he was dropped beside his futon. Yushiro grumbled and gave him a few light kicks, urging him to climb into bed. The moment Tanjiro's face hit the soft futon, he was out cold.

Yushiro sighed, then gently pulled a blanket over him before quietly shutting the door. Tanjiro sank into a deep, much-needed sleep.

A day had passed, and there were still no concrete results from the blue spider lily treatment.

Unfortunately, just a few days wasn’t enough time for Tamayo to finish the medicine. She had studied it for hundreds of years, but working with the real blue spider lily was a different challenge. It would take time, testing, and care. 

Tanjiro, though disappointed, accepted that he had to wait until the treatment was safe. He knew that if the flower was handled incorrectly, it could be deadly — and that was a risk he couldn't take.

He knocked on the door and heard a soft “Come in.” Opening it, he saw Tamayo focused on her experiments, surrounded by notes and tools. Yushiro was busy writing at his desk.

Tanjiro paused, watching them work. Their dedication was clear, and he couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of admiration.

“Tamayo-san, I brought the herbs you asked for,” Tanjiro called out, making Tamayo look up and smile warmly. She set her tools aside, removed her gloves, and walked over to him.

“Tanjiro-san, I'm sorry for making you go out of your way to get these,” she said with a worried frown, concerned she was asking too much. But Tanjiro shook his head with a gentle smile. “It's no trouble, Tamayo-san. It's the least I can do.”

Tamayo returned his smile, though hers was a bit tired. “You've already done more than we have, Tanjiro-san,” she said, taking the basket of herbs and heading back to her desk. Tanjiro lowered his head slightly, his smile fading. He didn't agree, but he kept quiet.

“As expected, I still need to run more tests and double-check everything,” Tamayo explained, tilting a jar so the bluish liquid inside swirled gently. “It has to be safe and effective. Using a prototype medicine without proper testing is too dangerous.” She placed the jar on a tray and continued her work.

“I've completed a few batches, but they still need testing,” Tamayo said, her voice quiet. “I'm sorry, Tanjiro-san. It looks like you'll have to wait a little longer.”

Tanjiro smiled gently. He knew Tamayo was doing her best, especially now that she finally had the blue spider lily in her hands. He didn't want to rush her.

He could wait — he had to. The medicine needed to be safe. One mistake could be fatal, and that wasn't something he could risk. Still, the thought of Ruka made his chest tighten. Time was slipping away, and she was growing weaker. He just hoped she could hold on.

He masked his worry with a smile and looked at Tamayo. “It's alright, Tamayo-san. Thank you for working so hard to make this cure. I really appreciate everything you're doing,” he said, bowing politely.

Tamayo blinked, surprised by the gesture, and gave a shy smile. She wasn't used to being thanked like this and didn't quite know how to respond.

Yushiro huffed proudly from the side, glaring at Tanjiro with a spark in his eyes. ‘Of course! Tamayo-san is the best!’ he thought.

Tanjiro sweatdropped and chose to ignore him. 

Since the medicine would take a bit longer to finish testing, Tanjiro decided it was time to head home — his family might start worrying if he stayed away for too long. Tamayo understood that and waved off his worries.

“Don't worry, Tanjiro-san. I'll write to you once the testing is complete, and I'll make sure the medicine is delivered so you won't have to come all the way back,” she said, casting a glance at Yushiro.

Tanjiro blinked in surprise as Yushiro gave a soft whistle. A calico cat appeared out of thin air, making Tanjiro gasp in recognition.

'It's Chachamaru!' he thought happily, with a warm smile on his face. “He's Chachamaru! He helps Tamayo-san and me by delivering letters and even carrying her medical supplies,” Yushiro exclaimed proudly, crouching down and lifting the cat in front of Tanjiro. Yushiro was holding up the cat like he was showing off his most treasured companion. 

Tanjiro stifled a laugh at how openly Yushiro showed affection for Chachamaru. It was clear he wasn't just all scowls and sharp words. Reaching out, Tanjiro gave the cat a gentle pet, and Chachamaru leaned into his touch with a soft meow.

“Nice to meet you, Chachamaru!” Tanjiro said warmly, scratching behind the cat's ears. Chachamaru's tail swayed back and forth, clearly enjoying the attention.

“We'll send Chachamaru to you with the medicine once it's ready,” Tamayo said, with a soft smile. Tanjiro nodded, swinging his bag over his shoulder and securing his Nichirin blade at his waist.

He turned to them with a grateful smile and gave a gentle bow. “Thank you for letting me stay these past few days,” he said, making Tamayo smile and Yushiro huff.

“It was a pleasure having you, Tanjiro. Don't hesitate to visit us again or reach out if you need help. We'll be here,” Tamayo replied warmly.

Yushiro, on the other hand, shot Tanjiro a glare and made a dramatic shooing gesture, as if telling him to leave already — or maybe even to never come back.

Tamayo glanced back at Yushiro, who straightened up and gave Tanjiro a thumbs-up, clearly agreeing with her. Tamayo shook her head with a small smile.

Tanjiro let out a quiet laugh and turned to walk down the path, out of the garden. Just before reaching the wall, he looked back and waved at them, flashing a bright smile.

“Stay safe, Tanjiro-san!” Tamayo called out, watching as he walked away and disappeared through the wall fence.

She couldn't help but see Yoriichi in Tanjiro's figure. The ghost of her old friend seemed to overlap with him so perfectly that, for a moment, Tamayo couldn't tell them apart. It felt like watching Yoriichi's back as he walked away — just as she had all those years ago. And now, she wondered with a quiet ache… would this be the last time she saw Tanjiro, just like it had been with Yoriichi?

She shook her head gently and turned towards the house. “Come, Yushiro. We need to continue the testing,” she said softly, urging him to follow.

“Of course, Tamayo-san! Come on, Chachamaru,” Yushiro replied, calling out to the cat. Chachamaru let out a loud meow and dashed after them, only to pause briefly to look at the spot where Tanjiro had stood moments ago. The cat meowed softly — almost wistful before hurrying inside.

Tamayo remembered that one time when she met Yoriichi again after many years — and the man looked completely different from the last time they had spoken.

The air was still, heavy with the scent of incense and distant rain. Tamayo stood at the threshold of her hidden clinic, her gaze calm yet alert. She watched the darkening skies. “It looks like it’s going to rain soon,” she murmured, moving to close the window when she sensed a presence.

She felt him before she saw him — his aura was unlike any other. Quiet. Immense. Peaceful and warm. Her posture softened, and a faint smile touched her lips as she recognized the figure walking towards her from a distance.

Yoriichi stepped into view, his crimson haori fluttering gently with each step. His hanafuda earrings chimed softly as he walked, like wind brushing against memory. It had been a decade since she last saw him. She had willingly shared her location with him long ago, in case he ever sought assistance — or simply company.

This was the first time he had come to her on his own.

“Tsugikuni-san. I’m glad to see you in good health,” she called out softly, earning a gentle nod from Yoriichi. She gestured towards her home. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll prepare some tea,” she said as they both made their way inside. 

Tamayo moved with quiet grace, unfazed by the silence between them. There was nothing to talk about — after all, a meeting between a Demon Slayer and a demon was taboo. But she had long devoted herself to this path of redemption and the goal of Kibutsuji Muzan’s destruction. She would do anything.

Yoriichi looked around the modest clinic, noting the herbs, the scrolls, the quiet hum of healing.

“You’ve chosen a difficult path,” he said.

“I walk it willingly,” she replied.

Another silence settled between them, filled only by the distant rustle of leaves. Then Yoriichi leaned forward and placed a small bundle on her table — rare medicinal roots, wrapped in cloth.

“For your work,” he said. “And for the lives you may yet save.” He finished, then calmly picked up the ceramic cup of steaming tea in front of him and took a sip.

Tamayo’s eyes softened. “You still believe in me?” she whispered, unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.

“I believe in what people choose to become,” Yoriichi answered. “Not what they were made to be.”

Tamayo’s breath caught, her eyes wide as she looked at him. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve Yoriichi’s compassion and trust. Like other demons, she bore Muzan’s blood within her — but thanks to the very man sitting before her, she had broken free from his curse.

That was why she had dedicated her life to finding a way to destroy Muzan. Her compassion and care for humans had never faltered since regaining her humanity. To atone for everything she had done, she would devote the rest of her life to helping others.

Tamayo smiled, staring at the bundle of medicinal roots wrapped neatly in cloth. She recognized the fabric — it was popular among women for its quality and elegant design. She had seen maidens wearing kimonos made from the same material.

She blinked and looked towards Yoriichi, who appeared to be enjoying his cup of tea. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but something about him felt different. Yoriichi looked… softer. Kinder. Not that he hadn’t been kind before, but now he seemed more at peace — less burdened.

Tamayo wondered what had changed. The death of his wife had once cast him into the depths of grief and misery. He had felt like a walking doll at times — emotionally restrained, filled with remorse. But now, he looked like a man who had found a reason to move forward again.

She didn’t want to overstep her boundaries, but she was curious — and quietly happy for him. Whatever it was that had brought him this sense of calm, she hoped it would continue.

Her eyes caught sight of something tucked into the pocket of his hakama — a hairstick.

Yoriichi sensed her gaze and reached over, gently fishing the ornament out.

The hairstick was clearly handmade. Unfinished carvings of what appeared to be spider lilies adorned the head of the pin. It looked like it had been crafted with love and care.

Yoriichi held it tenderly in his hands. “It’s not finished yet,” he said softly, “but I believe once the carvings are complete, it will look beautiful.”

Tamayo looked up from the hairpin and gasped quietly.

For the first time, she saw Yoriichi smile — softly, lovingly — towards the hairpin. It was an expression she had never seen on him before. She found herself mirroring his smile, just as softly.

“Have you heard of blue spider lilies?” he asked.

Tamayo hummed thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hand. “I know of the flower, but my knowledge is limited. It’s said to be extremely difficult to obtain.”

Her brows furrowed as she recalled Muzan’s desperate obsession with the flower that could grant him immortality and resistance to sunlight. She was more than aware of its significance.

“The blue spider lily only blooms once a year,” she said, “sometimes for just a few days — or even hours. And it only blooms during the day. It appears in random locations, which makes it nearly impossible to find.”

‘How ironic it is that the one thing Muzan needs most is forever out of reach,’ Tamayo thought, a hint of vindictive satisfaction curling in her chest.

Yoriichi nodded silently as he twirled the unfinished wooden pin between his fingers.

“Even those who can walk in the daylight couldn’t find it,” he said, the soft smile slipping from his face.

Tamayo watched him with quiet curiosity. Why would Tsugikuni-san be searching for the flower? She hadn’t known he was also looking for it. She wondered what purpose it served for him.

Unable to resist, she asked gently, “Why are you looking for the blue spider lily?” She hoped she wasn’t overstepping her boundaries.

Yoriichi merely smiled again, his eyes never leaving the unfinished hairpiece. He resisted the urge to continue carving at that very moment.

“I know someone who loves them dearly, despite never having seen one,” he explained, caressing the rough edges of the carving. “Unfortunately, they can’t travel far due to their weak constitution.”

“They are saddened by it. I thought that if I ventured far enough, eventually I might catch a glimpse of it — and paint it for them to see.”

Tamayo didn’t know who he was referring to, but she couldn’t help feeling quietly happy for him. She reached over and refilled his empty cup.

“I hope it blooms for you,” she said, handing him the steaming tea.

“I hope it blooms for them,” Yoriichi whispered.

Tanjiro's journey home was quick and smooth. He traveled through the night and caught a few hours of sleep in the morning. Along the way, he used the chance to eliminate any demons he came across, choosing to move through the forest rather than the main road.

A day away from the town where the Rengokus lived, Tanjiro spotted a carriage on the path. An old man in his fifties was driving it, puffing on a brown pipe as gray smoke curled from his lips. He noticed Tanjiro stepping out of the forest and onto the road.

Removing the pipe from his mouth, the man waved out, “Young lad! What are you doing out here so late at night?” His eyes scanned Tanjiro from head to toe, curious and watchful.

Tanjiro quickly shifted his Nichirin blade out of view and offered a gentle smile. “I'm heading home too, just to the next town over,” he said, walking slowly towards the carriage.

The old man huffed, eyeing Tanjiro's unusual clothing. “Didn't see you with those black clothes. I could've run you over!” he scolded.

Tanjiro scratched his head awkwardly and bowed. “I'm sorry!”

The old man just grunted, taking a deep puff from his pipe and blowing out a cloud of smoke. The horse pawed at the ground, restless and ready to move again.

“Then hop in! I've got a family of four inside, and the village is just a few hours away from here. I can drop you off before we turn onto another path — save you the trouble!” the old man offered, gesturing towards the carriage door behind him.

Tanjiro smiled politely and shook his head. “Thank you, but there's no need,” he replied. He didn't want to make the family inside uncomfortable by joining them, especially at night.

The old man frowned slightly, puzzled, but Tanjiro continued with a warm smile, “Would it be alright if I walked alongside you until you take the other road?” He didn't mention it outright, but he felt better knowing he could keep watch. Traveling at night was dangerous for civilians, and the sun would rise in just a few hours.

The old man huffed out a cloud of gray smoke and clicked his tongue. “Suit yourself! If you get tired, feel free to hop on anytime,” he said. Tanjiro nodded in thanks, walking beside the carriage at a steady pace.

The old man watched with surprise. Though the carriage wasn't moving fast, he was amazed that Tanjiro kept up so easily without showing any signs of exhaustion.

A soft knock came from inside, and the door slid open slightly. A man with short black hair, purple eyes, and a striped kimono peeked out, his gaze landing curiously on Tanjiro walking calmly beside the carriage.

“Oh, I thought I heard voices outside. Looks like we have company, Sasaki-san,” the man said, smiling down at Tanjiro. Tanjiro blinked — something about the man’s smile felt strangely familiar, but he shook the feeling off.

“Yeah, found him coming from the forest,” Sasaki replied, pointing at the sword on Tanjiro’s waist. “Not sure what he’s doing out here at this hour, but he looks like he’s hunting.”

Tanjiro sweatdropped. No matter how much he tried to hide it, the blade was still visible. The man let out a curious hum. “Well, deer and foxes are pretty active this time of the year. Not sure about nighttime, though,” he said, scratching his cheek.

Tanjiro gave a strained smile, his face twitching slightly.

Tanjiro had never been good at lying, and he wasn't sure what to say to the two figures in front of him. So, he simply nodded along with their conversation.

“Why don't you join us inside instead of walking out here?” the man asked kindly.

Tanjiro smiled up at him. “Thank you, but I'd like to enjoy the fresh night air. I wouldn't want to intrude,” he replied.

The man frowned slightly, concerned, but let it go. With his wife and children resting inside, he wasn't sure there was room for another passenger anyway.

He gave a gentle smile, his purple eyes crinkling. “I understand. Just let me know if you'd like to rest.”

Tanjiro nodded in appreciation. Still, he couldn't help but wonder why they were traveling at night. He opened his mouth to ask—

“Traveling at night is dangerous, especially with your family. I wouldn't recommend being out this late,” Tanjiro said gently. The old man gave him a look that seemed to say, “Look who's talking,” but Tanjiro ignored it.

The man chuckled. “We're visiting a sick relative in the town we're heading to. We'll be staying a few days to help the family learn how to care for them,” he explained.

Tanjiro tilted his head, curious. “Are you a doctor?”

The man shook his head, still smiling. “Not exactly. I'm an apothecary. We run a business in compounding medicine.” he said, pointing to the boxes stacked on the flat roof of the carriage.

Tanjiro gasped in amazement. He couldn't help but feel deep respect for those who dedicate themselves to medicine and healing, in any form. Smiling warmly at the man, he exclaimed, “That's amazing!”

The man flushed pink and scratched his head sheepishly. “It's not much,” he said modestly.

Tanjiro shook his head. “You work hard to make sure people get the treatment they need, even traveling far to help them. That's truly admirable.”

The man blinked, then chuckled, clearly touched by Tanjiro's words. “Well, thank you, young man. My daughters are starting to learn from my wife and I. One day, they'll take over the business. Isn't that wonderful?” he said proudly.

Beside him, the old man sighed quietly in exasperation, as if preparing himself for an impending doom.

Tanjiro blinked as the man continued gushing about his two clever daughters — how they already knew how to compound medicine at a young age, how adorable they were, and even the new kimonos he'd bought them because they'd outgrown their old ones. He went on about their little hobbies, their favorite colors, and how proud he was of them.

There was no stopping him. Sasaki's eye twitched with every nonstop detail, while Tanjiro sweatdropped, slowly inching away as the man kept talking without pause.

After what felt like an eternity, the man finally took a deep breath. He looked absolutely delighted, a flowery aura practically radiating from him — while his two companions looked completely drained by the interaction.

The man laughed sheepishly, rubbing his forehead as if wiping away sweat. “My wife always says I talk a little too much,” he admitted.

‘A little?’ Tanjiro and Sasaki groaned inwardly. ‘You talked so much!’ they thought, as the man chuckled again.

“Ah!” he suddenly exclaimed, making Tanjiro jolt in surprise.

Beaming, the man pointed to himself. “I forgot to introduce myself! You can call me Masaki.”

Tanjiro was stunned that he’d only just remembered to introduce himself, but he quickly composed himself. “My name is Tanjiro,” he replied.

Masaki smiled warmly, then gestured to the man holding the reins. “That’s Sasaki-san! He’s our neighbor and kindly offered to give us a ride to town.”

Sasaki took a long puff from his pipe and muttered under his breath, “More like got roped into it.”

Tanjiro laughed and smiled at the two. “Nice to meet you, Sasaki-san, Masaki-san!” he said warmly. The three chatted as the sun slowly rose, and after a few hours, it was time to part ways. Masaki pouted while Sasaki sighed at his childish behavior.

“We'll be heading off now,” Masaki said. “We live near Asakusa, just a few towns away! Feel free to visit us. And if you ever need medicine, we'll help you out — free of charge.” He winked playfully.

Sasaki slapped his shoulder, making Masaki yelp. “You don't even charge your customers! At this rate, your business will go under,” he grumbled.

Masaki just laughed, unfazed by the complaint.

“As long as we can help and provide medicine, that's what matters,” Masaki said with a bright smile. Tanjiro smiled back. Something about Masaki's gentle and playful nature felt familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. He hummed softly and shook his head.

“I'll try to visit when I can, Masaki-san!” Tanjiro said cheerfully.

Masaki clapped his hands in delight. The two waved as Tanjiro watched the carriage roll down a different path. The green cloth covering the back window fluttered in the breeze.

Tanjiro blinked as a small hand pushed the cloth aside. A little girl peeked out, her purple eyes meeting his. She gave him a shy wave before quickly ducking back inside and pulling the cloth closed.

Tanjiro stood still, his hand raised mid-wave, unable to respond in time. He smiled softly and continued walking down the dirt road, wondering where he had seen those butterfly ornaments in her hair before.

It hadn’t taken him long to reach home. He leaned against the wooden fence, strangely out of breath, and the dizziness was back again. Just days ago, he’d been fine — traveling nonstop between his hometown and Asakusa — but now, something felt off.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. ‘Maybe the fatigue finally caught up with me after all that stress and traveling,’ he thought, wiping sweat from his forehead.

He stepped into the compound, noticing how the sky had already begun to darken. Evening was settling over the Rengoku estate.

Tanjiro smiled and skipped towards the door, happy to be home and ready to relax with the family and children. He reached for the handle — but before he could touch it, the door slammed open with a loud bang. A gust of wind hit his face, and he froze in shock.

Standing on the other side was a man in a forest green haori. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, but Tanjiro could feel a wave of anger coming off him. There was a bitter scent in the air… and something else. ‘Was it jealousy?’

Tanjiro's jaw dropped slightly, stunned by the stranger before him.

A loud laugh echoed from inside the house as Shinjuro stepped into view, his eyes crinkled with mischief. He looked amused — almost like he was trying to irritate the stranger even more.

“Come on, Ryosuke. You can't stomp off like a child just because you lost once,” Shinjuro teased, chuckling. “Even my youngest handles disappointment better than you!”

The man — Ryosuke — growled under his breath. Shadows fell across his face, but his eyes glinted with fury. He bared his teeth towards Shinjuro.

“Rengoku, I'll skewer you where you stand,” he muttered darkly.

Shinjuro just laughed and slapped Ryosuke's shoulder, again and again, each smack making the man visibly more annoyed.

Tanjiro, watching from the doorway, didn't want things to escalate. Shinjuro hadn't noticed him yet, so Tanjiro cleared his throat.

Both men turned sharply towards him. Tanjiro gave a nervous smile.

“Rengoku-san, I'm home!” Tanjiro called out, making Shinjuro's jaw drop in surprise. He clearly hadn't expected Tanjiro to arrive just in time to witness their banter.

“Tan—” Shinjuro began, but before he could finish, loud footsteps thundered down the hallway. Two children came rushing towards the entrance, knocking both Shinjuro and Ryosuke aside.

“W-whoa!” Tanjiro exclaimed, bracing himself as the weight of two small bodies crashed into him. He quickly stretched out his arms to catch them.

Kyojuro clung tightly to Tanjiro's waist, burying his face in his stomach. Obanai followed right behind, wrapping his arms around Tanjiro too, overlapping Kyojuro's grip. His face rested against Tanjiro's side. Senjuro ran down the hallway, his small feet moving quickly. He couldn't keep up with the older kids' long steps, but he caught up anyway. Giggling, he jumped onto the pile and was hugged by the two children.

Tanjiro laughed out loud, overwhelmed with joy.

“I'm home!” Tanjiro called out, hugging the three children tightly. They clung to him even harder, clearly overjoyed. Tanjiro chuckled and rubbed his face against their cheeks, making them giggle at the playful gesture.

“You're finally back! You were gone so long, I thought a demon ate you!” Kyojuro exclaimed, his lips trembling.

Obanai's head snapped towards Kyojuro, eyes wide in shock at the comment.

He quickly turned back to Tanjiro. “Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?” he asked, worried.

Tanjiro smiled warmly and patted Obanai's head. “I'm not hurt. Big brother's just really tired… and super hungry!” he said cheerfully.

Kyojuro’s eyes lit up at the word “hungry” — his favorite word.

“Father made sweet potatoes and there's a lot! Let's eat, Tanjiro-san!” Kyojuro exclaimed, tugging Tanjiro towards the house.

Tanjiro glanced at Shinjuro with a panicked look, but Shinjuro just chuckled and smiled warmly.

“Glad to see you safe and sound. Welcome home,” he said, patting Tanjiro's head.

Tanjiro's heart swelled. It had been years since he felt this kind of welcome — coming home to a family after a long journey. He missed the feeling of being surrounded by siblings, clinging to him with joy. He was tired, yes, but he wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

“I'm glad to be back, Rengoku-san!” he said with a bright smile. Then his gaze shifted to the man in the forest green haori. Tanjiro tilted his head slightly, puzzled. He had never seen this man in the Corps before.

Now that the excitement had settled, Tanjiro took a better look at the man who had watched everything unfold with a calm, almost indifferent expression. But the oppressive anger Tanjiro had felt earlier was gone — replaced by a quiet warmth. He was glad the man seemed to be feeling better.

Tanjiro smiled brightly at him. The man blinked, caught off guard.

“This is Ryosuke. Kobayashi Ryosuke. He's the current Wind Hashira,” Shinjuro said, pointing at him with his thumb.

Ryosuke shot him an irritated look, clearly annoyed by the casual introduction. Shinjuro hadn't even let him speak.

Ryosuke sighed and turned back to Tanjiro, who nodded politely.

“Nice to meet you. And you are…?” he asked.

Tanjiro straightened up and gave a small bow. “My name is Tanjiro. Nice to meet you, Kobayashi-san!” he said with a cheerful smile.

Ryosuke blinked again. Tanjiro seemed to shine, like the rising sun — even though dusk was already settling in.

He glanced at Shinjuro, who gave a wry smile that seemed to say, I know the feeling.

Ryosuke had only just met Tanjiro, but if anyone dared to hurt him, he looked ready to destroy everyone in the room — and himself. 

Tanjiro blinked in confusion. Ryosuke was staring at him with sparkling eyes and a scent that radiated affection, yet his face remained cold and expressionless. Tanjiro had no idea what was going on.

Shinjuro sweatdropped and looked away. Ryosuke had always had a soft spot for things that were bright, gentle, and warm — and Tanjiro was the very definition of that. Shinjuro wanted no part in whatever was about to unfold.

He looked down and grimaced. The three children were still clinging to Tanjiro's arms and waist, glaring and pouting in Ryosuke's direction, holding onto Tanjiro protectively.

‘Yeah…’ Shinjuro wanted no part of that. He sighed. Since Ryosuke would be leaving soon and dusk was already settling in, he decided to break the tension. He reached out and ruffled Tanjiro's and the children's hair to get their attention.

“You just got back from your trip, my boy. Go freshen up and rest. Dinner will be ready soon,” Shinjuro said, gently guiding them inside.

Tanjiro tilted his head, looking confused as he glanced at Ryosuke. “Kobayashi-san’s not staying for dinner?” he asked, frowning with concern.

Ryosuke coughed behind Shinjuro, whose eye twitched with growing irritation.

“I wil—” Ryosuke began, but Shinjuro cut him off with a punch to the chest. Ryosuke coughed and stumbled back, gasping.

Shinjuro quickly composed himself and turned to Tanjiro with a forced smile. “Well, Tanjiro-san, Ryosuke has a mission tomorrow. He really should get going.”

“I don’t hav—” Ryosuke tried again, only to be interrupted by a swift kick to the leg from Shinjuro, sending him off balance.

Shinjuro laughed, arms crossed. “I heard you’ve taken on a Tsuguko. Better not keep him waiting, or he might take your spot as Wind Hashira.”

“That brat is just a ki—”

“Oho! Look at the time. It’s dangerous to travel at night, so you’d better hurry—”

“I’m a Hashir—”

“Now, now,” Shinjuro said, chuckling as he turned back to Tanjiro. “Go get some rest. You’ve come a long way. Dinner’s waiting.”

He gave the children a look and the children lit up, more than happy to drag Tanjiro into the house. Their laughter echoed down the hallway.

Shinjuro sighs again, smiling softly. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he had missed Tanjiro during those long weeks away. Dealing with two gloomy children by himself wasn't exactly on his list of favorite things to do.

Between scolding Kyojuro to take his training seriously, cheering him on, and stopping Obanai from trying to make Kyojuro Kaburamaru's dinner — since Kyojuro kept dragging Obanai out to train, play, and visit the market just to distract them from missing Tanjiro — it had been a handful.

Shinjuro felt a headache coming on as he glanced at his friend and fellow Hashira beside him. Ryosuke's eyes hadn't left the door where Tanjiro had disappeared. As usual, his face was calm and unreadable, but his eyes were full of curiosity — and Shinjuro wanted to pluck them out.

“Got room for one more at dinner?” 

“Nope.”

Shinjuro slammed the door in his face and grumbled as he walked back inside. It was already enough dealing with three clingy kids wrapped around Tanjiro all day. 

He didn't need Ryosuke and his obsession with soft, warm things — especially now that Tanjiro had caught his attention like a crow spotting something shiny. The thought alone made Shinjuro feel like he was losing his mind.

Ryosuke looked like he was ready to kidnap Tanjiro and add him to his little band of orphans — the “siblings” he seemed to collect during missions. 

But Tanjiro belonged to the Rengoku family now. He wasn't going anywhere. Not even to the Wind estate! Over Shinjuro's dead body Tanjiro will step foot on the Wind estate, thank you very much!

Shinjuro sighed and ruffled his hair as he turned the corner into the dining room — only to stop in his tracks.

There sat Ryosuke in his seat at the table.

Kyojuro and Obanai clung to Tanjiro's waist, snarling at Ryosuke like hissing kittens while Senjuro pouted at him, his hands clenched on Tanjiro’s hakama pants. Tanjiro chuckled awkwardly, holding a ceramic bowl and wooden spoon. 

“Kobayashi-san, how many scoops of rice would you like?” he asked politely.

“Two, please. Do you like cooking? Also… do you like dogs?”

“Get out!!”

Unfortunately for Shinjuro and the children, Ryosuke stayed through the entire dinner. Shinjuro's seat — right beside Tanjiro — became Ryosuke's perfect opportunity to inch closer, much to everyone else's dismay. The children clung to Tanjiro like kittens, hissing at Ryosuke. Shinjuro made sure no blood would be spilled tonight. 

What felt like an eternity later, Ryosuke finally stood to leave. He bid the family goodbye with his usual calm tone. The family followed him out, begrudgingly, only because Tanjiro was so cheerful and eager to see him off.

Tanjiro smiled warmly at Ryosuke, completely unaware of the silent tension between the two sides.

“Please be careful on your way home. Thank you for joining us for dinner!” Tanjiro beamed at Ryosuke, his bright smile and gentle tone radiating warmth.

Ryosuke, usually aloof, softened under Tanjiro's glow. He returned the smile with quiet determination.

“I’ll be back—”

“No, you won't,” Shinjuro cut in sharply. “You're permanently banned starting today. Our monthly training and mock duel will now happen far away from the estate.”

He stomped towards Ryosuke, grabbed his haori, and dragged him out through the gates.

Ryosuke waved lazily at Tanjiro as he was hauled off, disappearing from view with Shinjuro.

Tanjiro chuckled to himself, watching them go. He figured Shinjuro must've walked Ryosuke out, since he didn't return.

Tanjiro gently patted the heads of the three children still clinging to his hakama and haori. Their grip hadn't loosened one bit.

The children had spent the whole night pouting and hissing at Ryosuke, and Tanjiro couldn't help but wonder why they were so against him. Curious, he crouched down in front of them and gently asked the older two.

“Kyojuro, Obanai,” he called, watching them stand up straight at his attention, their wide eyes fixed on him.

Tanjiro took their hands and caressed them gently. Kyojuro blushed, and Obanai gave him a light kick, making Tanjiro chuckle.

“I've been wondering… why are you two so against Kobayashi-san? Did he do something bad to you?” he asked with concern.

The children looked at each other, silently communicating, then turned back to Tanjiro and shook their heads.

Tanjiro tilted his head in confusion.

Kyojuro suddenly exclaimed—

“He was looking at Tanjiro-san weirdly! I don't like it!” Kyojuro huffed, pouting. Tanjiro blinked at the sudden outburst. He hadn't noticed anything rude or strange in Ryosuke's behavior, and he hadn't smelled any ill intent either. He wasn't sure if the kids were just imagining things or if something had actually happened.

“That man has bad intentions. He's planning something bad for Tanjiro-san,” Obanai mumbled from behind his bandages, staring intensely at Tanjiro.

‘Even Obanai feels off about Kobayashi-san,’ Tanjiro thought, smiling wryly. He didn't know how to ease their worries.

He genuinely liked Ryosuke. From everything he'd heard, none of the accusations seemed true. Ryosuke had talked about his family back at the Wind Estate and even invited Tanjiro to visit. When he found out Tanjiro was good with kids and cooking, he'd asked him to become his second Tsuguko.

That suggestion, however, had sparked instant outrage from Shinjuro and the children.

Ever since Ryosuke left and Shinjuro returned, the three children hadn't left Tanjiro's side. He figured it was their way of making up for all the time they'd missed while he was away — and he was more than happy to shower them with affection. He'd missed them too. Honestly, they even seemed taller now… if that was possible.

As Tanjiro went about his nightly chores and got ready for bed, the three of them did everything together, helping each other along the way. When bedtime finally came, Tanjiro thought he'd finally get the peace and quiet he'd been dreaming of. He was just about to lay out his futon when a knock interrupted his thoughts.

He blinked, wondering who could be at his door this late. Sliding it open, he found Kyojuro and Obanai standing there in their sleeping clothes, dragging their pillows and blankets behind them.

Tanjiro perked up in surprise as Kyojuro stood at the doorway, beaming. In one hand, he held his blanket and pillow — and in the other, Obanai's hand, clearly dragging him into the mischief. Obanai looked shy, glancing away while clutching his own blanket and pillow.

It was obvious Obanai had been roped into this. Tanjiro gasped and gave them a gentle smile.

“It's already late. I thought you two were already in bed,” he said softly, scolding them just a little.

The boys looked sheepish for a moment.

“We want to sleep with Tanjiro-san!” Kyojuro declared, puffing his cheeks.

Tanjiro blinked. His futon was small — barely big enough for two people, let alone three. There was no way all three of them could fit.

Before he could gently decline, he felt a tug on his yukata. He looked down.

Obanai stood there, cheeks pink, bangs covering part of his face as he fidgeted with his blanket.

“Tanjiro-san has been away for so long. We… missed you,” Obanai said softly.

Tanjiro clutched his chest, overwhelmed by the cuteness. It wasn't fair — these kids knew exactly how to break through his defenses.

Kyojuro sealed the deal by tugging on Tanjiro's yukata, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Can we stay just for tonight?” he whispered, lips trudging down in a pout.

Tanjiro sighed, heart aching at the words. He smiled gently and crouched down, gathering both children into his arms.

They dropped their bedding and hugged him tightly, burying their faces into his neck.

“Don't worry, big brother is home now. You're not alone anymore,” Tanjiro said with a soft smile. “Of course you can sleep with me. But we won't all fit on one futon.”

He stood up and grinned. “How about we bring your futons to my room and have a sleepover?”

The children cheered and dashed down the hallway before Tanjiro could stop them. He quickly shushed them, but they were already gone — leaving their pillows and blankets behind in their excitement to retrieve their futons.

Tanjiro grimaced at the noise, hoping Shinjuro, Ruka or Senjuro wouldn't wake up. The last thing he wanted was the kids disturbing them at this hour.

With a sigh, he followed the two back to their rooms. He reached Kyojuro's room first and found him struggling to roll up his futon into a big bundle.

Tanjiro chuckled and patted his head. “Here, let me take care of that. You go ahead and put your blanket and pillow inside my room.”

Kyojuro beamed and nodded before hurrying off. Tanjiro easily rolled up the futon and carried it in his arms.

Next, he headed to Obanai's room, just beside Kyojuro's. Obanai, too, was having trouble rolling up his futon. Tanjiro smiled and gently patted his head.

“Here, let me do it for you. Go put your blanket and pillow inside my room, and I'll be there in a second, okay?” Tanjiro said kindly.

Obanai smiled warmly and nodded, quietly heading back to Tanjiro’s room. Tanjiro huffed fondly and followed after him.

When Tanjiro returned to his room, he found the two children already waiting inside with their pillows and blankets — one on each side of his futon, which they'd placed right in the middle.

Tanjiro grinned at the sight.

Once everything was settled, Tanjiro crawled onto his futon. The children followed suit, hopping onto their own and scooting close to him.

Obanai lay on Tanjiro's right, Kyojuro on his left. Both got comfortable, sighing with soft smiles as they gazed up at him, their faces glowing with warmth and relief.

Kaburamaru had claimed a spot on Obanai's futon, curled up peacefully after a long day of clinging to his shoulder. Tanjiro smiled at the sight. ‘Cute,’ he thought, gently booping the snake on its snout.

The children watched quietly as Tanjiro interacted with Kaburamaru, their eyes wide with curiosity and affection.

Kyojuro was happy that Tanjiro had come home after being gone for so long. But beneath that joy lingered a quiet sadness, a fear he hadn't voiced. He'd been anxious that Tanjiro might never return, even though he knew deep down that one day, Tanjiro would have to leave again.

He prayed that day wouldn't come soon. That they could stay like this a little longer.

As he settled beside Tanjiro, he gazed up at him softly, eyes full of unspoken emotion. He didn't want Tanjiro to leave. He wanted him to stay forever.

More than anything, Kyojuro wanted to protect him — to be strong enough so Tanjiro wouldn't have to shoulder dangerous duties alone. If it meant slaying twice the number of demons, he would. If it meant training until he could stand shoulder to shoulder with his father or even all the Hashiras combined, he would.

He wanted to be the kind of Hashira Tanjiro could be proud of.

Obanai felt a deep sense of relief now that Tanjiro was finally home. It wasn't that he didn't trust Tanjiro — he did, completely. But he didn't trust the people Tanjiro might encounter out there, the ones he met day after day beyond the safety of their home.

He knew Tanjiro had duties as a Demon Slayer, and that he couldn't be kept from them. Still, Obanai quietly hoped he could go with him. That Tanjiro wouldn't leave him behind.

For the first time, he had a family who loved him — not for his bloodline, nor his past or scars. But as Obanai. Just Obanai. Someone Tanjiro and the Rengoku family cherished deeply.

He'd been thinking of ways to stay close, to follow Tanjiro without being a burden or getting in his way. If Tanjiro had to risk his life every day, then Obanai would be there too.

He would follow him — quietly, fiercely, faithfully.

“Ne, Tanjiro-san… what did you do while you were gone?” Kyojuro asked, his voice soft with curiosity.

Tanjiro and Obanai both perked up at the question. Obanai turned to look at Tanjiro, eyes quietly searching for an answer.

Tanjiro chuckled. “I visited a very old friend,” he said. “We caught up — it's been a long time since we last saw each other and…”

He paused, and the children tilted their heads, concern flickering in their eyes.

Tanjiro smiled gently, reassuring them. “I went to see my family.”

The children's mouths dropped open in awe.

“How are they?” Obanai asked quietly.

Tanjiro's smile deepened, warm and full of love.

“They're doing fine and are healthy. Thank you for asking,” Tanjiro said, gently patting Obanai's head.

“Then… Did you hang out with them for a while? You were gone for weeks! They must've missed you!” Kyojuro beamed.

Tanjiro's smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. Kyojuro noticed the shift and furrowed his brows slightly.

“Of course,” Tanjiro replied softly. “We went to the market…”

His voice trailed off as memories surfaced — his mother and a younger version of himself strolling through the busy streets, together laughing .

“We visited the garden…” he added, recalling the quiet moment he spent watching the blue spider lilies bloom — alone.

Still smiling, he reached out and gently pinched their cheeks.

“And they were so happy. And because of that, I'm happy too,” Tanjiro said with a gentle smile. “Now that I know they're doing well, I made sure to come back — because someone couldn't concentrate during training.”

He reached out and booped Kyojuro's nose, making the boy flush pink and grumble as he looked away.

Then he turned to Obanai and booped his nose too. Obanai jolted, clutching his nose in surprise.

“And someone was sulking… plotting to turn someone into Kaburamaru's dinner,” Tanjiro teased.

Kyojuro gasped dramatically and whipped his head towards Obanai, who simply looked away, completely unbothered.

“You were plotting to feed me to Kaburamaru?!” Kyojuro exclaimed, eyes wide.

Obanai scowled. “You kept dragging me everywhere and forcing me to do things — I hate it! I get tired!”

“Well, you're older than me, so you're the one who can come with me to the market or training! I can't drag Senjuro — he’s too little for that!”

“You shouldn't be visiting the market anyway. You have training with Rengoku-san!”

“I wanted to buy things for us! They're having the annual autumn sale! Don't you want to hang out with me?”

“My definition of hanging out doesn't include visiting the market every hour or doing physical activities nonstop!”

Tanjiro sweatdropped as the two bickered, pointing fingers at each other — Kyojuro whining, Obanai's scowl deepening by the second.

Kaburamaru hissed in confusion, clearly offended by the accusation. Tanjiro chuckled and stretched out his arm, prompting the snake to slither up and coil gently around it.

“Poor Kaburamaru,” he murmured with a giggle. “You’re such a fearsome snake.” He teased, as Kaburamaru hissed in return.

Obanai froze mid-bicker with Kyojuro, his eyes landing on Kaburamaru now curled around Tanjiro's arm. He gasped, utterly betrayed.

“Now, now, it's too late for us to be arguing,” Tanjiro said with a chuckle, reaching out to gently pinch Kyojuro's cheek.

Kyojuro whined at the touch, cheeks puffed out.

“Kyojuro,” Tanjiro continued softly, “when Obanai says he's tired and doesn't want to do something, you shouldn't push him. It might make him feel like his thoughts and feelings don't matter.”

Kyojuro lowered his head, pouting. He knew he might've come on too strong — but he was just excited to spend time with a friend who could actually play with him. Senjuro was still too little, after all. 

“And Obanai, stop scowling and picking fights with Kyojuro — and no threatening to feed him to Kaburamaru,” Tanjiro said gently, reaching out to pinch Obanai's cheek.

Obanai ducked his head in shame, cheeks pink.

“He's your brother now. He just wants to spend time with you and bond. It's okay to say no, but you can find a middle ground — something that lets you connect without giving up your own comfort or preferences.”

Tanjiro chuckled and pulled the two children into a hug. They didn't hesitate to wrap their arms around him, clinging tightly.

“You two are such good kids,” he said softly. “Kind, loving, and full of heart. It's okay to feel annoyed or angry with someone you care about — but don't let those feelings turn into resentment. Always talk things out. Because your bond is more important than pride. No one can live alone.”

He gently pulled back from the hug and smiled at them.

“Regardless of any grievances you might have in the future, isolation is never the answer,” he said, looking at Obanai, then at Kyojuro. “You need both family and friends to thrive in life.”

Obanai and Kyojuro glanced at each other, cheeks pink, suddenly sheepish.

“I'm sorry I wasn't considerate and dragged you along with my whims,” Kyojuro said softly, holding Obanai's hand. “I was just really happy to finally have a friend I can train and have fun with.”

Obanai looked guilty, gently squeezing Kyojuro's hand and shaking his head.

“I'm sorry for getting angry and making you feel like you were bothering me,” he murmured. “You weren't. I'm happy to spend time with you. It's just… everything's still new to me, and I get overwhelmed when too much happens at once.”

Kyojuro pursed his lips at the confession, feeling even worse for making Obanai uncomfortable.

Tanjiro watched from the sidelines, Kaburamaru nestled comfortably around his arm. He smiled softly, gently patting the snake's head as it hissed in quiet contentment.

Once the children had made up, Tanjiro ushered them towards sleep — it was already deep into the night. They curled up on either side of him, Obanai to the right and Kyojuro to the left, their small breaths gradually syncing as the tension melted away.

Tanjiro listened to the rhythm of their breathing, felt the warmth of their presence, and finally let the fatigue catch up to him. With a quiet sigh, he closed his eyes, allowing sleep to take him at last.

(One day during Tanjiro’s absence)

While Tanjiro was away, Shinjuro asked Obanai to deliver dinner to Ruka. Kyojuro was busy feeding Senjuro and had finished his own meal first, so he happily passed the task to Obanai.

Carefully, Obanai walked down the hallway with the tray in hand. He set it down and knocked softly on Ruka’s door, hearing a gentle “Come in” from inside.

He slid the door open and saw Ruka sitting up in bed, reading a book under the warm light. She looked up and blinked in surprise at the sight of Obanai, who bowed shyly. It was usually Shinjuro or Kyojuro who brought her meals, so seeing a new face was a pleasant change.

Smiling softly, Ruka set her book aside and motioned for him to come closer. Obanai picked up the tray and walked to her bedside, placing it gently beside her. Ruka reached out and patted his head. He leaned into her touch, his cheeks turning pink.

Since arriving, Obanai had felt Ruka’s kindness and patience. She treated him with the same warmth she showed Kyojuro and Senjuro. He held back his feelings, but deep down, he felt something close to love — drawn to the motherly aura she radiated. He once wished to be on the receiving end of such affection.

Obanai hated to admit it, but he was afraid of receiving love from a woman — whether it was parental, familial, or any other kind. To him, love always came with expectations. If he wasn’t useful or if he stepped out of line, he feared he’d be hurt or abandoned. The thought of disappointing Ruka or the Rengoku family made his stomach twist with anxiety. 

He didn’t want to be cast out.

His thoughts were interrupted when Ruka gently pulled her hand back and shakily picked up the ceramic bowl of miso soup. She sipped it slowly and carefully. Obanai watched her eat, quietly helping whenever she needed — taking empty bowls from her hands, offering a cloth to wipe her mouth, or bringing water to help her swallow. His quiet attentiveness warmed Ruka’s heart.

“You’re a good child, Obanai. Thank you for caring for me,” she said softly.

Obanai fidgeted with his kimono, unsure on how to respond. He didn’t believe he was a good child — not in his own mother’s eyes. When Ruka finished her light meal, Obanai neatly arranged the empty dishes on the tray. He turned to face her, still unsure on how to act around her. He felt guilty, knowing she had done so much for him, and he still didn’t know how to accept it.

Ruka gave Obanai a gentle smile and opened her arms, inviting him closer. He hesitated, then slowly crawled toward her, letting her pull him into a side hug. Obanai held onto her waist, his eyes shining with quiet questions.

She softly patted his head. “Tell me, do you have a dream you want to achieve when you grow up?” she asked.

Obanai fell silent. He hadn’t thought much about dreams. At first, he only wanted to escape his ancestral home — and he did. Then he dreamed of becoming strong and dependable, so Tanjiro wouldn’t have to leave him behind. Tanjiro had changed his life, and Obanai wanted to be someone he could rely on. But beyond that, he wasn’t sure what he wanted or could do.

He shook his head. And Ruka kept gently patting it.

“That’s okay,” she said warmly. “Not everyone has a dream right away, and you don’t have to come up with one now. It’s okay to take your time and enjoy being a child. You’re safe now, and you’ll be loved.”

Obanai’s eyes widened as he looked up at her reddish eyes. How could he take his time when he didn’t know what the future held?

“I…” he began, and Ruka waited patiently. “I don’t know where I’ll go when I grow up. I want to stay with Tanjiro-san, but I’m afraid I’ll be a burden.”

He fiddled with the fabric of her kimono as he spoke. Ruka chuckled softly, her chest rising gently with the sound.

“Where else would you go?” Ruka teased gently. “Are you planning to be independent soon? Kyojuro and Senjuro will be lonely if you leave.”

Obanai blinked, a little confused. “But I can’t stay here forever, right? I’ll need a job… and a house…” His voice faded as he listed the things he thought he’d need once he grew up. Maybe he’d become a Demon Slayer like Kyojuro. But more than anything, he wanted a safe home to return to — somewhere peaceful. He smiled at the thought of inviting Kyojuro, Senjuro, Ruka, Shinjuro, and Tanjiro to visit.

Ruka hummed softly, sensing his thoughts. 

“You don’t need to worry about all that right now. You’re under the Rengoku family’s care. What we have is yours too. You’re part of our family — if you’ll let us make it official.” A new voice spoke as the door slid open. Shinjuro entered, holding Senjuro in his arms, with Kyojuro skipping behind him.

“Make it official…?” Obanai echoed, unsure.

Shinjuro nodded with a warm smile. Ruka sighed as Kyojuro dove into her arms, now hugging both boys on her lap. “Shinjuro, you should’ve asked him properly. He’s confused and overwhelmed,” she scolded gently.

Shinjuro chuckled, scratching his head. “It slipped my mind. I already saw him as part of the family the moment I took him in. But I guess we should do it the right way.”

He sat beside Ruka, still holding Senjuro. The little boy crawled to Ruka’s lap and rested his head on her thigh, quickly falling asleep. Kyojuro giggled at the sight.

Shinjuro turned to Obanai and gave him a gentle smile. “Obanai, we’re not asking you to decide right now. Just know that you’ll always have a home with the Rengokus. You’ll never be alone or left to suffer.”

He reached out and patted Obanai’s head. The boy’s eyes shimmered with emotion.

“We want to officially adopt you into our family,” Shinjuro continued. “We hope you’ll let us care for you until you’re older. If you choose to be independent one day, that’s okay. But for now, we want you to have the childhood you deserve — with love, safety, and a family that will always be here for you.”

“What do you think?” Shinjuro asked.

Kyojuro lit up and grabbed Obanai’s hands, making him turn in surprise. Kyojuro’s smile was bright and full of genuine warmth. “I’d be so happy if you became my big brother! That way, I’m not the oldest anymore!” he said proudly, puffing out his chest.

Shinjuro sighed. “That doesn’t mean you can slack off, Kyojuro.”

“I won’t, Father! But now the older brother's duties go to Obanai!”

“It doesn’t work like that! You’re still the firstborn Rengoku. Don’t pass your responsibilities to Obanai!”

“Ehhh?” Kyojuro pouted, while Ruka covered her mouth to hide her laughter at the playful exchange between her husband and son.

Obanai sat quietly, trying to process everything. Shinjuro had just asked to adopt him — to give him a permanent home and love him like a true parent. His vision blurred as tears began to fall.

The room fell silent as everyone noticed Obanai crying.

“Wah! Father, you made him cry!” Kyojuro exclaimed, making Shinjuro flinch.

“Why does it sound like it’s my fault?” Shinjuro replied, flustered.

Obanai’s hiccups turned into full sobs, his cries echoing through the room. The others stayed quiet, offering gentle touches and letting him feel safe as he let his emotions out.

Finally, Obanai nodded, trying to stop the tears but failing. His heart felt lighter, as if a heavy weight had been lifted. The fear and anxiety he’d carried about staying with the Rengokus began to fade. He wanted to stay. He wanted to feel this warmth every day. He wanted Tanjiro-san to stay with them. He was truly happy.

“Mnm… Thank you for having me,” Obanai said in a shaky voice. Then he added, “But… Can I keep my last name?”

The three looked at each other and nodded without hesitation.

“Of course,” Shinjuro said warmly. “If you want to keep the name Iguro, that’s perfectly fine. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re now my son, Obanai.”

Obanai’s eyes shimmered with emotion, his heart full. He knew that taking the Rengoku name would erase the dark past of his family — but he didn’t want that. Tanjiro had taught him that he was worthy of love, no matter his past. He would live as Iguro Obanai, the boy who survived cruelty and became strong. And he would work hard to make up for his clan’s sins — with his new family and Tanjiro by his side.

Kyojuro cheered and accidentally hit Shinjuro on the chin, making him double over in pain. Then Kyojuro ran to Obanai and hugged him tightly, knocking them both to the floor as they giggled together.

“I have an older brother now!”

“Obanai’s only a year older than you,” Shinjuro pointed out.

“Still counts!” Kyojuro insisted.

Shinjuro sighed, realizing he now had three children to look after. But when he glanced at Ruka, her eyes full of love and joy, he knew he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

He knelt beside Obanai and gently patted his head.

“Welcome to the family, Obanai.”

Tanjiro stretched as he finished the afternoon chores. He took off his white kappogi and hung it neatly on the emonkake in the corner of the kitchen.

After washing his hands, he began preparing Ruka's medicine for the day. With Shinjuro back on duty — unable to be away for too long — Tanjiro had taken on the responsibility of caring for Ruka. Since arriving two days ago, he hadn't received any mission or orders from the Master, nor heard from Koshi, so he focused on the household: looking after the children, tending to Ruka, and keeping things in order.

He placed the medicine on a tray, adding a piece of sweet potato to help cleanse the taste, then made his way to Ruka's room.

On the way, he passed by the garden and smiled at the sight — Senjuro sitting peacefully on a mat while Obanai and Kyojuro spar with wooden bokken, their laughter echoing in the breeze.

It was no surprise to Tanjiro that Obanai had asked Shinjuro to train him alongside Kyojuro. He knew Obanai would become a Demon Slayer eventually. Tanjiro felt proud of both boys, certain they would grow into strong Hashiras. He hoped their bond would stay strong as they grew older.

Smiling to himself, Tanjiro continued towards Ruka's room. He paused at the door and knocked gently.

“Come in,” came a soft voice, followed by a poorly hidden cough.

Tanjiro frowned in concern but quickly composed himself and slid the door open.

Ruka was sitting on her futon. The wooden doors leading to the engawa were shut, blocking out the light from outside.

‘It seems Ruka-san's headache is worse today,’ he thought, remembering how she'd been having them more often lately.

Ruka slowly turned her head towards Tanjiro and smiled. Her lips were pale, and her eyes looked tired and sunken.

‘She looks paler today,’ Tanjiro thought sadly as he placed the tray down beside her futon.

Ruka sat with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to protect her from the cold. Her breathing was soft but shallow, yet she tried her best to appear strong as she greeted him. 

“I'm sorry for making you do this every day, Tanjiro-san. You're our guest,” she said gently.

Tanjiro shook his head and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Please don't apologize, Ruka-san. Your family welcomed me so kindly, even when I've probably overstayed my welcome. This is the least I can do,” he said, picking up the small ceramic bowl and handing her the medicine with care.

Tanjiro didn't let go until he was sure Ruka had a firm grip on the bowl. She didn't say anything as she slowly drank the medicine from the ceramic cup.

Tanjiro watched quietly, a small frown forming. ‘I wonder if the blue spider lily treatment is ready,’ he thought. The urge to begin Ruka's treatment was growing stronger, but he reminded himself to be patient.

Once Ruka finished, he gently reached out and took the bowl from her hands.

“Thank you,” she said softly, then took a small bite of the sweet potato.

Ruka wouldn't deny the medicine tasted awful — likely from the mix of herbs and other ingredients. Still, she had no right to complain. It was meant to help her.

‘More like delay the inevitable,’ she thought with a sigh, her heart heavy.

“How are you feeling, Ruka-san?” Tanjiro asked.

Ruka smiled weakly. “A bit better than yesterday… but the headaches are still strong,” she said, holding her head.

Tanjiro gently helped her lie back down. She exhaled and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling dizzy and nauseous.

Tanjiro watched with worry. He felt helpless, unable to ease her pain. His fists had clenched without him noticing — until a soft hand caressed his.

“Don't feel guilty, Tanjiro-san,” Ruka said gently. “It's not your fault, or anyone else's. This is inevitable.”

Tanjiro gave her a wry smile. “It's not yours either, Ruka-san.”

Ruka pressed her lips together and looked away. Silence settled between them, peaceful and heavy.

Outside the closed shoji doors, the sound of children laughing drifted in. Ruka smiled faintly at the sound.

“Tanjiro-san,” Ruka called softly, making Tanjiro perk up.

“Yes, Ruka-san?” he replied, locking eyes with her.

“To be honest… I'm scared,” she confessed, her voice trembling. Tanjiro's eyes widened. Ruka looked like she was trying to stay strong, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“Being stuck in this room, bedridden… it's given me too much time to think,” she said, turning her gaze to the ceiling.

“I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of leaving them behind,” she whispered.

Ruka had thought she'd come to terms with her fate. She tried to enjoy her remaining time with her family, teaching Kyojuro early lessons and speaking with Shinjuro about what was coming. But Shinjuro refused to accept it. He still went out on missions, searching for a cure, a better doctor — anything that might change her fate.

Ruka knew Shinjuro was in denial, and she feared what might happen if she passed away. It wasn't that she didn't trust him to care for their children — she did. But she worried about what her absence would do to him, to their sons, and to the family as a whole.

When she married Shinjuro, she learned that the Rengoku family were rumored to only fall in love once — a rumor that is even recorded in their family history. At first, she found it silly. People fall in love more than once, don't they?

But to her surprise, Shinjuro had never loved anyone before her. She was his first and only partner.

That didn't stop him from being deeply devoted. He always seemed to know exactly what she needed, what she wanted. His care and love were so thoughtful and consistent, it felt like he had years of experience — as if he'd been married before. Ruka was astonished by how naturally he loved her and how deeply he was involved in their family.

They had relied on each other so deeply that Ruka used to fear what would happen if Shinjuro died during a mission. But now, it seemed she wasn't the one who should be worried — it was her husband. She hated that she had to go first. Yet, she knew it would be even harder if she lost any of her family before her. She didn't think she could survive the loneliness and grief. But she also feared her family would feel the same pain if she left. She hated both possibilities.

“I want to be there for the children when they grow up,” she said, her voice soft. “I want to be there when they stumble, so I can remind them they're not alone.”

Her voice grew strained with each word. “There's still so much I haven't taught them… but I have so little time.” Her fingers trembled as she clutched the edge of her blanket.

“Shinjuro…” she whispered. “I can't bear the thought of leaving him and the children behind. They need me… and all I've done is become a burden.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

Ruka closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. “I just want a little more time,” she whispered.

She didn't want to leave yet. She wanted to keep holding Shinjuro's hand, tend the garden with her children, and cook meals for Obanai — who always looked so excited when she made his favorite dish, ever since Tanjiro taught her how.

And Tanjiro… she wanted to know more about the boy she'd grown fond of, like a son. He had done so much for her family, and she hadn't even repaid him.

She remembered the day Tanjiro, burning with fever, had called her “mother”. That moment awakened her maternal instincts towards him. She often wondered what had happened to his family to leave him so broken.

“I thought I'd come to terms with the death this illness will bring,” she said with a heavy sigh. “But I'm not getting better… I'm only getting worse.”

Tanjiro didn't speak. He simply held her hand, offering quiet comfort.

Ruka was grateful for him, as always.

Tanjiro knelt beside Ruka, his eyes with quiet resolve. He didn't want to give her false hope, but he couldn't help feeling determined. The blue spider lily treatment was still in testing, and while nothing was guaranteed, hope was all he had.

‘It's better to keep hoping than to give up,’ he thought. Everyone is trying their best — Tamayo, Yushiro, even my ancestor who searched for the flower. ‘If they didn't give up, why should I?’

“Ruka-san,” he said gently, letting go of her hand. He dipped a cloth into a bowl of cold water, wrung it out, and placed it carefully on her forehead.

“You're not going to die,” he said, his voice firm and full of belief.

Ruka blinked, surprised by his conviction. “Tanjiro-kun…” she whispered.

“I mean it,” Tanjiro said, his voice trembling with emotion. He straightened up and met Ruka's eyes. “You're going to heal. I'll make sure of it. Even if I have to find every herb, every treatment, and use every ounce of strength I have. I won't let you leave them. Not yet.”

His words lit a spark in Ruka's heart — a flame she thought had long gone out.

Her lips parted, but no words came. Her eyes filled with tears.

“You're still here,” Tanjiro continued, gently but firmly holding her hand. “Your heart is strong. Your love is strong. And I've seen miracles, Ruka-san. I've seen people survive the impossible — because someone believed in them.”

He wasn't just saying it. He had seen it himself. The defeat of Upper Moons once thought unbeatable. The shift in the Demon Slayer Corps. Tamayo and Shinobu completing the cure that could turn demons back into humans. Miracles were real — and one was being made right now.

Ruka let out a shaky breath. “But what if my body can't hold on? What if I get too tired?” she whispered.

She wanted to live, to fight through this. But her body — her health — was something she couldn't control.

“Then I'll carry your hope for you,” Tanjiro vowed, his voice gentle but firm. He smiled softly at Ruka. “Until you feel strong again, I'll remind you every day that you're needed — and that you will heal. That Kyojuro and Senjuro still look for your smile. That Shinjuro still reaches for your hand at night.”

He caressed her hand gently.

“That you'll go to the market with Kyojuro. Tend the garden with Senjuro,” he continued. “That you'll cook more of Obanai's favorite meals and treats. That Shinjuro will still feel your love.”

His words felt more like a promise to himself than to her.

Ruka's tears flowed freely, but her smile shone through them. “You speak like you've been through this before,” she said softly, careful not to stir any painful memories.

Tanjiro closed his eyes and smiled sadly.

He remembered his father's final moments. The deaths of his comrades. The loss of his family, taken too soon. He remembered Nezuko burning under the sun. The grief he carried, and the strength it took to keep moving forward. He remembered the helplessness of wandering Muzan's castle, searching for hope in the darkness.

Tanjiro bowed his head, choosing not to answer her earlier words. Instead, he said softly, “You've welcomed me with such kindness. I won't let that kindness turn into sadness.”

Laughter echoed from the garden — Shinjuro's voice mixing with the children's cheerful chortles. Ruka perked up at the sound, her eyes drifting towards the closed shoji doors leading to the engawa.

“I'll stay,” Tanjiro whispered.

Ruka looked at him, and he gave her a gentle smile. “As long as you and your family need me. I'll believe — for you, and for all of us — until you find the strength to believe again.”

Ruka squeezed his hand, her grip fragile but warm. “Then I'll try,” she said. “For one more sunrise. And another after that.”

Tanjiro’s smile grew bigger. Ruka's heart felt lighter. The fear was still there — but it no longer felt so heavy.

Shinjuro had asked the Master for a day off to spend time with his wife before heading out on a three-day mission. He had already told Tanjiro that he'd be traveling south with Ryosuke and his new Tsuguko to check on the Wisteria Houses, which had recently been targeted by demons.

Tanjiro felt uneasy. According to Shinjuro, the attacks were carried out by weak or newly turned demons. Tanjiro frowned, troubled by the news.

Lately, demons had started attacking in groups — something unusual. They were mostly weak or freshly transformed, and no Upper or Lower Moons were involved. It could've been dismissed as a typical demon incident, but something didn't sit right. Demons were usually solitary, driven by pride and hunger. They didn't share prey.

‘Another Wisteria House attacked,’ Tanjiro thought, lips pressed into a tight line.

‘Is this what Oyakata-sama warned me about?’ Tanjiro wondered. So far, it was the only strange pattern he'd noticed — but maybe there was something deeper he hadn't uncovered yet.

Shinjuro sat with his arms crossed, eyes closed, lost in thought. Demons working together was unheard of. “It's like they've mutated,” he mused, worry making his chest tighten. “I need to report this to Oyakata-sama.”

He breathed into his tea, leaning back and resting his arm on the table. This was the only day off he had before heading out on another mission. He treasured these quiet moments — but his mind kept drifting to Tanjiro.

Every time Shinjuro returned from a mission, he found himself seeking Tanjiro out, reporting to him almost like he did to the Master. He knew Tanjiro was eager to return to the field, and he couldn't help but wonder why the Master hadn't sent him out yet — why would he leave Tanjiro in Shinjuro’s care.

Despite being a Hashira, Shinjuro couldn't shake the feeling that Tanjiro held a higher position. It was strange, but it felt natural. ‘Maybe he's on the same level as Oyakata-sama,’ he thought, unsettled by the idea. There were too many unanswered questions about Tanjiro's past.

Shinjuro wanted to know more, but the Master had forbidden him from digging. He wouldn't say who Tanjiro really was. Their last conversation hinted that Tanjiro might be a descendant of the first breath user — and that he practiced Sun Breathing.

At first, Shinjuro had been amazed to learn that a family still practiced Sun Breathing. But what troubled him was why it had to be kept secret. Everyone believed the technique had died out with its creator. No one knew the family still existed. He didn’t know anyone in the Corps that practiced Sun Breathing. Most likely, they weren’t swordsmen to begin with.

Shinjuro couldn't help but worry about Tanjiro. If word got out, he'd become a walking target for Sun Breathing is highly sought after, by both humans and demons. 

That's why Shinjuro wished he could keep Tanjiro hidden — but with Tanjiro meeting new people every day, it was impossible to keep his existence a secret. His eye twitched as he remembered a certain Wind Hashira.

Tanjiro took a bite of red bean mochi, chewing slowly. “So you'll be going with Kobayashi-san?” he asked.

Shinjuro straightened, his eyes darkening. A flash of annoyance and anger crossed his face.

Tanjiro hiccuped. ‘I shouldn't have asked!’ he panicked inwardly, swallowing hard.

Shinjuro let out a frustrated sigh. “Unfortunately. It's rare for the Master to assign two Hashiras to a mission this simple, but he thinks it's safer in case an Upper Moon is involved,” he said seriously.

Though Shinjuro understood the caution, he couldn't help but feel his pride sting. Hashiras were strong — some may even rival Upper Moons. Still, no one had ever faced one and lived to tell the tale. The Master was being careful, and Shinjuro respected that.

“Ryosuke's bringing his Tsuguko along for the experience. The kid's barely trained and still so young! But Ryosuke insisted. If things go awry, the kid will end up mixed up in it.” Shinjuro grumbled, looking away as he sipped his tea.

Tanjiro smiled softly. Despite the complaints, Shinjuro seemed fond of Ryosuke. Tanjiro couldn't smell any hatred — just irritation mixed with concern.

He hummed and took a sip of his own tea, curious about Ryosuke's Tsuguko. If Ryosuke trusted him enough to bring him along, maybe the boy had potential.

“You seem fond of Kobayashi-san, Rengoku-san,” Tanjiro giggled.

Shinjuro stared at him, stunned. His face turned pink as he grumbled and looked away, resting his chin on his palm. Tanjiro giggled again at his flustered reaction.

Shinjuro huffed. “He showed up right after I got back from my mission. I had to physically drag him away,” he muttered, purposely avoiding the part where Ryosuke had come to see Tanjiro.

Tanjiro tilted his head, confused. “Did something happen? He was just here a few days ago. Is he not allowed to visit anymore?”

Shinjuro's expression grew complicated as he searched for the right words.

Shinjuro couldn’t just blurt out, “The Wind Hashira wants you as his second Tsuguko and wants you to live at his estate,” without sounding bitter — because over his dead body would that happen.

Tanjiro was under his care now, and he wasn’t just any slayer. For all they knew, Tanjiro could become a Hashira himself. 

‘That man is so stubborn and persistent,’ Shinjuro thought.

“He’s investing his time on other things when he should be training his own Tsuguko,” Shinjuro grumbled. “What’s the point of having one if you won’t teach the kid?”

He thought of the white-haired boy Ryosuke had recently taken in after a village under the Corps’ care was attacked. The child had no experience or proper Nichirin blade, yet his strength and fighting spirit were undeniable — along with a dangerous bloodlust.

That kind of power needed careful guidance.

‘And yet Ryosuke is busy trying to win Tanjiro over,’ he thought, huffing internally.

Tanjiro gave a nervous laugh, smelling Shinjuro’s rising frustration. He decided not to push the topic further — for now, Ryosuke would be spared from Shinjuro’s wrath.

They sat in a comfortable silence until loud footsteps and a door slamming open near Tanjiro's room broke the quiet. Shinjuro blinked and sighed, rubbing his temple.

“I just told Kyojuro his mother is resting and not to bother her… but clearly he didn't listen,” he said with a tired sigh. Tanjiro laughed, amused. He was sure Kyojuro had dragged Obanai and Senjuro along — those three are almost always together.

“He's full of sunshine and energy. He misses his mother and just wants to be near her. It's okay, Rengoku-san,” Tanjiro said with a gentle smile. He ignored the ache in his chest, knowing Kyojuro was soaking up every moment with her while he still could. Shinjuro scoffed softly, then chuckled along with him.

“How's Kyojuro and Obanai's training going?” Tanjiro asked, making Shinjuro perk up and grin.

“Kyojuro's already mastered the basic stance and sword forms. He just needs to refine them and build more strength,” he said proudly, flexing his muscles. Tanjiro's eyes widened in awe. He knew Kyojuro was strong, but his natural talent made it no surprise that he was skilled even at a young age.

“Obanai's doing well too. He has no trouble with sword forms or stances,” Shinjuro added, his tone turning thoughtful. “But I don't think Flame Breathing suits him.”

Tanjiro hummed in agreement. He understood why — it didn't match Obanai's style. Obanai moved like a snake: smooth, fierce, and precise, striking from blind spots. He was so gifted he'd even created his own breathing technique.

“Maybe he's better suited for something more flexible and fluid,” Tanjiro suggested. Shinjuro groaned, making a mental note. “That might be it.”

Tanjiro couldn't help but smile at the children's progress. “That's amazing. At this rate, those two will be Hashiras in no time. You better watch your back, Rengoku-san,” he teased, earning a huff from Shinjuro.

“They have a long way to go — and a few hundred years before they can beat his old man,” Shinjuro muttered.

Tanjiro chuckled, though his smile turned a little wry. It felt strange hearing Shinjuro speak like that, knowing how bitter and distant he'd been towards Kyojuro in the future. He'd refused to train his son, leaving Kyojuro to learn everything on his own. Tanjiro remembered the harsh words Shinjuro had once thrown at him. He'd forgiven him, but the memory still stung.

He shook his head and gave Shinjuro a gentle, closed-eyed smile, listening to the muffled laughter from Ruka's room — until it faded into silence.

“It got quiet,” Shinjuro mumbled, almost to himself.

Tanjiro giggled. “Ruka-san must've scolded the kids.”

Shinjuro smiled faintly, his eyes distant and dull. “She probably did. But she's always loved the noise. For someone so quiet and strict… she's always had a soft spot for a little chaos,” he said, gazing at the cold tea in front of him, untouched after all the time they'd spent talking.

Silence filled the room until a shaky exhale broke through. Tanjiro perked up, smelling the sadness and grief coming from Shinjuro. He knew exactly why — and chose to stay quiet, offering only a soft, wry smile.

Ever since Ruka's condition worsened, Shinjuro avoided mentioning her. He knew that talking about her would bring a wave of helplessness and grief he wasn't ready to face. Tanjiro felt deeply for him. Anticipatory grief was painful — it meant mourning someone who was still alive. It was confusing and heavy, like holding love and loss at the same time.

“I'm scared,” Shinjuro mumbled.

Tanjiro blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected Shinjuro to open up like that. He stayed silent, out of respect, letting the man speak.

Shinjuro sat in silence, the tea in his cup long since cold. The house was quiet, but his thoughts were loud. He lowered his head, his strong, dependent shoulders now heavy with grief and helplessness. The ache in his chest settled deep.

He was scared.

Not of demons. Not of death. But of losing her.

Losing Ruka — his wife, his light.

She had always been his strength. Her laughter, her gentle voice, the way she touched his arm was enough to give him strength — like she could pull him back with just a glance.

She was the reason he stood tall and unwavering. The reason he fought demons to keep her and their family safe. The reason he came home every day even if he feels weary and tired.

She was why he kept getting stronger — so he could cut through every obstacle, every demon, just to return to her and their family.

And now, she was slipping away through his fingers like sand. And that shakes him to the core in fear.

“I don't know how to live without her,” he whispered, voice full of anguish. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I don't want to live without her.” 

He feared waking up and not hearing her hum in the kitchen. He feared seeing his sons look at him with questions he couldn't answer. He feared failing her — failing the promise he made as she lay in bed, her hand in his, her health deteriorating.

‘Raise them well. Stay kind. Keep going. Find love again.’

He can keep every promise — except the last one. The members of the Rengoku family only fall in love once. He couldn't imagine loving anyone but his wife. That part of him would fade, carried by Ruka to the grave. He wished he could apologize for being so stubborn but he couldn’t. 

"I'm not ready," he whispered. "I'm not strong enough to face losing her. I don't know if I can keep the house running — or even keep myself going.” Shinjuro dreaded. 

Tanjiro couldn't help but feel heartbroken for the man. He was strong — a Hashira who rose to the top, feared by demons and unshaken by challenges. But his greatest weakness was his wife. Tanjiro couldn't imagine what Shinjuro must have felt, losing himself in grief. 

Although it doesn't excuse how he treated his sons — neglecting and hurting them. That's something Ruka would never forgive.

Even after losing his own family, Tanjiro still had Nezuko to keep him going. He understood that grief affects everyone differently. And if he had lost Nezuko during the mission at the Swordsmiths Village… he wasn't sure what would've become of him.

Shinjuro’s hand trembled as he set down his cup. “I promised her,” he said quietly. “I told her I'd raise our sons right. That I'd protect them. That I'd stay strong. But I don't know if I can do it without her. She was always the strongest between us and the wisest.”

His words hung heavy in the air. Tanjiro stayed quiet, just listening. He knew the man needed to release what had weighed on his heart for so long. Tanjiro had seen Shinjuro put on a brave face — acting strong for his children, his wife, even for him. But nothing could hide from Tanjiro's sharp sense of smell.

“She kept smiling,” Shinjuro said, voice rough and wet. “Even when she was tired. Even when the pain started. She never stopped being a mother, a wife. And I just sat there, useless. I couldn't ease her pain. I couldn't heal her. If only I'd been a doctor—”

“You wouldn't have met Ruka-san,” Tanjiro interrupted gently but firmly.

Shinjuro's head snapped up, eyes locking with Tanjiro's. A tear slipped down his cheek.

“I know you're feeling helpless and scared,” Tanjiro said softly. “You're trying to stay present and treasure the time you have, while also bracing for what's coming.”

He stood and walked over, kneeling beside Shinjuro. The older man never looked away from him.

“The deeper the bond, the harder it is to imagine life without them,” Tanjiro said softly. “That love fuels your fear, your sadness, and your longing to protect them — even when you can't.”

His words hit Shinjuro hard. He looked away and closed his eyes, refusing to accept that there might be nothing he could do. Tanjiro watched quietly as Shinjuro wrestled with his thoughts. He knew the man was in deep denial. But Tanjiro couldn't reveal his plan about the blue spider lily — not yet. Not until Ruka's health was showing signs of improvement.

Tanjiro gently placed his hand over Shinjuro's. “It's okay to feel afraid of the unknown. It's okay to feel helpless. That just shows how much you love your family.”

Shinjuro pressed his lips together, guilt gnawing at his chest.

“You won't fail your sons — or your wife,” Tanjiro said firmly. “I've seen how you talk about them. You're already doing it. You're there for your sons, guiding them through training, listening to them, caring for their needs. You're taking care of your wife, making sure she feels loved every single day.”

Tanjiro squeezed his hand. “That, Rengoku-san, is what being a good father and husband truly means.”

Shinjuro's breath caught in his throat. Shinjuro's eyes glistened, but he didn't look away.

“That love is your strength,” Tanjiro said gently. “And your wife… she's still giving it to you, even now. Ruka hasn't given up. She's fighting her illness every day, staying strong because she loves her family so much. She doesn’t want to leave you behind.”

Tanjiro’s voice softened. “And even if she does… she knows she has a reliable husband who will raise their children to be kind, strong, and protect the weak. Children who will bring light into people's lives.”

“You're not alone in this,” Tanjiro continued. “I believe in you, Rengoku-san. Your sons do too. And so does Ruka. Love doesn't disappear with loss. Showing up, even when you're afraid, is a kind of courage.”

“And that,” Tanjiro said, “is the strongest thing someone can do.” 

"You can only do what's within your power," Tanjiro said firmly, as his determined eyes locked into Shinjuro’s glistening eyes.

"For now, focus on that and keep believing. We don't know what the future holds, and we can't control it — but we can choose what we can do today.” Tanjiro concluded and smiled warmly at Shinjuro.

That's right — they couldn't control the future, but they could still act in the present. Now that he'd been transported to the past, everything felt uncertain. So much had changed, and he didn't know what lay ahead. But what mattered the most to him now was his friends’ and loved ones’ happiness. As long as there was something he could do, he would do it.

Silence settled between them, soft and sacred.

Shinjuro nodded slowly. The dullness in his eyes faded, and the weight in his heart began to lift — as if Tanjiro was helping to carry it. 

Tanjiro had done so much for his family and for him, and yet Shinjuro, the man of the house, couldn't even manage something as simple as getting his shit together and being the most reliable person in the house.

Tanjiro had to do it for them and he’s a guest. Shinjuro huffed fondly. He shook his head, his thoughts clearing, his resolve slowly returning with every word Tanjiro had spoken.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For reminding me… and I apologize for imposing on you.” He continued, a little embarrassed for breaking down in front of Tanjiro. He wasn't used to being vulnerable with anyone — but Tanjiro had a way of making people feel safe, like it was okay to let go and be comforted.

Tanjiro smiled warmly and shook his head. “No worries at all.” He said and continued,

“You're not alone, Rengoku-san. You never were. You have your sons. You have the Corps.” Tanjiro said and Shinjuro frowned, grasping his hand in alarm. 

“What about you?” Tanjiro paused. He knew he wouldn’t be with the family for long or permanently. He isn’t from this time. He couldn’t answer the man. But he couldn’t simply lie either so instead he smiled in response.

Then he gently pulled Shinjuro into a hug, letting the older man rest his chin on his shoulder. One arm wrapped around Shinjuro's back, the other reached up to softly run through his hair. Shinjuro's shoulders trembled as he clung to Tanjiro, silently sobbing, letting himself feel the comfort Tanjiro offered.

He swallowed hard. The fear was still there — but now, it was wrapped in something gentler.

Something like hope.

Shinjuro wondered why Tanjiro didn't include himself when he said he wasn't alone — that people would be there for him. It felt strange. Something about it didn't sit right.

Because deep down, Shinjuro knew: if Tanjiro ever left his life too, he wouldn't be able to bear it.

Welcome to “Whispers to Tomorrow” Wiki! ☆

Kobayashi Ryosuke

Current Wind Hashira

Kobayashi Ryosuke is the current Wind Hashira during the Meiji period. At 27 years old, he is the second youngest among the Hashira, having earned his title at just 17.

His favorite food is curry udon, a comforting dish he eats before and after missions — both to encourage himself and to celebrate small wins. It's a tradition passed down from his mentor, which Ryosuke continues with quiet devotion.

He has a soft spot for dogs and owns two at his estate — siblings with different fur colors, one black and one brown. 

Ryosuke is the eldest of seven siblings, though he lost his entire family to demons as a child. He was later adopted and trained by the previous Wind Hashira, who had also been an orphan. Through old family records, Ryosuke discovered that his mentor had been adopted by the Wind Hashira before him.

Though there's no formal record of this tradition among other Wind Hashira, Ryosuke chose to continue it. During missions, he began adopting orphans and children in need — not just to train them as Tsugukos, but to give them a home. Over time, his estate transformed into a makeshift orphanage. Some children found new families through his help, while others chose to stay. Some eventually followed his path and became slayers.

Ryosuke's reason was simple: they reminded him of his own lost family. Their innocence, warmth, and resilience stirred something in him. Whenever he meets a child who fits that description, he feels the urge to bring them into his little family — to protect them, to let them play, and to give them a safe place to grow.

The other Hashiras affectionately call him “the crow”, teasing that he's like one — spotting something shiny and precious, and immediately wanting to keep it close and treasure it.

Ryosuke is often seen as nonchalant and unexpressive, keeping his emotions well hidden. He's gentle when the moment allows, and strict when the situation demands it. Most people can't tell what he's thinking — except for the Flame Hashira, Rengoku Shinjuro. The two met during Final Selection and quickly became close friends and rivals, forming a bond built on mutual respect and quiet understanding.

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