Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.”

— Maya Angelou

*

The snow falls all around a lone figure, trudging along a broken and lonely path with his feet sinking into the snow. He doesn't pay any mind to the cold weather and the frost which eludes his vision of his surroundings, as his eyes narrow, looking through the fog of this snowy day. Snowflakes fall, a signature of the cold, winter season covering the country with depressing, frigid weather. He swerves around the thick duress of trees, knowing that if he finds himself lost in this maze of a forest, he will never get his brother medical attention in time.

So, who cares if the weather is cold? If the forest becomes spooky this time of day, especially with the harshest winds cutting deep through him?

None of this mattered to Yoriichi Tsugikuni.

No, what matters more is trying to save his older brother, who is currently unconscious, being carried on his back as if he weighs nothing. Yoriichi feels like every step he takes is him holding his brother as they walk to oblivion.

His face is one of muted distress; while he cannot emit the same emotions as one would feel at a stressful time like this, it does not mean he is incapable of feeling panic and fear for the safety of his beloved brother.

I left for one day… he thinks to himself. I left to escape, before feeling like my entire world was getting destroyed to the point I must come home quickly! And then I come home to this!

He feels Michikatsu's long hair around his neck, as a sign that he is still being carried, that he has not let go.

He is not conscious yet either.

How could this happen? He thinks, ruby red eyes staring at the road ahead, trying to find any notable landmark due to the snow obscuring his vision.

***

A day earlier, Yoriichi Tsugikuni was the unwanted second son of a notable clan that can trace its origins to the Sengoku period. He was the scorned child, all because he was born with a red, fire-like marking on his forehead— when his superstitious father saw this mark, he had immediately considered it a curse, a blot on their bloodline. Father had no use for him because he was already training his older brother, Michikatsu, into a formidable clan head. Yoriichi is to be sent away once he turns eighteen, to become a monk or a priest. His father didn't care, as long as he left.

A day before, he had finally gained the courage to tell his Father that he wanted to leave this house. He could no longer take the feelings associated with this house— sadness, anger, and grief coalescing into an ugly bout of storms.

His Father, stone-faced, sits in front of him, fists clenched upon his lap. Yoriichi mimics his position, sitting seiza with a passive expression on his face. His stare-off with his father does not waver, and he knows he will agree eventually. He has always wanted him away from the main core of the Tsugikuni household, to be trapped in the area his room is in or in his mother's area of the household. He is prohibited from setting foot in Michikatsu's or his father's area.

This was the first time he had been near his father without being hit. He could not have done it without Aniue’s assistance, who convinced their father to listen to him for one day.

He is wearing a creamy white kimono and a black hakama. His hanafuda earrings were the only gift his Father gave him due to the Tsugikuni custom of giving the hanafuda earrings to the second-born son. His dark hair, with red-crested tips, is tied to a lone ponytail, one that is not dissimilar to his older brother’s. However, while Michikatsu's hair is spikier and wilder, his is tamer, like the waves of the sun.

Silence continues to fill the room after Yoriichi tells him what he desires to do.

Then, his Father speaks. It was as if he'd been rendered mute for a few minutes. “You dare waste my time on what is essentially you making your departure early?”

Yoriichi doesn't do so much as blink. Of course, his father would think it was a huge relief; he did not have to force him to agree with his plans. It seemed he was tired of having to feed him or offer him real clothes. He didn't speak for a moment, so he could only muster a nod. It would be better if he left home sooner than later. Then, Aniue will stop waving off marriage proposals and take his omiai seriously. He's made a vow that he will not marry unless Yoriichi has a wife first.

Father scoffs, tired eyes giving him hateful looks. It does not take a genius to know that, after almost a year, he is still devastated over Mother's death. Even if the two of them do not see eye-to-eye, they both cherish Akeno Tsugikuni, despite Aniue’s claims that their father never loved their mother, as he’s seen him reconsider marriage proposals to other younger ladies. She had been the only light of their lives in this household, the only one who could soften their Father’s heart, make Aniue smile, and convince Yoriichi this house was safe. His Father doesn't seem to look good either, often sickly after Mother's demise. “Do whatever you want. I told you not to be near your brother, but even so, you disobey my orders.”

It had been Aniue who disobeyed the orders first. Then Yoriichi began to approach him after the wounds began to become more obvious, and the two of them start spending time together. His brother is too hard on himself; seeing himself as someone meaningless due to not being able to protect him, nor save their mother from an untimely death. He works too hard, and too much until he gets sick. And he doesn't let anyone notice that he is sick. Yet it is Yoriichi whose life has no worth— he exists solely to be the spare, as Aniue is promised to do great things in order to honor the family name.

“I grow tired of you hurting other people when you are meant to protect us,” Yoriichi tells him the truth, face-to-face. He is not a bold man, but when it comes to speaking up about the injustice he is seeing, he will not hesitate to speak up. Perhaps it is a trait they inherited from the Tsugikuni bloodline. “Like Aniue. He doesn't deserve the limp on his leg simply because he did not want to marry the twelve-year-old girl you’re offering to him. How is he supposed to practice the Kagura now, when New Year is about a week or two away?”

His Father clenches his jaw. He always gets defensive when Aniue’s injuries are often revealed to be his fault. It was not necessary to hit his heir, yet he does so anyway. And Aniue takes it, because he thinks it is worth it, and defies his orders even more. “Leave this household by sunset. You are no longer welcome here, and consider yourself not worthy to use the Tsugikuni name.”

Yoriichi had taken pride in his surname for being the same as Aniue's. But if it means his Father will stop hurting his brother over the littlest of things, then it'll be fine. The Tsugikuni household is able to hold itself without another son to burden its name. For the past fifteen years, his father has tried to save face, now, he can do the things he has not since Yoriichi was born; such as being proud of the heir he had been given by his wife.

“Very well.” His voice is soft, unsurprised by how this conversation had gone. He stands, and, because his mother told him that he should be more polite, he bows to his Father as a form of courtesy. “I will do what you wish.”

His Father merely grunts as a response.

Yoriichi doesn't look back, sliding the shogi doors open as he steps on the engawa of their home, showing the beautiful gardens of the household. Many servants are currently running amok, keeping to themselves and whispering. They must be whispering about how his Father entertained an audience with him, knowing his disgust for his second son. He was the vilified, cursed, whimsical, and eccentric younger son. His facial expression never changes, he doesn't speak some days, and he follows people around when he wants to get to know them better. Unlike his older brother, even if, debatably — according to the servants — their personalities are almost the same.

He disagrees with that idea. While he is more passive, his brother is more driven, and able to identify his ideas and the opportunities around it. He is a true heir, and is already becoming the businessman he is trained to be.

Speaking of his brother…

“Yoriichi.” A solid, stoic voice stops him from returning to his small, cramped room. He turns around to find his older brother staring at him with a piercing glare.

He turns to face him. He could not help the spark of joy and relief in his eyes once he looked at his brother. “Aniue.”

The two of them are twins, with Michikatsu being older by three minutes. Other than that, there are some physical differences between them. Michikatsu's hair has a purple texture and is wilder than Yoriichi's, shaped more like the crescent moon. His red eyes are brimming with emotion that Yoriichi doesn't have much of. They are wearing the same thing: a white kimono and over it a black hakama. He wears more expensive garments, such as the purple kimono or the Western clothing Father bought him when he is at parties or during an omiai.

“I heard everything.” He expected this. His brother is too curious for his own good. He gets ahold of business that isn't his by eavesdropping.

“It is not nice to eavesdrop.”

“Whatever.” Michikatsu rolls his eyes. A mannerism that had become normalized whenever something stupid came out of someone's mouth. “Are you really leaving us? Leaving me?”

He expected one of the people who would convince him not to leave would be his older brother. But hearing his heartbreak and his eyes brimming with hurt, even when his face is scrunched into a frown hurts Yoriichi.

“It will be better this way.” Is what he says, as if he too, is convincing himself to leave the only link to the world that he does not understand. Even if Michikatsu is uncomfortable talking about something, he will still explain to Yoriichi the societal expectations he has failed to understand with gentle preciseness. Yoriichi never sensed any animosity when he asks. It is simply in Aniue's nature to be an older brother. He hates burdening him. “That way, you will stop worrying about me, and being hurt by your Father.”

He doesn't know why, but Yoriichi had this gift since he was little, where there are times he is able to see through the bodies of people, seeing their heart, and their brains, and predicting their next movements. He has honed this gift for the better, to tell if someone is lying, or hiding injuries from him. He occasionally uses this to gauge if Aniue is lying about the severity of his injuries.

(He always does.)

Though, he could not see through this transparent world much. And if he exerts this gift, he will pass out and become sick.

Right now, he peers into this transparent world, to see that Aniue is not standing perfectly as he expected; his left leg, the one with the sprain and limp, is tucked slightly behind the right one. He does not put pressure on it either.

“Your leg has still not healed yet.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

Yoriichi looks Michikatsu in the eyes. An empty red sea before the blood of war. “You will be better off without me. I only burden you, Aniue. You are always in trouble because you sneak away from your duties to come meet me, even if our Father tells you not to. You get into physical altercations with the sons of our Father's business partners because they insult me. And of course, you are trying to evade marriage prospects because you do not desire a marriage, while I do. You want me to be married first.”

Aniue scoffs. “You do not understand what the whims of society are to us, but I can tolerate that. But I didn't think you'd be this stupid.” He crosses his arms. “I don't care if I get hit by Father over and over again. If it means seeing you, and seeing you happy and unharmed, then I will continue doing so. I will try and find a proper wife for you as well, that way you can be happy on your own. You're not a burden, so stop with that loser talk and convince yourself that leaving is a stupid thing to do.”

Ah, his brother's sharp tongue. That's one of the things he will miss. He is the more talkative one, despite disliking talking pleasantries. He is also Yoriichi's interpreter during the days where he doesn't wish to speak.

“Father has decided I leave before sundown. He is relieved that I am leaving.”

A flicker of irritation passes through Michikatsu's red eyes at the mention of their Father. “You know he's been looking for a way to get rid of you. Now you gave him ammunition. You didn't have to bring me up in the damn conversation, but you still did. I can handle myself. You can't. You're going to get hurt without me protecting you.”

“I know I will,” he acknowledges. Every misfortune or bad omen he had avoided simply because his brother is by his side, often chasing off any unwanted presence. He must be so tired, doing these things for him, when Yoriichi could not help him with his own issues. “But it will be better for us.”

Michikatsu is not convinced. It is hard to convince him of something. It is even harder for him to be satisfied. “How will it be better, when I lose my brother, my confidante, the only one I am supposed to protect? You know our Father is a damn bastard. He sees this as something to gloat over, his second son finally leaving him. Please reconsider this stupid, incredulous idea, brother. I hate to see you leave. You are…” He chokes. It must be hard to be vulnerable, when their Father has told them not to be. “You are the only person I care about left.”

Aniue loudly proclaiming that their Father is a damn bastard, in front of his room, and around numerous servants, will certainly get him punished. Yoriichi's heart rings of sadness.

“Aniue, you do not have to prove you are capable. You have resolved to take care of me since our mother died last year, or when she is not around to help me. Truly, you deserve better. You say your existence is meaningless because you fail to protect me time and time again, but I do not see it like that. We are born with purpose, and my purpose is to leave and give you a satisfactory life— to never bring you down again.”

Michikatsu, ever so stubborn, simply grits his teeth. “You don’t hold me down, Yoriichi. I will not be satisfied if I don't have you by my side, brother. You cannot do anything without me by your side, and you know that too.”

Yoriichi already has an answer for that. He digs into his hakama pockets and pulls out the abnormally shaped flute, one Michikatsu carved when they were five and one he has promptly forgotten about.

Michikatsu blinks in surprise. “You still have that old thing? That's literally just crap. I gave you better gifts than that.”

“It was the first gift you have given me,” Yoriichi answers, his voice growing soft. His lips curve upwards. It was not a smile, but a pleasant expression. “I think of you when I see this. It is an extension of you, Aniue. I will not be alone when I have this by my side.”

“You are a fool to think that that measly, useless flute is enough of a presence,” Aniue says, his voice level, but he is already seething. He is not quick to anger, learning to hide his true emotions under the guise of formality and stoicism. “I don't understand how you still have it with you. It is not my only gift. You deserve more than what the flute is.”

“It is a symbol of your protection,” Yoriichi says, feeling at ease talking to his brother. “I will be safe with this by my side. I will keep it as I feel like you are next to me. I must gather my things now. I only have a few mere hours before the sun sets.”

“Please don't go, Yoriichi.” His brother's voice is soft, he almost loses his will to leave. But he has to. He must, for Michikatsu's sake. “You're the only one I have left.”

Yoriichi pauses, looking at his brother. Instead of saying he has changed his mind, like what Aniue had wanted, he removed the hanafuda earrings from his ears and presses it on Michikatsu's outstretched palms. “You can have these earrings. They are our family's heirloom. Give this to your second son once he is old enough.”

He doesn’t register how light his ears feel without these hanafuda earrings.

Michikatsu stares at the earrings emptily. “Sometimes you have ideas that'll fucking break me.”

It is said with acceptance. One where Michikatsu knows he must surrender and let him do what he wants.

Yoriichi lets himself smile. “I will not forget you, brother. Do not blame yourself for this.”

“It's going to be hard without you. And only Father as company…”

“You will thrive. Now, you won't be infamous for fighting the Nakamuras and Satos, will you?”

“They're a bunch of assholes making dumb rumors to make you look bad. They deserve what they get.”

A sigh. “Aniue.”

The older brother huffs. “Fine, I won't. But… please write to me when you are comfortable?”

“I will, Aniue.”

Before he can even think, his body moves on his own as he embraces his brother. Michikatsu is not a hugger, nor is Yoriichi. But they seemed to understand what one another wanted to do. Michikatsu buries his head on Yoriichi's shoulder, and the two of them simply stand there, knowing that this may as well be the last time they see each other.

Michikatsu watches, along with many servants loyal to the young lord, as his brother, with the things he holds dear (concerningly almost nothing) leaves through the gate. When Michikatsu turns around, he sees his Father staring at where Yoriichi had left with a long, hard look. Then he turns away— so does Michikatsu as he begins to walk back to the direction of his room.

***

It was only a few hours into the night, and the first vestiges of morning for him to begin feeling as if his entire life was falling apart. When he awakens and sees through the window that the sky has become lighter, despite the sun not appearing above the clouds due to the heavy snowfall which blankets the rest of the country, he shivers, as a foreboding feeling makes its way to the pit of his stomach. In fact, it stays there, fingers trembling as he tries to move forward.

Yet he could feel himself growing nauseous— what for? He didn’t know the reason, either. It was just something that had begun happening to him a few hours into the night, which he vehemently tried to ignore but ended up being futile. He feels as if half of his soul had been… shredded. Not torn apart, yet.

Whether or not it was his instincts, or that awful pit forming in his stomach when he remembers he has left home, he feels like he’s changing his mind about leaving quicker than before.

He left his brother, and now he’s in grave danger.

Yoriichi doesn’t hesitate to leave the ryokan he’d been staying in when the light of day, the sign of morning, begins to shine upon them, only leaving a trail of feet as evidence that he’d come so far before returning.

***

The snow falls all around him, the air cold and unforgiving. He has survived the cold before, so he is used to the snow piling up as he runs in the direction of his household with his burlap sack tied across his back. His footwear kept getting buried into the piles of snow beneath his feet, but it did not hinder his speed. He returns to the Tsugikuni household, the gates with the sun crest staring at him mockingly. Perhaps his ancestors are here to spit on him, to relegate why he has come back when he did not want to in the first place?

He notices, however, that the gate is slightly ajar. Strange, he has closed it when he had left, and it is not like the servants to be this careless. Furrowing his brows, he steps closer, before an awful feeling penetrates the air— bloodlust, death, and violence.

Yoriichi gasps, pushing the gate open only to find the Tsugikuni household, from the engawa to the opened rooms, filled with bodies of servants, officials, of people Yoriichi knew. They all lay there, helpless and lifeless, the smell of blood wafting through the air.

He stares, horrified as he is surrounded by the sea of corpses.

I have only been gone for a night! Yoriichi says, as he checks every room, not caring if his shoes are getting the floors dirty when they are already filled with the blood, guts, and gore of the people he cares about. He sees the gardener Hinata sprawled across the lawn; the maid Emi lying on the floor; Chiyo the cook in the irori with her head inside a pot. He feels nauseous when he sees his Father, tall, proud, and composed, on the floor, with his throat slit. His hands were on a katana— an outlawed weapon. Yoriichi’s movements begin to become more frantic. Aniue… where is Aniue?!

A bloody trail leads him to his old, cramped tatami room, where he opens the fusuma doors, gasping at the horrendous sight.

Michikatsu must have come here to hide, alongside the cook Ayame and her little girl Fuku. He had tried to save them, what was supposed to be the last survivor, but in the end, he had failed. He had attempted to shield them from whoever the perpetrator was in their final moments. However, Yoriichi finds something in Michikatsu’s hands, too.

His earrings.

Yoriichi feels tears slip down his cheeks, as he rushes forwards to see if his brother is still alive. Thankfully, he was warm when he touched his forehead, unlike the cold, dead bodies of the people he knew.

Ayame-san… Fuku-chan… Emi-san… Oto-sama…

Burning rage begins to build up inside of him, like a dragon baring its fangs against a mighty threat. With his resolve steely, he ties the burlap sack in front of him as he takes the flute from Michikatsu’s hands — bloodied with his brother’s blood — and carries his warm, prone body out from the cemetery that is their home.

He will bury them later. He will clean his household from the stench of blood. But now, he must get his brother to a doctor.

He wades through the snow, trying to walk to the nearest hospital with the added weight on his shoulders. While he is used to carrying different heavy objects to help the servants around the house, this is no mere object sitting on his back. It is his older brother, the companion he had taken for granted during all the times he had been trapped inside of that abhorrent house.

I am so sorry I left you alone, he says to himself, walking through the snow. I should not have left. I should have stayed. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in critical condition right now. Father is right— you are the rightful heir to the Tsugikuni clan, so you must live. Your life is more valuable than mine.

He will save Aniue. He definitely will!

Michikatsu’s fingers twitch.

Then, he hears an inhuman growl from behind him, as Michikatsu’s hands sink into the fabric of his white kimono.

“Aniue?” He whispers before the two of them fall, likely due to his brother leaning to the right heavily, thus forcing them to fall.

Yoriichi lands on the snow, gasping a little. His red eyes open to find Michikatsu nowhere near him, before he sees his brother on his own two feet, shaking and standing. Instantly, he gets up, worry spiking over him as he runs to his brother.

“Aniue, you don’t have to stand!” Yoriichi has never raised his voice, but Michikatsu did not seem to be listening. “I will carry you to the nearest village’s hospital, you do not have to put pressure on your injured leg anymore.”

The wind howls around them, and the snow falls worse. Yoriichi hears his brother growling, and he steps closer. “Aniue…?”

Michikatsu looks up at him, and Yoriichi’s blood runs cold.

The teenager standing before him did not seem like a man, more like a yokai.

Instead of one pair of eyes, he has three pairs of them. His teeth were shaped like fangs, and his irises were catlike. There is a mark on both his forehead and jaw, that imitates Yoriichi’s.

A part of him says, That is not Aniue.

Before he could even understand what he had just seen, Michikatsu lunges at him with a snarl, causing him to fall back into the snow, with Michikatsu, fangs bared, on top of him. In an instant, he realizes that Michikatsu, roaring with rage and hunger, is looking to kill him for food. Sort of like the foxes in this particular area of Japan.

But this is still his brother, even if he seems inhuman, unrecognizable, and fleetingly predatory. He doesn’t know what happened, but all he knows is something, no, someone must have turned him into this, since he would never be caught acting like a wild animal by someone.

“Aniue!” Yoriichi shouts, trying to push Michikatsu back with his bare arms. He doesn’t have anything he can gag him with, and he believes that pushing his arms to his fanged teeth may be a bad idea. “You have to get ahold of yourself! This is not you! The older brother I know does not snarl or bite people, especially his brother! You love me, do you not? Then don’t do something you are sure to regret!”

Michikatsu replies with a snarl, and suddenly, he begins to grow. The twins have always been very tall, to the jealousy of their other noble peers, but the height that Michikatsu grew into is now inhumane, with his kimono tearing slightly at the seams. He has grown heavier as well, and Yoriichi gasps.

“Do not lose yourself, Aniue!” Yoriichi continues, “You must fight these new instincts! You must not give in to this predatory impulse! Hang in there! Fight it!”

Michikatsu’s gaze linger on Yoriichi’s eyes, before gazing down on a certain object strewn in his burlap sack.

The head of the flute is sticking out.

Yoriichi clenches his teeth, trying his hardest to push Michikatsu off, when he feels a tear drop to his face.

He opens his eyes to see his brother wearing a look of sadness, all six eyes filled with tears. He is still panting, perhaps from exhaustion, but Yoriichi can sense he no longer wants to devour him.

However, his relief that he had managed to snap his brother out of this demonic state is short-lived— he feels a presence from behind the snowy mist, and Michikatsu must have sensed it as well, since he cranes his neck on the intruder.

From the fog comes a young man of twenty-two, wearing a pink haori over a black button-up uniform. He wears brass knuckles on each fist. Yoriichi could not get a clear description of this man, since he immediately raises his fist to target Michikatsu. Yoriichi gasps, and he moves him and his brother out of the way from this strange man.

To his relief, Michikatsu shrinks, as the two of them are in front of the man who almost killed his brother.

He could feel danger and caution coming from the man, and an aura so powerful he could simply be frozen stiff.

He did not need to see through the transparent world to know that this man, whoever he is, is strong.

And therefore dangerous.

The man turns around, and now, Yoriichi can see his face. His hair is as dark as the night’s sky, with a tint of pink on the ends— his eyes were coated with thick, black lashes, while his eyes were as blue as the sky. He has a perpetual, skeptical frown on his face, crossing his muscular arms to look at the twins.

“Why did you protect it?” He questions, judgmental.

Yoriichi instinctively brings Michikatsu closer to him. “He is my older twin brother.”

The man continues to stare. “Well, he’s no longer your brother now that he’s become a demon.”

Yoriichi blinks. A demon? What is that?

The man runs to them, and Yoriichi holds Michikatsu close, in a protective embrace.

But when he opens his eyes, his arms are empty, devoid of his brother, with Michikatsu’s growls distant in front of him.

His eyes grow wide— the man had Michikatsu!

How did he do that? He moved like the wind!

“Aniue!” He screams, getting up. He needs to do something, anything! He cannot let this man, whoever he is, kill his brother!

“This is a demon, a being that feeds on human flesh and hates the sunlight,” the man’s face morphs into a look of pity. “Your brother has become a demon, and as a demon slayer, it is my job to kill it.”

Yoriichi did not like that this man used ‘it’ to describe his brother. He shakes his head, “No, please! There must be some way to turn him to a human again! I will find it!”

The man’s face scrunches in disbelief. “Dude, you are creeping me out over here— your voice is still soft despite your distress, and your face has not changed since we began talking. Are you concerned or not?”

“Of course I am concerned!” He hates it when people think he is an emotionless figure. Only his mother and Aniue have different opinions. “You are going to kill my brother, the last family I have left!”

“Well, it’s just the way the world works,” the man shrugs, as he pulls out a katana from his scabbard. “I normally don’t use swords, but my breathing style is painful to demons, and you obviously don’t want to see him get tortured to death.”

“I do not want to see you kill my brother at all.”

The man smirks, as if he is not currently holding his brother practically hostage. “Ooh, we got a feisty one over here! Listen man, you’re weak. You couldn’t even save your brother from me when I lunged at you guys. I am going to kill him because this is my job and I’d get in trouble sparing him. You can’t have a demon wreaking havoc and killing the weak. What you just said about curing him is impossible and stupid. You’ll get yourself killed. So please… just let me kill your brother.”

Yoriichi clenches his teeth. This man is harder to crack than his father! “I will go past my limits to cure my older brother from being a demon! He is my only family left, so I must not give up on him. I will not let you kill my brother!”

The man simply laughs. “I would like to see you try, then!”

It was a challenge. One Yoriichi is familiar of— but instead of bullies, he is facing against a grown man. Without his brother, who is currently restrained by him, snarling and snapping his teeth.

He reaches for a dagger hidden within his burlap sack— his brother refused to let him leave without some form of protection, insisting there may be dangers in the night, and he must defend himself. Then, he picks up a rather heavy rock from the ground, and hurls it at the man, who dodges it swiftly.

“A rock?” The man scoffs, as he turns his head to see the boy literally lunging at him with the dagger. He rolls his eyes, “How foolish!” With a hit on his nape, Yoriichi crumples to the ground, unconscious.

As the man surveys the unconscious boy, he notices something.

His eyes narrow. “Wait, where’s the knife—?”

Something knicks his ear.

Blue eyes look at the knife, that is now lodged on the bark of the tree he is standing in front of, with a bleeding ear its victim.

“Oh, I see,” the man muses, amusement written on his face. “The boy knew he was no match for me and distracted me by throwing that rock. Then, just as I was about to knock him out, he threw the knife in the air. And… it successfully hit me.”

He begins to laugh, but his laughter catches his throat as the twin brother kicks him, causing his grip to loosen.

His smile fades as the demon runs to his brother.

Damn it, he’ll get eaten…!

His eyes grow wide, as his expression goes from horrified, to surprised.

Instead of devouring his unconscious brother, the brother takes a defensive stance, shielding him from the Pillar, purveying him as a threat against his brother, not his food.

The man did not have the time to study this strange phenomenon further, as the demon lunged at him.

Not because he was prey— rather, he was seen as a threat that must be neutralized.

Instead of attacking, the man is entertained.

I haven't been this amused in a while… he thinks, as he knocks the twin brother unconscious, a smirk on his face. I knew tha t twins had an unbreakable bond but I didn't think it would be this strong . “Their fighting spirits are unmatched.”

***

“Yoriichi.” A voice he has not heard in years speaks, but he is still asleep. He can hear her, yes, but he doesn't know whether or not it is a dream. He feels warm hands on his head, stroking his hair. He feels at peace, even if it had been just for a second. “Please help your brother. You only have each other now.”

“I will.” Is what he says in return, a murmur echoing through the void. “I will protect my brother, the way he protected me.”

Then, he returns to reality, his hands clenching upon a familiar kimono.

He opens his eyes with a gasp, as he comes face-to-face with his unconscious brother. Much to his disappointment, the inhumane traits are still there, such as the six eyes— meaning that everything that happened in the past few hours wasn’t a dream. Though, he seems to be sound asleep. He was not dead, like he expected him to be when he'd recklessly charged at the other man with no abandon.

Speaking of that man…

“You're finally awake,” a voice from in front of them says, and Yoriichi's head inclines upwards to meet the same man who'd been trying to kill his older brother earlier. He was leaning against the tree, a bored expression on his face. Instinctively, he wraps his brother closer to him, a protective glimpse in is eyes, but the man simply laughs. “Oh stop, I'm not going to try and kill him anymore. I decided to give you and your brother a chance. Get up, boy, there's a long journey ahead of us. You want to turn your brother back into a human? You have to join the Demon Slayer Corps.”

Yoriichi gets up, having recovered from the whole ordeal already. He feels himself accidentally slip into the transparent world, before shaking his head and staring at the man. “Where will we go?”

“To the Rengoku Estate,” the man replies with a shrug. “We better do it sooner than later. It's still daytime and we don't know when the Sun will part from the clouds. You're going to start training as soon as we get there.”

Yoriichi looks off to the direction of the Tsugikuni household. “There are bodies I need to bury first.”

The man looks at him, and he sighs. “Fine, let's go back to your home. I'll help you bury the victims that have been killed, then.”

Yoriichi nods, hefting his still unconscious brother up. He does not trust this man yet, but he is making it hard due to how relaxed and carefree he currently is. He noticed the muzzle, but he chooses to ignore the one thing causing him consternation to remember the fallen victims in the household.

“The name is Soyama Hakuji,” the man introduces himself, walking at a leisurely pace and letting himself follow Yoriichi. “I'm the Destruction Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps.”

What a strange title, Yoriichi thinks, but he thinks he's forgetting something when people introduce themselves to him.

The silence around them is thick with expectancy, Hakuji looking at him like he is expecting something.

Then he remembers Aniue scolding him because he had not introduced himself to guests when they introduced themselves.

“My name is Tsugikuni Yoriichi,” he replies, his tone void of any emotion.

Hakuji laughs. “Took ya long enough.”

The two of them walk to the Tsugikuni household.

Chapter Text

This is one weird guy, is the first thing Hakuji Soyama thinks as he formally meets Yoriichi Tsugikuni. The boy had a peculiar appearance around him, from that strange fire marking around his forehead — was it a birthmark? Or did he burn himself with literal fire? — to his blank expression as he moved the bodies out of each room and into the garden. However, he could feel mourning from not only this emotionless boy but also the demon— he'd retained his human memories, a feat that no fledgling demon (or any other higher-ranking demons) had achieved in their cursed lives. Not only that, but when he had stared at the corpses, he felt nothing except the need to pull them outside, to get them to their proper place.

Judging from the look of their home, they'd been a prestigious noble clan. The Tsugikuni clan, the boy said.

He immediately gauged that Yoriichi is not a talker, and because the older brother, Michikatsu, is muzzled, he has to carry forward almost all of their conversations. Earlier, before the two of them had crossed the gate to the household now turned corpse dump, Michikatsu had dug into his pockets before producing a pair of earrings that look rather unbroken and largely undisturbed. Yoriichi was rather pleased with the quality of these earrings, wearing them on his ears immediately.

“Are you sure it wasn’t your brother who killed them?” Hakuji asks, watching Michikatsu stare at a man who resembles the twins too much with a look of anger and grief— their Father, it seems.

“I am certain,” Yoriichi replies. “There are many scents and feelings around this home. This particular scent and feeling is… foreboding. Almost macabre. It did not hesitate to kill everyone in this house. It certainly is not my brother, who I found shielding two women in my old room.”

Hakuji nods, believing him. Michikatsu did not have any blood on his mouth when he inspected him, and the blood on his clothes was from himself and other people. Yet, there are some things strange about these brothers. “When you were sleeping, you were breathing strangely. Well, strangely for someone untrained.”

Yoriichi tilts his head, the two of them gathering the bodies to the garden to be buried. “What do you mean? This is how I breathe.”

“Yeah, but you're practicing Total Concentration Breathing.”

“Is it a bad thing?” Yoriichi doesn't so much as stop whatever he is doing as he asks this.

“Not at all, it is just… surprising. When did you learn how to do Total Concentration Breathing? Who taught you?”

Yoriichi tilts his head. “As far as I remember, I have been Breathing like this since I was born. My parents almost believed I was already dead. It made my father change his mind about killing me until I began to cry. Then he went through trying to kill me.”

Hakuji stares. Yoriichi does not stare back. He whistles. “Your Father… that's the guy your brother’s been staring down at, right? Do you think he'll eat him?”

“He has enough respect for our Father not to desecrate his remains.”

To showcase his superior position, Michikatsu hauls his Father into a separate, more ornate grave by himself. Hakuji sighed; he could see the bad blood of both twins toward their father, but at least they had the decency to let the miserable old fart rest in peace. It still did not explain how Yoriichi is still the strangest young man he's ever met, with him being able to practice Total Concentration Breathing, but not being able to hone it into combat earlier. Then there was his quick reflexes, and his ability to almost see through his movements, like he was a man in battle.

He would be a valuable asset to the Corps if he keeps this up.

After burying the bodies, each of them pays their respects in their own way— Yoriichi's head hangs low, Michikatsu kneels with his hands raised in prayer, and Hakuji, feeling immense guilt for not having reached the location on time, bows his head. He hopes that they all have a safe journey through the afterlife.

The air is somber around them. While Yoriichi works quietly and never seems to bother with anything, he can see that his eyes are heavy with sadness. So is his brother, still having the humane clarity that demons are not known to possess. It was remarkable, really, how Michikatsu had controlled himself from his base urges and remained decently human. But, he regards Hakuji with a cautious glance. At first, Hakuji believed it was because he had tried to kill him and knocked him out. But then, when he sees the insignia of his uniform, he flinches with knowing eyes.

He will have to talk about that to the young man later— when they are at their destination.

Speaking of traveling to their destination, prior to Yoriichi regaining consciousness, and then waiting for Michikatsu to wake up before heading to the Tsugikuni household to bury everyone who had perished from this strange demon attack, he had quickly written to one of his most trusted colleagues within the Demon Slayer Corps. He leaves no detail behind, knowing that, if push comes to shove, he can train Yoriichi himself, but judging from his slender build and even bigger heart… he is better if he comes to master Flame Breathing than his breathing technique.

He details his crow, Fuyu, sending him a mission within the snowy region of the north, and, thinking nothing of it, delayed his travel thanks to the weather. Thanks to him, he arrived at a slaughterhouse and, to add insult to injury, with one of them turned into a demon; only, he behaves less like a demon and more like a human who needs to protect his brother from what he perceives as a threat. He asks the young Pillar if he would like to train him, crossing out the other possibilities of some Pillar. Tamayo-san’s breathing technique will never work for him. Sabito-san will kill Michikatsu if given the chance. And Kaigaku? Gods, he’d rather kill Yoriichi himself than send the poor sod to that asshole.

Fuyu still has yet to return, but he trusts his crow to find him if ever he is no longer in the Tsugikuni household. It is quite a long way towards the Rengoku Estate, and the snow is beginning to pick up even more.

“We are finished.” Hakuji looks up, as Yoriichi makes his way towards him with an empty expression. Yet, those red eyes say otherwise— they are mourning. He turns to look at Michikatsu, who stands beside his brother. Hakuji can see some physical differences, outside of the older twin’s demonic appearance. Michikatsu’s hair is spiky, wilder, longer, while Yoriichi is wavy, like the rays of the sun. Yoriichi tilts his head. “I suppose we have to follow you now?”

Hakuji grins, looking forward to seeing this boy train already. “Yeah. We have to get going before the sun comes up.”

The younger twin tilts his head. The older twin looks like he wants to sleep. “Why?”

Hakuji points at the clouds. “Wouldn’t want your dear brother to get burned by the sun now, would we?”

It is still daytime, indeed, but because of the overcast and gray clouds, along with the heavy snowfall, demons are up and about. It is why their favorite season is winter, thanks to the longer nights and the shorter days, along with the ease of finding consecrated humans to feed and indulge on.

This causes Michikatsu to perk up, before deciding he doesn’t give a flying fuck about his fate, his head dipping low, while Yoriichi’s largely vacant eyes become more attentive.

“Then we must get going.” He rearranges the burlap sack he is carrying on his chest, filled with valuable items. Hakuji wonders why he had so few, along with a misshapen, poorly made flute sticking out of it.

The Pillar nods, crossing his arms. Then, he looks at the older brother. “Looks like he doesn’t want to go, though.”

Yoriichi turns his head to his twin. Michikatsu is asleep.

“... He is asleep while standing,” Yoriichi says it like it was a form of novelty. Hakuji snorts.

“Well, you gotta wake him up— we better start walking.”

Yoriichi wordlessly agrees with him, as he tries to shake his brother awake. He did not budge.

He finds this extremely hilarious, as Yoriichi examines him all over.

“It must be because of the muzzle you put on him.” He sounds suspicious. Hakuji rolls his eyes.

“It’s precautionary,” he argues.

“What is precautionary about inhibiting his right to speak?”

Hakuji gives him an unimpressed glance. “He did more biting than speaking, if you ask me.”

Yoriichi stomps his foot indignantly, but his face bears no emotion, as he continues to rouse his brother from his sleep. He is such a weird child.

Michikatsu, drowsily, opens his eyes, all six eyes squinting and blinking at different momentums. Hakuji cringes, being reminded of the blatant void of humanity that demons have. Yet, of all the demons he has met, this one has promptly kept his sanity.

“You have to wake up, Aniue,” Yoriichi pleads. “We must get moving if we want to reach our destination as fast as possible.”

Michikatsu makes a muffled noise, taking a step forwards, before collapsing into the snow. Yoriichi and Hakuji stare at him, before it is made clear that he has began sleeping once more.

Hakuji snorts. Yoriichi feels a certain heaviness on his shoulders.

“He doesn’t want to travel, it seems,” Hakuji states drolly, bemused. “Is he a heavy sleeper when he’d been a human?”

Tamayo-san has made significant leaps in the study of demons, despite her distaste for them. She rambles a lot about demon physiology to those who would listen (Hakuji is an unwilling listener) during Pillar meetings, and there are some key things Hakuji catches interest in. One of them is that some demons retain old characteristics or traits when they have been human. Odd that she is so passionate about demons when her breathing style is to inflict them with the worst possible death before killing them. Then again, Hakuji shouldn’t be saying anything since his own breathing style is brutal to demons.

Yoriichi makes a move that seems like a grimace. “Aniue barely sleeps. He studies all night and works all day so Father will not be disappointed in him.”

Hakuji sighs. A workaholic, then. That sounds like all of the other Pillars combined. Although their Father is dead, he wants to dig him back up and spit on his body, judging from the already bad implications that his surviving sons are currently saying to him.

Gods, what has this family been doing?

“And you?” He turns to look at the red-haired boy.

“Me?”

“You don’t work like your brother?”

Yoriichi stares at him, shaking his head. “I am not the heir. My Father considered me a curse for my mark, thus I am nothing more than the disgraced spare my Mother left behind. I only do chores regular servants have around the household.”

Hakuji blinks. He had garnered that much from the way Yoriichi avoided his Father’s corpse, and how Michikatsu looked contemplatively conflicted being face with his old man dead at his feet. He didn’t think that it was that bad— that the two of them were like twins from those old folktales his father once sang him to sleep with. At least the other twin cared for the ostracized one, and vice versa.

Hakuji sighs. Clans and their stupid, superstitious beliefs about omens and children…

“Why don’t we get a basket to carry your brother around?” Hakuji offers, sensing the awkward silence before Yoriichi does. Although, he’s not sure if Yoriichi can sense awkwardness or social situations he wants to back out of. “In a basket, so his sleep will go undisturbed and the two of us can continue our journey?”

Yoriichi thinks it over, and he nods. “There is a laundry basket near the irori. I will get it.”

He also gets blankets, and he places them in front of Michikatsu’s prone body. He shakes him awake, which does not earn him a response of goodwill from his fatigued older brother. He grunts, looking up with eyes narrowed in suspicion. It freaks Hakuji out, to see a demon empty of expression— not interested in devouring humans, not interested in social interaction in particular. Many of the demons he had the chance to meet were talkative, either taunting him or begging him for mercy.

“Aniue, we must get moving,” Yoriichi says in a solid, urgent voice. Hakuji notices that he looks conflicted like he doesn’t know what he is talking about. He doubts he’d ever tried to order his brother around, unlike the Wakisaka brothers who piss each other off by ordering one another around like they’re servants of one another. “If you do not want to walk, I will carry you on this basket. All you have to do is shrink.”

Hakuji snorts. Yoriichi glances at him with a questioning glance. “You’re talking to him like a pet,” he elaborates.

“I do not.”

The two of them watch Michikatsu, trying to deduce his next movements. Michikatsu studies the basket, tilting his head, six eyes staring at it intensely. Then, like a dog given a toy, he puts his hands on it, and, with little difficulty, crawls inside it. Hakuji finds himself impressed by his ability to shrink, as six eyes peer at them.

Yoriichi gives him a look of excitement. As excited as he gets. “You did a good job, Aniue.” He appraises, and Michikatsu seems to lavish in the praise.

“He looks adorable in that form,” Hakuji says with a teasing lilt in his voice, and Michikatsu never seemed to have gotten rid of his surly demeanor as he glares at him. He merely laughs, as Yoriichi covers his brother with a blanket and hefts him up without any difficulties. He must have done a whole lot of carrying objects around the house.

“Are you alright in there, Aniue?” Yoriichi receives a scratch on the basket, which he takes as a yes.

Hakuji nods, beckoning him forward. He wants to get out of this stupid household already, filled with corpses of those that he failed to save.

Like that day.

(He comes home to two corpses that day, the floors filled with blood and gore.)

“Let’s go, we have a long way ahead.”

“You said that earlier.” He hears Yoriichi murmur.

***

Hakuji gets the letter from Senjurou when the two of them are now inside of an inn, having been assigned a shared room with two separate beds. Michikatsu and Yoriichi came from a well-off, very illusive family, so of course they’d have money to spare. Even Michikatsu, despite his demonified state, went on a great deal to get some of his things and the money they found within the house, and put it on Yoriichi’s burlap sack. Yoriichi, since he does not know how to say no to his brother, carries those things.

Hakuji doesn’t care either way— as long as the two of them don’t complain about their journey. Fuyu returns, propping herself on the windowsill as Hakuji unties the parchment from her claw. He unfolds it, letting Yoriichi play with Michikatsu as he reads what the current Flame Pillar has given him.

Senjurou surprisingly agrees to mentoring Yoriichi and housing a demon, and Hakuji smiles to himself. Looks like Senjurou and his old man won’t be quite as lonely as they are.

Ugh, the other Pillars are being dense.

He closes the window as a chilly wind gusts through, disturbing his bare skin. He lets Fuyu inside so she can preen her feathers carefully.

“I got a letter from your future mentor,” Hakuji announces, lifting the letter up. Yoriichi, who was reading something, and Michikatsu, who is busy tying the burlap sack desperately holding onto their things, perk up.

“What did he say?”

“He’s in for training you, and housing your brother.”

Hakuji watches as Yoriichi’s stiff posture subtly relaxes, but Michikatsu continues to stare at the letter, then at his face.

“Who are they?” Yoriichi decides to ask. “If they are going to train me, I need to know who they are.”

“The current Flame Pillar, Senjurou Rengoku, is willing to train you.” He tries to make it sound like it is a regal, astounding right to be tutored by the young boy. “He comes from a very long family of demon slayers, all the way to the Sengoku Era— the Rengokus.”

Yoriichi nods emptily. He probably doesn’t care about history. It doesn’t seem like anything interests him.

But… Michikatsu stiffens at the word ‘Sengoku Era.’

Hakuji clicks his tongue.

Isn’t this interesting?

When the snowfall continues to become heavy, Hakuji gets Yoriichi to sleep, jokingly telling him that it will be the last time he will sleep soundly through the night, and Yoriichi, because he doesn’t know a joke even if it hits him on the head, says he sleeps quiet, as if him snoring worries Hakuji. (It somewhat does, which is why when he is in joint missions with other Pillars, he gets a different room.) Michikatsu is a demon, and he spent halfway of the journey sleeping, so he is wide awake, watching Hakuji. He didn’t want to sleep either, thanks to the adrenaline of this eventful day.

So, even though he was muzzled, Hakuji tries to have a conversation with him. “You know about us.”

Michikatsu, who’d been watching his brother’s sleeping body like an owl (it’s really fucking creepy) perks up, craning his neck to look at the Destruction Pillar.

Hakuji refines his statement, “The Demon Slayer Corps. You know what the insignia of our uniforms mean. But how?”

He knows shit about clans, but they can have extremely ancient origins. The Rengoku family had once been a clan, in the old days of the Sengoku Era, until, according to Shinjurou, something killed off all the family members except for one to carry on the Breath of Flame, and the Rengoku clan has all but diminished into having only two or three children to keep the line going. Tsugikuni sounded like an old money type of clan, and he’d seen a casing of swords that belonged to samurais in their home, so maybe they had their dealings with the Corps.

Though, wouldn’t they be just like the Rengoku family if that were the case? Being trained in a specific breathing style before being considered worthy to be sent to the Final Selection and then becoming a demon slayer? Though, it looks like Yoriichi, the younger twin, doesn’t seem to know of their organization, and Michikatsu stares at the kanji with apprehension. So, they must have known through grateful citizens around their side of the province…

However, what sets the Tsugikuni clan apart from the rest of the prestigious households is their location, as mentioned before. Their location was hard to find, with Hakuji having to run across the snow and the thick layer of trees before he managed to stumble across Yoriichi almost getting mauled by his older brother. When they set off to bury their bodies, Hakuji, annoyedly, had to swerve and avoid another plethora of trees until they reached their destination.

The clans he knew would flaunt their wealth, of how they became high-class citizens even as the change in gears shifted since the Meiji Era had begun, with their homes being at the center of either a city or village, the talk of the town and the main attraction. While the town where they get their supplies is not too long of a walk, the Tsugikuni household was more simplistic and traditional than the clans he knew. It is like they are afraid of someone finding them.

But why?

Michikatsu stares at him with an expression that could kill him, gesturing slightly to the muzzle. Hakuji, embarrassingly, realizes he can’t quite communicate with that thing stuck on his face, and Hakuji has yet to trust him to neglect the demonic instincts he’d been born with.

“Right, you can't talk with that thing on. And no, you are not going to take that off so we can talk on equal terms. We'll just get you a notepad when we get to our destination, how does that sound?”

Michikatsu rolls all six of his eyes, which looks quite uncanny. Is this what having extra limbs feels like? They look so damn weird— whoever turned him did not spare his looks. He must have looked like Yoriichi.

He's starting to like these twins already.

***

Hakuji tells Michikatsu to wake Yoriichi up once the sun rises from the horizon. Yoriichi was not a heavy sleeper, so thankfully he let himself be woken up by his older brother. The two of them begin to pack their things, which, again, aren't much— the clothing that makes up for Yoriichi’s burlap sack was turned into a blanket, and the blankets used to hold over the basket Michikatsu had been used as another layer of warmth against the cold weather of winter. Yoriichi does not seem to object much to his sleep being interrupted, so Hakuji buys something for him and Yoriichi to eat.

Hakuji is not certain of what Yoriichi likes, and the town is quite traditional and less accepting of the modern innovations the capital and more cities have begun to procure. So, he had asked for tea and a simplistic breakfast: steamed rice, miso soup, and tsukemono. When he returns to his room, Yoriichi is already wearing his gold haori over his shoulders, but he has yet to tie his hair, falling into pools of red and black across the floor. It looked like a sea of fire, while Michikatsu simply watched from afar, getting away from the sunlight immediately.

He holds the plate filled with tsukemono to Yoriichi, who looks at it with a blank look. “Breakfast, kid.”

Yoriichi takes the food, using the chopsticks they've been offered to begin eating. “I am fifteen years old. I am not a child.”

Hakuji laughs at the blunt delivery of his words. “Could've fooled me. You and your twin are tall, taller than any other adult I've had the pleasure of meeting. What do you guys eat in that household?”

Yoriichi stops eating to think about it, his eyes still abnormally vacant. Hakuji remembered what he did in his age; taking care of the sick, training in martial arts, sneaking off to see the fireworks…

Hakuji needs to stop thinking about that time. It has been six years since then.

So, he listens intently to what Yoriichi is about to say. He can learn more about the young man who has the potential to be a powerful demon slayer, someone who is subconsciously using Total Concentration Breathing in his sleep, but not in battle or in dire danger. He could tutor him, but he has his hands full after what happened to Kyoujurou. And Senjurou can use some training in teaching someone, since he became a Pillar a mere six months ago after… well, Kyoujurou. Plus, the old man would definitely like some company now that his youngest son is going out on missions.

“My father ordered the cook, Ayame, to give me steamed rice as my only meal.” Hakuji only drops his chopsticks in shock, staring at Yoriichi like he'd been the one who was turned into a demon. “It is Aniue who has more grandiose food, and he usually sneaks in at night in my room to give me the food he managed to sneak off from the dinner table. We have a proper dinner before I go to bed.”

Hakuji continues to stare at them. When he turns his head to look at Michikatsu for confirmation, there is a sullen look on his expression, hinting the fact that, what he'd said, was true and beyond belief, what happened during their childhood.

“I'd demand a higher and better meal than being served rice daily,” he tries to joke weakly.

“Father, when he feels generous, tells Ayame-san to give me the leftovers for dinner. It mostly consists of natto or soup.”

Hakuji grimaces, digging into his food silently. What the hell? What kind of home life is this? They were both twins, but how come one was treated like the heir to the household while the other one was shunned by his own father? And what happened to their mother, since she doesn't seem like she's in the picture at all? They are a noble clan and, while they seem to continue being set traditionalists, they were well off to the point he's seen Western clothing and books strewn across some rooms while he was helping the twins bury bodies in the yard. They have enough money to buy a room in the inn and a couple of other things! So why is Yoriichi acting less like a spoiled heir and more like a pauper?

“Gods, growing up in that house must be a nightmare.” He says it like a joke, but the twins seem to take it seriously as they nod their heads, with Michikatsu being more insistent.

Great. Two boys with daddy issues and a horrible childhood. Hakuji is not equipped for that; he is not a father and cannot be trusted with paternal care for these two emotionally stunted children. This is also why he's bringing them to the Rengoku household.

After they have finished eating, Hakuji helps Yoriichi tie his hair whilst he finishes eating the last few morsels of food. He's not surprised that Yoriichi does not spare a single grain. Even if he speaks nothing of his home life, he knows it is no good.

Michikatsu returns to the basket, already covering himself up, and begins sleeping inside it. Hakuji ties the blanket around the basket as tightly as possible, making sure no sunlight would creep in. He gives the basket to Yoriichi, who has already tied the sack to his chest as he hefts it up without strain.

Hakuji nods, opening the door leading to the exit of the room they bought. They said their farewells to the innkeeper, and then, finally, the two of them began their journey once more.

The journey to the Rengoku household wasn’t very eventful. They had a few snacks along the long journey, and Hakuji let Yoriichi wander around, never seeming to have gone far from home. The amount of times he had gone out of his way to ask Hakuji things that a normal teenager would have already known is absurdly astronomical, and he wanted to ask if he had gotten out of his home but realizes that the question is a no. There were a few times Hakuji prevented the young man from getting lost since he usually follows people with Western clothing or those new, shiny vehicles.

Yoriichi asks why they did not decide to rent a carriage to get to the Rengoku household faster. Hakuji shrugs and says that each demon slayer household are not meant to be seen by the public populace, or they might be spotted by a demon. Yoriichi didn't object to this, so they continued their journey.

However, just a few more distances from the end of their journey, Fuyu returns, cawing that Hakuji has a mission in the southeast.

Hakuji sighs, crossing his arms as he looks at his bird with a tired expression. “Can't you wait until I escort them to the Rengoku Estate?”

Fuyu bites him in the face, ignoring his protests, and swears. “MISSION IN SOUTHEAST! SOUTHEAST! DEPART IMMEDIATELY!”

Damn it. Unlike other lower-ranked slayers, he cannot afford to dilly dally in other areas that were not his to monitor— he is risking countless lives so he could guide this boy to a protected terrain of another Pillar. He sighed, waving his crow off so he could have a last-minute, private conversation with Yoriichi. The younger Tsugikuni has been watching him like he's waiting for Hakuji to tell him something.

“Yoriichi,” he begins, subconsciously articulating his words. “I have to go now— I have a new mission southeast, and I can't waste any more time. We're almost at the Rengoku household, I'm sure Senjurou is about to meet you halfway. Just continue on a straight line, make a left turn, and then another left, then a right, and then you'll see the insignia of flames right around the corner. You get me?”

Yoriichi blinks, and Hakuji, internally, sighs. He doesn't know if it's a blink of confirmation or confusion, and frankly, he's running out of time before he gets lectured by his master about stalling. He doesn't like inspecting if his companions are stupid or just can't understand an instruction, but he decides to try for Yoriichi's sake.

“Please give me an answer.”

“I understand,” he replies, his face impassive. Hakuji, once again, sighs.

“You might be lucky if Senjurou or his old man meets you halfway,” Hakuji says, ignoring Fuyu’s insults due to his delay. “I'll leave the rest to you.”

With a flash, Hakuji leaves as fast as he can, sprinting to the location his mission promises to take him in. Yoriichi stared at the space where he'd been left behind, before wordlessly turning to begin his journey finding the household alone. The sun was beginning to set, hence Hakuji's urgency to leave quickly. Thus, Yoriichi does great work in trying to navigate this strange area, unfamiliar to him, for someone who has only made it to the village near the Tsugikuni household, with either Michikatsu guiding him or one of the servants helping him. Hakuji trusted him enough to keep going, as he is a busy man who has a whole lot of things to do than guide a teenager to his trainer's home.

Yoriichi can do it— he is capable. He knows he is not holding onto the hand of his older brother, but he believes he can reach the Rengoku place without someone guiding him. With a resolute expression, he trudges on— he was tired because of his journey, and quite parched. It seems getting distracted by the broad chitter chatter of many people in each city or town they've come across as they journeyed these past few days was detrimental to the journey itself, but he couldn't help it. Everything around him was so unfamiliar that, in order to try and get used to it, he had tried following and studying the things he'd never witnessed in town. Michikatsu would've understood, and while Hakuji seems exasperated, he didn't stop him unless he was purposefully deviating from the road.

So, he tacks the instructions the black haired man had left him on his head. He says to continue walking on a straight path, then make a left turn, and then a right turn once he sees the path beginning to branch off. As he walks, admittedly with an absent mind, letting his feet carry him to his destination, he could feel himself promptly losing his touch with reality, which is often the case when he gets rather focused on the task at hand.

Although, it will not do him well to be so distant from said reality.n a specific task at hand.

Vividly, he can see that the sun continues to set in the horizon, casting a beautiful, orange glow across the skies, the clouds that were usually white covered with violet and pink. Yoriichi did not process the colors, as he aimlessly walks, with Hakuji’s instructions continuing to spin around his head like gossamer. With how often he repeats the words straight, left turn, and then right turn, he compares it to the illustration of parrots Michikatsu has told him about after he snuck in to give Yoriichi a history lesson.

“They can talk, but they only repeat what is spoken to them,” Michikatsu had explained as simply as he could.

And it can be associated with Yoriichi’s new consciousness reminding him of what he is doing, even if he thinks he’s starting to get lost.

He had even stopped listening, which isn’t a good sign if his brother has anything to say about it.

Yoriichi stops, hearing something that is not usually in his bubble of silence protrude. He turns around, dodging a boy that looks like they belong in the same age range from gripping the sleeve of his yellow kimono. The boy huffs, but not indignantly, as Yoriichi absently watches him recover his bearings.

He has flame-like hair— red tips but golden blonde in its entirety. He looks quite petite, and small, but it has been established that the two of them were rather tall for their age. When he looks up, sweat sheens on his face, his eyebrows bushy, and his eyes doe-like. His eyes, too, resemble the mesmerizing colors of the flames.

Hakuji did say that one of them is the current Flame Pillar.

“I called out to you, but you didn’t respond,” the flame-haired boy says, seemingly gathering his bearings. Yoriichi could feel relief confusion excitement intrigue around the boy, to which he tilts his head. “You are Yoriichi Tsugikuni, correct? The boy traveling with a demon?”

Yoriichi nods. He is too tired to speak.

The boy looks around, the confusion overlaying the other emotions. “Where is Hakuji-san? Isn’t he supposed to escort you here?”

Yoriichi tilts his head. He often uses it to tell Aniue that someone left or to deny a statement. But he realizes that this is not Aniue. This is a boy who may be his trainer, who may not be as tolerable with his quirks and differences like his older brother is.

The boy’s eyes seem to light up in realization. “Ah, he must’ve had a different mission that requires his assistance.” He looks at him, standing straighter this time, with furrowed brows. He doesn’t look awkward any longer, and his presence, despite being half a head shorter than Yoriichi, commands respect and vigilance. “Yoriichi, I will be serious with you. What you are doing is a direct violation of the rules of the Demon Slayer Corps. Tell me, what will you do if your brother devours a human?”

Yoriichi thinks about it. What will he do when his brother, a demon supposed to eat humans, adhere to his base instincts? He hopes it will never happen, of course, but there is always a resounding if, like all of those scientific lectures Aniue always teaches him. Hakuji seems to want to kill his brother immediately before he ever, hypothetically, devours a life, meaning that all life is sacred to the Corps (a concept he is familiar with, even if Aniue, sometimes, doesn’t like said concept at all) and that harboring a demon is a violation, according to this fire-haired boy.

He opens his mouth, wanting to get this over with. “Kill myself.” It should be a question, or a suggestion. But it sounded like a sure statement.

The boy seems impressed by Yoriichi’s answer. “Yes, first you kill your demon brother, then you commit seppuku.”

“Seppuku? Like the ritual suicide samurais perform?” Aniue lectured him about the history of the samurai class, since, apparently, the Tsugikuni household came from said class, before the era prior to Taisho abandoned the old ways for good. The ritualistic suicide that the samurais had once done, however, had been outlawed in 1873. So it was a rather obsolete method for suicide.

“Yes, us Demon Slayers are strict with upholding our rules.” He begins walking forward, beckoning Yoriichi to follow— the same way Michikatsu does, although the boy has to watch him before he follows. “My name is Senjurou Rengoku. I am the current Flame Pillar. Tonight, you will be in my care, and tomorrow, you will begin your training.”

Yoriichi knows he shouldn’t stay silent with a greeting. And he remembers Aniue’s perfunctory responses to his tutors when he catches himself spying on him.

He tries to replicate Aniue’s politeness. “You already know my name. I am thankful that you have accepted me in your care.”

The two of them walk to the Rengoku Estate, the sun setting behind them.

Chapter Text

The Rengoku Estate has a rather simplistic style, for a family that, according to Hakuji, had been demon slayers since the Ashikaga Period. The gateway containing their family name and crest has been polished well, and the house was encircled by a beautiful garden that could rival his old ancestral home. Seeing that it was still very familiar to what he'd grown up with, if ever he was allowed to have walks around his Father's grounds, puts Yoriichi at ease. It is difficult having to relearn what is appropriate and not if it's not within the familiarity of the surroundings.

Yet, this location was still different, from the details of flame, gold, and regalia the entire house emits, to the people around him. There were even some wisteria blossoms growing as he neared his home, promptly causing his Aniue, still inside the basket, to begin experiencing what he hopes are merely mild sneezes. Senjurou, to his credit, didn't seem to act surprised at the sentient basket.

“Your brother must be having an allergic reaction to the wisteria,” Senjurou says with a bemused look. “We only have this little wisteria, so it won't be subtle to demons that this is a demon slayer household. Besides, who in their right minds would attack a Pillar’s home?”

Strangely, it occurs to Yoriichi just then that the boy who looks to be about two years younger than him may be a Pillar. According to Hakuji, it is the ranking of the most powerful demon slayers in the organization. To think that this boy had achieved so much in his short lifetime completely entices him.

“Let's go inside for the meantime. I'll cook you up a nice dinner and we can talk and learn about each other more, okay?” Senjurou’s face was welcoming— his doe-like eyes were shivering with excitement, and his lips were pulled into a smile. Wordlessly, Yoriichi enters the house, insanely unprepared for how warm and homely it is on the inside.

He had always been used to the cold— even on days when his Mother, and eventually Michikatsu, tried to warm him with their body heat and layers upon layers of blankets, it was short lived, as if the problem was not his temperature, but rather his home. He lived in that same, cupboard sized bedroom, so far removed from the main household, from his brother, but he never did put up a fight against it. To see the same sort of home filled with this warmth he's uncertain exists in his home fills him with grief and anxiety. He is not used to this kind of environment— where nature has already bloomed, while Yoriichi must wait for spring to thaw the ice.

“Father! The guests have arrived!” Senjurou calls from the engawa, and Yoriichi remembers how Aniue would remind him to discard his zori by the engawa. Automatically, he removes his footwear and assumes a more rigid posture. He didn't want his new host to see that he is impolite.

An elderly man who seems to be in his forties, older than his father, slides the fusuma open. He looked the same as his son, except for the light stubble growing on his chin and his bleary eyes. On his hand was a ladle, so he must have been cooking something from the irori before they arrived. His eyes, the same flame-like colors as his child's, light up at the sight of his son and Yoriichi. He was wearing a smoky blue nagagi, showing a portion of his bare chest to their guests. Yoriichi supposes that he doesn’t need to be formally dressed on the occasion of receiving guests.

Yoriichi bows his head, as a sign that he'll be placate and obedient throughout the duration of his stay in their home. His earrings make a soft clacking sound at the suddenness of his bow.

“Yoriichi, that's your name, is it? Don’t go bowing to someone like me.” His father’s voice was soft and tender, so very distant from his father's voice, always angry and disappointed. However, the way he says the last sentence sounds as if he is not appreciating himself. The man turns to his son with an expectant eyebrow raised. “Well Senjurou? What are you waiting for, serve our guests some tea while I finish cooking!”

Senjurou nods, veering into action as he addresses Yoriichi once more. “Well, Tsugikuni-san, you can make yourself comfortable. Would you like some tea?”

Yoriichi nods, looking around for a place to sit. He's not particularly picky with where he should sit. Finding an appropriate enough space to feel comfortable in was not a big deal. Senjurou guides him to the room where they receive their guests, and Yoriichi puts his basket down, stretching his shoulders. Senjurou places a tray of cups filled with tea in front of him, laying it on the chabudai, sitting seiza as well.

“Admittedly, I'm nervous,” Senjurou begins, looking down with a bashful look on his face. “I have never taught anyone before. In fact, I just became a Pillar six months ago— after my brother… well.” He clears his throat, and Yoriichi watches as he veers the subject back to him, without talking about this so-called brother. He looks rather sad. The same kind of sad when his Mother, when she'd been alive, expresses when she thinks of the early years of her marriage to their father.

“How old are you, Senjurou?” He doesn't know if he should address a Pillar, someone of a higher status so casually, but he's blanking out on what honorifics he should use. Aniue isn't here to quiz his familiarity with honorifics right now, or his social etiquette. But he really wanted to know, because this boy feels so strong.

“I'm thirteen!” He answers, and Yoriichi blinks at that sure answer. When Yoriichi was thirteen, he was sleeping inside of his room while storms were raging hard against the roof of his small room. Aniue, meanwhile, had been studying, pulling an all-nighter even when the lamp had run out of oil for fuel. Neither he nor his brother were out fighting against demons who crave for his flesh and blood, and he doesn’t know basic sword forms at thirteen. He wonders if Aniue knows some, but he doubts he could be of help, due to being unconscious right now.

“That is quite young,” Yoriichi says with a tilt of his head.

Senjurou waves him off. “I killed a Lower Moon six months ago, hence my promotion. Anyways…” He leans forward, a bright twinkle in his eyes. “What is your story, Tsugikuni-kun? Hakuji-san filled me in, with what happened to your brother and everything else, but is there something I have to know about you?”

Yoriichi shrugs. He was not the type to talk about himself. He was more prone fading away into the background while he lets Aniue talk for the sake of themselves, because Yoriichi would trip over his words often and would leave the entire atmosphere in an awkward, unsalvageable setting. Even though Michikatsu dislikes talking and socializing with other people, he does it for the sake of Yoriichi and his comfort. He’s always wanted friends.

“I’m the second-born of the Tsugikuni clan,” he begins, though he isn’t sure where to continue this story, and if he should include every meticulous detail about his life. So, he’ll keep it short. “I ran away from home one day. When I returned, Aniue has been turned into a demon.”

Senjurou studies him for a moment, and Yoriichi holds his gaze before averting it. Senjurou sighs. “You don’t want to share, don’t you? That’s fine! Most demon slayers aren’t privy to sharing backstories.”

The door to the irori opens, and the fifteen year old boy smells the dinner they were having for tonight. Yoriichi’s old room had been situated near the kitchens in his old household, so he had accessed to smelling all the things that will be served to his family, but this one smells crisp. Made with the love a father has for his child.

“Dinner’s ready,” he grunts, carrying a tray filled with bowls and plates of the aforementioned dinner to the chabudai. Yoriichi stares at the meal before him— gone was the small, chipped chawan he was allowed to have when eating, the small portions of rice and meat that were available to him. Instead, it was replaced with utensils and dinnerware that has been placed in front of him properly. The food, too, was more than morsels of leftovers or the food Aniue sneaks to give him.

“Thank you for the food, Otosan,” Senjurou thanks his father, and Yoriichi follows suit, not wanting to be seen as impolite.

The dinner that Senjurou’s father, the Rengoku patriarch, cooked for him was sashimi, katsudon, and miso soup with rice. Senjurou has begun eating already, and Yoriichi, realizing that this was real and different from his life within his stifling household, lifts his chopsticks and begins to eat.

Immediately, this household is a whole lot more different than what he is used to in his home.

Yoriichi takes another bite of the dinner that had been made, specifically, just for him and his entrance as one of the Flame Pillar’s new students.

***

Michikatsu awakens in a room— not just any room, his own. Which is not possible; the last he remembers was he and his brother had left home with… what was the man's name again? He'll simply call him Snowflake thanks to his haori and the pins in his hair. And his room had been messy, with bookcases toppled, books that were about medicine and astronomy ripped to shreds, and his clothes strewn across the floors as if that would stop the force that is the very odium that had entered his home as it belonged there.

He did not feel demonic at all, either— he puts his hands on his mouth, and finds no traces of a muzzle hiding his sharp teeth between his lips. Even his hands lack the claws.

So, he must be in a dream. That is the only reasonable conclusion he could draw up.

He opens the door, only to find his Father staring down at him with a judgmental scowl written all over his face. Michikatsu wants to close the door on him, fuck the consequences, but he remains frozen in his room. Then, his Father sighs, beckoning Michikatsu to follow him through the house.

A house that had been ransacked by a demon, in real time.

A house that has been neglected, with bodies buried in the garden because there had been no time to waste.

Michikatsu, being the good son he knows he still is, deep in his heart, follows his Father through their home.

“As my heir, you are supposed to know family history so you will not repeat it,” Father begins, stopping at the tokonoma of the washitsu where they receive their guests. On the walls of the tokonoma, a sword from centuries ago with a light purple blade decorates the wall, and on the toko the ikebana the servants and their mother would arrange is placed there, looking as if they were worshipping the sword. “This sword belonged to one of the daimyo that fought in the Sengoku Era. He gave his sword to his wife, and told her to forget about him, before vanishing.”

Michikatsu remembers this sword. When the creature attacked, he'd taken the rusty, old sword from its display, briefly marveling at the well-maintained quality of the metal and its hilt, before trying to use it against the monster who dared invade his home.

However, the monster simply laughed, and then said…

“You can't kill me with his weapon.”

He doesn't remember anything else after that.

“The sword had been exalted by the god Tsukiyomi, one of the gods that have blessed this family,” his father continues, staring at the sword with a wistful look on his face. “A long time ago, a vessel containing the essence of Amaterasu and Tsukiyomi's sole child was born into our clan. Unfortunately, he was killed by those who wielded swords before he went on to save people from befalling fates worse than death.”

Michikatsu looks at him. What was this memory even trying to tell him?

Red eyes, like the autumn skies when the sun begins to set, or when a lunar eclipse settles over the horizon with the red moon bleeding across the sky, looks at him with a pang of regret. And, in Michikatsu’s case, he looks like he regrets everything that had happened in their family.

He scoffs internally. “It's a bit too late for that, isn't it?”

Father continues like he doesn't hear him. “Whatever you do, Michikatsu, don't ever trust those who wield swords.”

That statement baffles Michikatsu greatly. Yes, he'd almost gotten killed by a sword wielding deviant who looks like he would rather die in the cold than wear a proper uniform, but to be fair on him, Michikatsu was about to bite off the head of his brother he swore to protect. He would also let himself die if Snowflake happened upon him too late and he had already gorged himself upon the flesh of his brother already.

The lights inside his household, one by one, go off.

Michikatsu frowns. “Father, what do you—”

The house goes dark, and he falls as he no longer feels the ground on his feet.

Michikatsu opens his eyes, although he finds he could see nothing but darkness, despite his six eyes working overtime. His hands, tiny in this childlike form he had acquired in order to fit inside the basket, feel the wicker his containment is made from, alongside the cloth that helps protect him from the visceral sunlight. Using his body weight, he pushes the basket forwards, causing him to be knocked off-balanced and sprawled through the tatami floors.

The resulting sudden sound from his attempted escape was overshadowed by the surprised silence from the ambient dinner room. Michikatsu’s hair is a pool of inky black, strewn across the floor as he tries to get up, wanting to shift to his original size, but his exhaustion didn’t want him to.

“Aniue, you’re awake,” his little brother says with the slight intonation of relief. He feels regretful for making his brother worry over him like that— like he wasn’t capable. He was the older brother, it was his job to take care of his younger brother, who wouldn’t last a day out in the wilderness, but now, he is stuck in this form, and Yoriichi is training to become something he never wanted to be in the first place.

He had told Michikatsu, a long time ago, when the older explained he will leave home to serve in the Imperial Army once he is of age, that he did not want to harm people. He wanted to make them feel safe and protected.

Now, he is training to become a swordsman. While Michikatsu also saw no talent in violence, he’d been the more skilled with his hands, the one who is not frail, or feeble-minded that he will be counted on not to hesitate.

Michikatsu doesn’t voice, nor show this frustration, as he looks up at Yoriichi, with a placid look on his face staring at him with red eyes. On his hands was a bowl filled with miso soup— however, instead of smelling the calm warmth of the soup, Michikatsu could only smell a pungent odor coming from the meal itself. Scrunching up his nose, he turns away from his brother.

Little brother does not understand why he turned away, though. “Oh, are you hungry, Aniue?”

Michikatsu is still turned away.

“He’s not hungry,” a voice of a young boy says for him, and Michikatsu, turns to look at who had spoken. The boy looks like he’s two years younger than him and his little brother, however, from his calloused hands and the way he remains regal and seated in his pose as if he were trained to do so, his hair looks like the flames on top of a candle tied into a partial ponytail, he looks old as if he had seen things he was never meant to see. Despite this reality, there is a certain childlike way he looks at Michikatsu, as if he is ready to strike if he ever makes one wrong move. Then there was the older man with the same flame-like hair as the boy. Are they related, perhaps? A son and a father? “Demons do not need to eat, and because their diet mostly consists of human meat, they find human food disgusting.”

“So, that’s your brother, huh?” Shinjurou asks with a grunt.

Yoriichi nods, apologizing to Michikatsu for contaminating his sense of scent slightly. “My twin.”

“Doesn’t look like your twin.”

Senjurou gasps. “Father, you can’t say that!”

Michikatsu bristles, and the bigger man snorts. “Hang on, I’m kidding, aside from the six eyes, and the mark, probably, I can’t tell you guys apart. And I thought us Rengokus were identical.”

He doesn’t like the fact that people can now easily tell him and Yoriichi apart, thanks to the new two pairs on his eyes. They were abominable— the new appendages remind him that he is no longer human, and rather, a demon that is supposed to eat the flesh of humans, but is an anomaly of that as well.

“Why did you take us in?” Yoriichi questions, looking back at them. “You told me about your family history. You predate the Sengoku Era as demon slayers, and since the very day you’ve been born, your job is to slay demons. So why are you letting us stay in your home?”

Senjurou and Shinjurou glance at one another.

In the end, it is Shinjurou who answers, starting with a sigh that suggests that he’s exhausted and has heard the same thing over and over again.

“Look, kid,” he begins, with a sympathetic expression. “At first, we both took you in because Hakuji is an honored family member of ours. I was the one who introduced him to demon slaying, after all. So, while we were skeptical of the demon you’re traveling with, we trust Hakuji’s judgment. But when we saw you, you looked… lost. Like you don’t have a home. So, we had no qualms taking you in.”

Yoriichi furrows his brows, confused. “But I have a home.”

Well, he had. Now, however, it is drenched with the blood of his family.

Shinjurou shakes his head as he gets up. “Not what I mean, kid.” He starts cleaning their dinner, now that it is evidently done, as Senjurou gives Yoriichi a smile meant to comfort him. But why? It’s not like what he was saying isn’t true. And what did he mean that he looked lost? He didn’t even get lost on his way here, apart from unintentionally ignoring Senjurou when he made a move to grab his haori.

“We already prepared a room for you,” he says as Shinjurou disappears to the irori. “Follow me.”

Yoriichi follows him, like any good guest would. He’s no longer in his household. While he doesn’t feel like he was at home there, treated more like an anomaly than the brother of an heir, he tries to instill some of the etiquette that he learned from Aniue. Speaking of which, Aniue has returned to his basket, soundly sleeping once more. He’s glad that his brother is beginning to sleep more as a demon, he thinks, as he carries the basket all the way to the room. It was spacious, and there were notable vents that could carry the cold air, and bring in the warm air from around the household.

So unlike his cramped room, where he is able to access the outside world through a small hatch.

“We made a few arrangements regarding your brother’s condition,” Senjurou says as he unrolls the futon for him, placing it on the center of the room. “This is the room furthest from the lumination of the sun. there will still be some lights peeking through, but not enough to burn, or irritate Michikatsu.”

Yoriichi bows. “Thank you. I am in your debt.”

Senjurou’s eyes twinkle. “Well, you’ll be in your debt rather soon, correct? Since you will be training under me tomorrow!”

“I promise to be an exemplary student.” Yoriichi forgets that he’s never been a student in any moment of his life. He had never gone to school, or privately tutored like Aniue, all because his Father wants to forget that he had another child that he believed would embarrass him further.

He did not want to embarrass Senjurou— someone who is so young and skilled with the sword, shouldn’t feel embarrassed at having someone as unworthy as Yoriichi as a student. So, he vows to learn and implant whatever knowledge he can that Senjurou will teach him in the coming months of his tutelage.

“That’s the spirit! Although, I will be giving you advanced lessons a week from now— I heard from Hakuji-san you can do Total Concentration Breathing.”

Ah, they are still on about that? Yoriichi thinks it’s nothing special, really. The family had this kind of Breathing method instilled in their veins since they were born. But he merely nods, and Senjurou bids him good night as he closes the shoji doors.

Yoriichi lays on the futon. It was surprisingly soft and warm. He sighs and closes his eyes, then opens them again to look at the basket holding his brother.

“Aniue,” he doesn’t know if he can hear him, but he hopes he does. “I promise to turn you back into a human. I will not give up.”

***

There is a beat of a drum, and Upper Moon One is inside of the Infinity Castle. He doesn’t have the chance to question it, as he bows down to his Master when he catches the sight of him. The Great One looks up from where he'd been creating potions, and searching for the whereabouts of a certain black-haired, purple-eyed woman with a flowery haori, a smile curving his features. Upper Moon One keeps his head low as the Great One approaches him, slowly, as if he is measuring Upper Moon One's reaction.

Then, he feels the unfamiliar, but noticeably distinguishable feeling of nichirin pressing on the skin of his body. He could not help but mildly shiver— no blade has gotten close to even being near him when he battles with demon slayers. His six eyes move in tandem to stare at the sword that was recognizable to him, despite the worn hilt, the destroyed kanji that had marked his earlier profession before his betrayal, and the distinguishable light purple blade that had mocked him for his entire career as a slayer— never becoming as dark as the royal purple his brother’s blade once had.

The Great One's face is close to him now, to the point he could see his crimson red eyes looming from within the darkness. He knows that the Drum Demon, wherever he is, is watching this confrontation. His eyes were as cold as the very day they first met, never gaining the light and affection from those around him. It was like he is practically unable to feel any sort of empathy or affection for even his most loyal subordinates.

“Kokushibou,” he begins, voice as frigid as ever, and he does well keeping his head down. It seems he is irritated at him about something. “Why didn't you tell me you have a family?”

Chapter Text

The mission, for a joint Pillar one, went as well as Hakuji had assumed it would. While he did arrive a tad late, keeping his partner Pillar waiting — it was Tamayo — they worked together to investigate the trails of the demon and then decapitated it with regular ease. As if it was a reflex, Hakuji then summons the kakushi before reporting the success of the mission to the Master, while Tamayo tends to the injured and manufactures the antidote for the poison that had almost taken the lives of slayers and victims alike.

Tamayo is a valuable ally— while she is unable to swing her sword and relies on the stinger and the wisteria poisons stored within it, she is also the smartest person in their generation of Pillars. Arguably, and, moreso that Hakuji is biased, smarter than Douma because he hates giving that man credit when it is due.

“How are the wounded?” He asks after knocking on the door of the Wisteria House they’d been lounging the sick in, until the kakushi could safely transport all the victims to the Emotion Estate.

“They’re fine,” Tamayo says, her voice soft and sweet. He wonders if she gets angry.

Hakuji lets out a sigh of relief. Leave it to Tamayo to make things right. “That’s great! I thought they were goners when we first saw ‘em.”

“You should have more faith in your subordinates.” She says this statement with a hint of a smile, even if her back is turned.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I should.” He clears his throat, looking serious for once. “Hey, Hanaka-san? I have a question.”

She places gauze pads on a victim’s face. “You’re not the type to ask questions.”

Hakuji has the decency to look embarrassed. “This is just a purely situational question. Don’t judge me if things start getting weird.”

Tamayo sighs, looking at him with lavender eyes. “I am the least judgmental Pillar in the compound. You said it yourself.”

He smirks. “Fair enough. Well… let’s say, hypothetically, there is a demon who doesn’t consume flesh or blood, and protects civilians from the threat that is other demons. And he is searching for a cure for his demonhood.”

Tamayo covers her mouth to chuckle at the presumed absurdity of Hakuji’s statement. “Forgive me, Soyama-san… are you going to ask me if I will be willing to make a cure for this ‘good demon’ as you say?”

He rolls his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

Tamayo hums. “I admit, I’m not interested in making a cure for those demons. The only thing I want is to draw out their painful, excruciating death with my poison.” She has a faraway look in her eyes. “... But I may be persuaded in making a cure for demonhood if this so-called ‘good demon’ is real. Is that a satisfactory answer?”

The Destruction Pillar shrugs. “Yeah.”

“As much as I hate demons, I will think rationally in the face of the probability of having a demon that doesn’t feast on humans.”

“Why do you think I asked you the question in the first place? You’re the only one willing to listen!”

“Well, we all know what Inadama or Shabana will say in this situation.”

Hakuji rolls his eyes. “I can already see it. Anyways, thank you so much for entertaining my nonsensical question, Hanaka-san. I am off to visit the Rengoku household. Do you have any messages you’d like to give to your gi-kei?”

Tamayo’s demeanor sours at the mention of her relations to Shinjurou and Senjurou. Hakuji had never bore witness as to why the two former colleagues disliked each other, but it all boiled down to what had happened to Tamayo’s husband and son.

“Just that I hope they are doing well,” she replies, before turning her back to resume her work.

Hakuji affirms her statement, before closing the door and walking away, filled with revelations and thoughts about her statement, and a certain demon circling his mind.

So you all want definitive proof, huh? Hakuji muses to himself, stepping out of the Wisteria House. I guess I’ll show you proof one day!

***

Yoriichi is not used to waking up early. In addendum, he was not used to not doing anything during mornings. He usually waits for Aniue to come and take him for a small walk across the household when he is free. Other times, he is greeted by one of the servants, particularly Ayame and her daughter, to partake in the tasks his Father would consider mundane at best and below him at worst.

But here he is, working his legs and hands to the bone. According to Senjurou, he has the constitution and physique, but not the willingness to turn all of his strength into the art of swordsmanship. He just needed to hone them to its greatest, athletic potential, before Senjurou can consider him worthy to learn the Breath of Flame forms and how to brandish a katana.

“The Breath of Flame is all about strength— emotional and physical,” Senjurou had explained after showcasing the needed exercises Yoriichi needed to accomplish for today. “You have the physical strength, and I can tell that, somewhere deep inside you, you have the emotional potency. You just have to hone it, make it yours, and exert it outwards. Find that flame within you, Yoriichi.”

Easier said than done. Yoriichi has no idea what that meant, but he knows it’s some form of expression. But he doesn’t know what.

Shinjurou, meanwhile, was watching them, perched on the engawa with a plate of wagashi near him. He munches on them if Yoriichi either did something right, or something wrong. He doesn’t know either.

Yoriichi looks at Senjurou. “What do you mean, I must find the flames within me?”

“The fire that motivates you, that keeps you going,” Senjurou clarifies patiently. “Why have you decided to become a demon slayer? What are your desires? What do you want to do, Yoriichi?”

Those are too many questions to keep track of, and it mostly centers on what Yoriichi wants to do.

Before, when he could easily be part of the background, as one of the outcasts in society, he was never asked this question. When Aniue had asked him what he wanted, he had told him he wanted to be by his side, and then he wanted a family of his own.

But that’s not quite what he wanted for now.

He takes a deep breath, opening his eyes to stare at Senjurou. With a voice filled with resolve, he says, “I want to turn my brother back into a human.”

“That’s it! Now hone that motivation until it becomes a fuel for fire!”

Yoriichi does feel a burning heat engulf him slowly as he recites this vow like a mantra. And, helpfully so, it helped him strengthen his resolve for training. Like what Senjurou said, he has the body of a slayer (despite being slender and malnourished in some areas) but not the mind of one.

“It's because of your hesitation to hurt other people,” Senjurou tells him the day he gives him a katana from the storage room of the house. “While you were steadfast in saying you will kill your brother and then yourself if he devours a human, you seem to be holding back on your potential to fight. I am here to try and rectify that.”

Yoriichi holds the katana with shaky, uncertain hands. It was foreign in his grip. He finds himself trembling at the thought of bringing another being down— even when Senjurou assures him that he wasn't actually killing a human being, but rather, a demon who had claimed human lives with a cold heart, with no remorse.

That… doesn't change the fact he will still claim the life of a former human.

Senjurou looks rather discontent with his performance, hands firmly behind his back as if he were waiting for something to happen. Shinjuro, too, seemed disappointed, as he had disappeared in the midst of the lesson. Senjurou opens his mouth, perhaps to tell Yoriichi of the same exact errors he had done to ensure his abrupt death in battle, but his crow flies to his shoulder, timidly squawking a mission in his district he needs to handle. He looks at Yoriichi with a sheepish smile, as he sheathes his katana and bids farewell.

“We will talk about this later,” he says reassuringly, but Yoriichi could feel the waves of disappointment washing off on him.

When Senjurou leaves like a flash of lightning, Shinjuro opens the door with a scrutinizing look.

“You lack the will,” he simply says, before closing the shoji once again.

His brother, who seemed to have noticed this moral dilemma, decides to try his own way of telling Yoriichi there is no other choice but to take the life of a demon. One day after dinner, when Yoriichi bids the patriarch and the current Pillar with a good night, he finds Aniue standing in his room with a calculative look.

It means he has something to say.

“What is it, Aniue?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

Michikatsu huffs, as he presses a piece of paper into his hands.

Yoriichi reads it.

“Shinjuro has been complaining about your lack of progress. Saying you have the strength but not the resolve. I thought we were over this?”

Yoriichi stares at the piece of paper and sighs. “it's because of my hesitance to kill demons, Aniue. It does not feel right to take a person's life.”

Aniue looks at him like he was the one who grew six eyes that night. He rolls his eyes, all six of them, as he takes out another piece of paper from his kimono. He scribbles something, and Yoriichi watches him.

Then, after a few minutes of writing, the demon slides the paper back towards Yoriichi with a judgmental look.

“These demons took a person’s life, several in fact. It will be better to kill them, not only to protect the innocent, but also to free the human soul within the demon and let them move on to the next life.”

And, well, what Aniue said just makes sense. He played into the paranoia and anxiety Yoriichi has acquired when he realized that he is about to kill humans who have turned into demons, and that, one day, maybe, Yoriichi will have to behead Michikatsu, too. It is one of Yoriichi’s biggest fears as of yet, hence his hesitance to kill demons.

However, when Michikatsu knocked some sense to him, and instead of seeing the demons as some sort of opponents he must eliminate and more as trapped human souls he must liberate, the world shifted its gears, and Yoriichi can find meaning in something in his life once again.

Yoriichi gives Michikatsu a grateful look. “Thank you for making a realization for me, Aniue. I think this will help me slay demons in a more proficient manner.”

Michikatsu huffs, rolling his eyes again. Like he is saying, I can’t believe I have to knock some common sense in you to make you see the bigger picture.

Senjurou returns home from a mission to see Yoriichi practicing brandishing his katana and repeating all the exercises he had taught him the past week, except it looked more polished and efficient than it had been. Although, he still lacks the want to execute the demon, but they can get around it.

***

A month has passed since Yoriichi have arrived in their home.

He becomes fast friends with Senjurou. It wasn’t a surprise, since he was the only boy Yoriichi’s age, and he’s already friends, or companions with Michikatsu. The boy was often quiet and timid, outside of being a teacher with rumored harsh training. He offers Yoriichi tea or wagashi when they feel parched, and he was an excellent cook if their time was not constrained from training and missions. Shinjuro often brags about Senjurou being able to cook for the Master of the Corps, who Yoriichi does not know the identity of yet. Senjurou was also quite socially awkward, often reserved and closed-off. He reminds him of Aniue, although, Aniue states that Senjurou reminds him of him. And, well, he can see the plausibility. Senjurou, additionally, is not very wary of Aniue and even attempts to talk to him with meager success. Yoriichi comforts him by saying Aniue is not the most progressive conversationalist, with or without the muzzle.

Shinjuro, who'd been watching them, scoffs lightheartedly as he downs a cup of tea like it was alcohol. “I suspected as much. You like talking and company near you, so at least one of the twins has to be the complete opposite.” Aniue, who was right behind him, huffs.

Senjurou chuckles. It was soft and reserved. “Not all twins are different. Remember Karaku and Urogi?”

“That's a different matter entirely.”

Yoriichi stays silent as father and son begin their own conversation. Yoriichi, not at all a raconteur talker, simply takes a sip of his tea, and listens to them talk about Senjurou's latest missions. It became clear to him that Shinjuro was fussing over the young boy. Yoriichi never knows how to feel about Shinjuro. He felt wary when he first saw him, the first middle-aged man he'd interacted with outside of his father. But outside of the intimidating face and gruff voice, he was an okay presence to be around with. He never raised his voice with hostility, and he treated the twins well. He speaks with fondness and care when he is with Senjurou, and even pats his head and ruffles his hair.

Yoriichi wonders if all fathers do that, and, once again, his family has fallen into strangeness. Their family is strange, but his father refuses to acknowledge it and tries to hide another anomaly.

When Senjurou is out on a mission, it is Shinjuro who takes up the slack. Apparently, he was two Pillars before Senjurou, and he was a seasoned one at that. He'd retired to give the position to someone else, but becomes tight-lipped when asked. He confirmed that he had been retired as a Pillar over four years ago, and Senjurou became the Flame Pillar just six months ago.

Despite having retired as a Pillar, Shinjuro was good. He's able to keep up with a novice like Yoriichi, at the very least— not like it wasn't difficult. He is responsible for helping Yoriichi regulate his Breathing, and teaching him to expound his routine of using Total Concentration Breathing outside of sleeping.

“It's impressive you managed to learn a technique that is supposed to be exclusive to demon slayers,” Shinjuro says as he dodges all of Yoriichi's attacks. “But you have to get used to using it for battles. Don't get me started on using Recovery Breathing as well.”

Shinjuro only hits hard during training. Outside of that, he does not. Unlike his child, he doesn't seek out the twins, only appearing on occasion to summon the two of them for dinner, or when Yoriichi needs a sparring partner. He glares a lot, but on days where the sun meets with the horizon, he becomes sad and mournful, often staring out at the flowers in their garden while he is seated on the engawa. His pensiveness causes Yoriichi to find a sort of kinship in him.

Hakuji visits the Rengoku Estate a few weeks after he had left Yoriichi to find them. He looks instinctively energetic and exuberant, slapping Senjurou across the back and calling Shinjuro an old man (“I'm not that old, you ass!”) as greetings. When he sees Michikatsu and Yoriichi sitting on the engawa with the latter indulging upon a cup of tea, he grins.

“Looks like you're not dead,” he muses, not making it clear if he was talking to Aniue or him.

“Why would I be dead?”

Hakuji's smile wavers until it forms an exasperated frown. “And you're still as clueless as ever.”

Hakuji stays for dinner, and to watch Yoriichi try and Breathe properly and do combative exercises without the sword. The trio would converse in hushed voices, and Yoriichi struggles to hear those because he'd been born with a hearing impairment. But it wasn't like whatever they were discussing about barely had any real effect on his progress. He is, apparently, advancing at quite an advanced pace, gliding from the stage of beginners so fast that his trainers often forget that he had just become their student a month ago.

“He's amazing,” Hakuji states once Yoriichi is dismissed, and he goes to his brother, who'd been watching with an approving look. The Destruction Pillar’s eyes were filled with wonder, blue eyes glinting. “He's able to learn all these in a month; rivaling Urokodaki, Managi and Irokawa.”

“Hey, you weren't so bad yourself,” Senjurou appraises him. “You managed to climb the Pillar spot a year after being inducted to the Corps.”

“Maybe because your old man found me after I killed 67 demons with my fists.”

“Still impressive.” Shinjuro comments.

When Senjurou introduced him to the Breath of Flame forms, he had taken to them like a child being given his first toy. Yoriichi felt that metaphorical fire inside of him burn hot, as he practices each strike with practiced precision and efficiency. He feels the flames within him being stoked, the crackle of fire immaculate and unforgiving. He will not forgive the demons who have ruined the lives of multiple other people. He will not forgive the Progenitor of Demons, who had ruined the lives of all the people he had demonified and killed with no remorse.

He will be the one to free their souls from their eternally hungry body. He will not fail, no matter how much his conscience wants him to.

He dances through the Breath of Flame forms as if he was his older brother during the New Years’. However, instead of the unknowing enigma that is the dedicated dance that had been passed down the Tsugikuni family since the Sengoku Era, mimicking the night and day cycle which exists in the sky. Although, it isn’t New Year’s, so Aniue has no business trying to dance for now.

Unless he doesn’t remember how to, which is implausible— he shows a great deal of being able to remember who he’d been, and who Yoriichi is. So, that must mean he remembers how to dance the family traditional dance that’d been an heirloom. Because, if Yoriichi is being considerate, he couldn’t dance as proficiently as Aniue. He could consider the forms he is gliding through without any difficulties a way to dance, but he doesn’t have the grace or the ethereal beauty that comes with it.

So, wanting to solve this, he and Aniue talk about it one night. Hakuji and Senjurou have gone to a mission in different parts of the country, and Shinjurou was off cooking dinner for Yoriichi’s meal. He’s gotten used to being around the old man, and the two of them love to sit in silence, letting the sounds of chewing and the clinking of utensils do the talking for them.

“Aniue,” Yoriichi begins, as they stroll around the household on the engawa. Aniue looks at him, all six eyes staring. If he wasn’t sleeping, or criticizing Yoriichi and his movements, he was staring. He doesn’t feel quite disturbed by his gaze. “Do you still remember how to dance?”

Aniue pauses, but, after a minute long pause, he nods, slowly. He tilts his head. Do you want me to perform it?

“If you want to,” Yoriichi says. “We are not at home anymore, however.”

Michikatsu narrows his eyes, turning away.

“Do you want to perform it?”

A shrug. He does not understand what that would mean. There are a multitude of ways to learn what that shrug could possibly mean.

When New Year comes and rolls around, Michikatsu does not dance. Yoriichi feels an extreme amount of disappointment and sadness he should not be feeling, since this is, after all, Aniue’s choice. He still manages to have a pleasant New Year’s dinner with the Rengokus and Hakuji, who are suspiciously not treated as a house guest but more like a family member, the more Yoriichi encounters him visiting. He spots his brother looking out into the snow, and he must have been thinking about retracting his choice of not dancing this year. It wasn’t the first time, of course, but now that they lost everything but each other, well, it becomes difficult.

***

When Senjurou determines that he has gotten the hang of the Breaths of Flame forms in the fourth month since he began staying with the Rengokus, he decides to let him duel his retired father. Again, Shinjurou is able to wipe the floor with Yoriichi, often criticizing that his strikes were not very hard, and were soft, uncharacteristic of Flame Breathing. So Yoriichi resolves to do better— his worth is tied to how strong he could cut off the demon’s head, after all, trying to kill it before it could take more lives.

After a few more weeks, he is able to best Shinjurou. Despite training with bokken, Shinjurou was deadly— as if he was fighting against a demon rather than the stray he had taken inside of his home. Yoriichi dodges them with easy precision, and then he finds an opening at Shinjurou’s side. He’s noticed that Shinjurou often leaves his left side open as he attacks, but during defense, he uses everything he’s got to protect that flank. Yoriichi accesses the world where the skin is substituted with muscle, a strategy he wishes to try now that he knows how to use a sword and Breathing, he hones his Total Concentration Breathing, grips the handle of his bokken, and swings.

Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire.

He dashes with great speed, as he feels himself exhale the fire that Senjurou tells him that he has. He manages to surprise even Shinjurou, who does not see him coming as he tackles him to the ground immediately.

Hakuji and Senjurou, who are watching from the engawa, stare at the sight before them— of a novice, someone who is not supposed to have learned Breaths of Flame until his first year of training under a cultivator, be able to best a retired Pillar.

“Wow,” Hakuji could only comment, mesmerized as Yoriichi helps up an astounded Shinjurou. “No one has picked up on Breath of Flame that fast.”

Senjurou shakes his head. “I don’t have anything to teach him after he masters everything. He’s legible for the Final Selection, despite being in his fourth month of learning at this rate.”

“Have you seen anything like that?”

“Not at all,” Senjurou says, as Shinjurou asks if Yoriichi would like to go again, with the boy nodding.

***

After dinner, Yoriichi returns to his room, where he spends most of the night talking to his brother. Meanwhile, the patriarch of the Rengoku house, and the Pillars of Flame and Destruction, gather in the irori, with a tray of warm tea between them.

Shinjurou blows on his cup to cool down the temperature of his tea. “He is fast— incredibly so. If he trains some more, he may be able to beat Tamayo when it comes to being the fastest demon slayer in the corps.” He takes a sip, and even Hakuji knows that had been a compliment. No matter how strained Shinjurou’s relationship is with his gimai, he can still find himself feeling some fondness for her. “He is a prodigy.”

“Perhaps because he can master Total Concentration Breathing at record time, too,” Hakuji offers. “Did you have trouble trying to get him to do Total Concentration outside of his sleep?”

“Often,” Senjurou says with a chuckle and a soft smile. “However, Yoriichi was able to perfect the technique when he is in battle.”

“I can teach him Recovery Breathing,” Hakuji volunteers. “It’s pivotal he knows it.”

Senjurou sighs. “I could never understand your explanations for it.”

Hakuji looks affronted. “I’m not that bad of a teacher, am I?”

“Hakuji,” Shinjurou suddenly says, making the two boys look at him. There was a thoughtful, sober look on his face. He never liked thinking too much about the history of the demon slayer corps, and how they were all mockeries of the original breathing, lost to time. Or is it? “Do you know where Yoriichi got the hanafuda earrings from?”

Hakuji scratches his head. “Why are you suddenly focused on that piece of jewelry?”

“I have an answer for that,” Senjurou cuts in. “Apparently, it’s a family heirloom from over five centuries ago, given to the second oldest son.”

Hakuji frowns, “... Why should I care about some family a hundred years ago?”

“The second oldest son,” Shinjurou murmurs, setting his cup down as another ruminative expression crosses his face. “I see.”

The first User of Breaths had also been a second son.

***

“I have nothing left to teach you,” Senjurou says, as the two of them walk towards the irori. Michikatsu, too, was following as well, his eyes trained on the ground. “I admit, Yoriichi, you surprised me, along with your brother, too. It takes a slayer about a year or two to learn about the basic forms of Breathing, but you did it in almost half a year. How many months had it been since I took you in?”

Michikatsu answers by raising a hand up, fingers outstretched.

He smiles, “Yes, five. Ordinary slayers would have killed to be like you, able to go to the Final Selection as soon as possible. You’re talented, Yoriichi. I wish to see your potential grow to greater heights.”

Yoriichi looks flustered by the praises Senjurou has showered him. His Father called him a waste of space, and Michikatsu compliments him by spending most of his time with the boy. But never has he been complimented so forwardly with verbal assurances before.

“Thank you,” he says, head bowed as they walk inside the cooking room.

“This will be your last test, one that will make me see if you are legible for the Final Selection,” Senjurou says, voice gentle. He gestures to the hearth on the middle of the room, charred and unused since this morning when Shinjurou made their breakfast. “Set the irori on fire, and we’ll send you off the Final Selection.”

Yoriichi looks up, soberness returning to him after being on Cloud Nine because of his thoughts. He stares at the irori, then back at Senjurou, who looks very serious about the prospect of letting him light a hearth on fire, without the proper supplements.

“I can’t…” He tries to articulate the sentence, with Aniue’s eyes boring at the back of his head. He tries, anyways, to fight the bewilderment. “I can’t light up an irori without anything in particular.”

“This is a test of how much information you’ve retained over Flame Breathing,” Senjurou says with a shrug, mischievous smile on his face. “I wish you the best of luck, Yoriichi. Please notify me if you have figured out how to light the irori on fire.”

With that, he exits the irori, and Shinjurou pokes his head in with a quizzical look.

“You better not burn the irori down,” he tells him, and exits the room.

Yoriichi stares at the hearth, looks at Michikatsu, who seems like he has no idea what advice he should give him, and he sighs.

***

“He reminds me of Kyoujurou,” Shinjurou says one day, after Yoriichi had failed to light the irori up before Shinjurou ushers him out to start their dinner.

Senjurou stiffens. They have not spoken about Kyoujurou in a long time, avoiding this subject because it makes the two of them feel discomfitingly sad. The only thing they found when he had tried searching for his older brother was the remains of a bloody haori. Shinjuro had been inconsolable; he had lost one more loved family member to the gallows of death, and Senjurou lost the brother who has guided him into greatness. He attempted to look for his brother, however, he could find no evidence that he even ever existed, making him further disheartened by the search. Thinking about Kyoujurou, the brother he'd never met again after a mission has gone awry, hurts him quite a bit.

Yoriichi was the opposite of his brother— Kyoujurou was far too lively, bright, and loud with his words. Yoriichi, meanwhile, is silent and quiet to a fault. He seems to enjoy the barest minimum his life has offered for him, however, he did not have the similar loud demeanor his brother has. Yoriichi found enjoyment seeing the mundane things in life, often found frolicking in the gardens as he stares at a butterfly that has landed on his nose. He was not as verbose as his brother, nor does he have a big appetite, often being encouraged to partake in second servings. He also becomes quiet on some days, with Michikatsu explaining that it was nothing personal, he just did not have the instincts or energy to talk to them.

But it did not matter. He and his older brother made him feel like he had an older brother again. Yoriichi likes following him when he doesn't know what to do in the times he can't train. Senjurou finds it adorable. Michikatsu, ignoring the fact he is a demon with six eyes, was like a younger version of his father and Hakuji combined. He was critical, blunt, and pessimistic, yet he was also protective and bold.

Senjurou looks at clouds with a sad smile on his face. “He does.”

“I think we could get the two of them lessons on sign language.”

Senjurou frowns as he stares at his father. “The only one who is proficient in sign language is—”

Shinjurou rolls his eyes. “Ugh, not that stupid, conceited Roaring Pillar; Tamayo!”

Senjurou chuckles at the jab Shinjurou has referred to his ill-tempered colleague, but he nods. “I will visit the Insect Estate to inquire her of books about sign language, then. Shall I tell her that you were the one to suggest it?”

Shinjurou’s serene face becomes sour with grudge and grief. “Absolutely not."

***

Yoriichi finally lights the irori on fire two weeks before the Final Selection. Hell, Shinjuro didn't notice he had done what they told him to do, until Shinjurou opens the shoji connected to the irori, and finds Yoriichi sitting on the oza, serenely staring into the fire as if he was enchanted by it— which, he may as well be. His sword, the one he'd used to light it on fire, is off on one side, looking slightly singed.

Shinjurou sighs, exposing himself to the boy, who merely looks up. “Didnja tell me that you will notify if you've lit it up already?”

Yoriichi’s eyes glint. “I must have forgotten.”

Shinjurou simply smiles, awestruck by the boy’s prodigal talent and covetous skills. If he had been the man who had just found out that all of the breathing techniques came from one singular, strongest breathing style, he would've forced his son to turn the two away at the sight of his hanafuda earrings. However, it is long past the bitter days of when his only consolation had been the end of a bottle of sake. He feels sadness, and a smidgen of inferiority when he remembers that they no longer have any information of the first breathing, but he knows a child of the two scorned lovers when he sees one.

He has the instinctive feeling that, sometime in the future, the Tsugikuni twins will turn their fates around and will be key to Defeating the Progenitor.

But first…

“How did you do it, Yoriichi?” He asks, setting down the pan used to cook up their lunch. However, since Yoriichi finished the last step to complete his training and be verified or the Final Selection.

All in the span of six months.

Incredible. This must be because of his lineage: he could feel it in his bones.

Yoriichi breathes. “It was not simple, I did not understand how I would go about… setting the hearth on fire. But I decided to remember all of the lessons you, Senjurou, and Hakuji have taught me. So, I focused, I let the so-called fire inside me burn bright, and…” He gestures to the flaming irori.

Shinjurou nods, a smile on his face. “I can see that.” Instinctively, he ruffles Yoriichi’s hair. “You did great, kid.”

Yoriichi bites back a gasp as he feels Shinjurou’s calloused but gentle hands massage his scalp. He didn’t expect this reaction when the patriarch found him successfully lighting up the hearth. Of course, he'd seen him do it multiple times when he's overjoyed by the achievements of his son and Hakuji, but not to him, keeping a cautious but understandable distance. He did not know what to make of him, and Shinjurou, it seems, did not know how to treat him outside of being one of Senjurou’s students at first.

However, he did not mind the sudden affection the Rengoku patriarch is currently doing to him. In fact, he quite craves it.

Chapter Text

As a celebration for not only lighting up the hearth using Breath of Flame techniques, but also for completing the training course in a whopping six months (“He beat Hakuji’s record!” Shinjurou tells his son when he comes home from a mission.) he was treated to the biggest, most appetizing feast that the two Rengoku members can cook for him before he heads to Fujisakane to complete his Final Selection. The food that Senjurou has cooked for them is incredible— with food ranging from tonkatsu to teriyaki, to donburi and sashimi. Even the tea Shinjurou brewed for him was delectable and tasted warm upon his tongue.

It was a showcase of their pride for Yoriichi, it seems— he has, after all, completed training in only over six months, an uncommon prospect from anyone they have ever met.

Yoriichi eats heartily, ever since Senjurou had begun shoving more food onto his plate, after the lecture he got on having eaten so little. He needs to show some gratitude at being able to live another day to taste his father's delicious food. Michikatsu, meanwhile, watches Yoriichi eat, like he was assessing if he was eating enough. Yoriichi, wanting his brother to at least get off his back for a minute when it comes to the consumption of dinner, eats as much as he can.

“I've notified Hakuji about you passing the test,” Senjurou says with an excited lilt in his voice. “Unfortunately, he's held up on various missions throughout his district, so he won't be able to see you off to the Final Selection. He'll be here when you return from the Final Selection, however!”

Yoriichi nods. “I am looking forward to it.”

“The Final Selection or Hakuji returning?” Senjurou inquires.

“Both, I suppose.” He meets the eyes of both father and son, his crimson red eyes glinting with gratitude and happiness that is hardly seen with Yoriichi, who is always so satisfied with what he has been given, he fails to think if it was sufficient for him or not. “I would personally give him my gratitude for giving my brother and I a chance to prove ourselves. If it were not for you both, I would have been clueless in trying to advance my revenge to the one who turned my brother into a demon. I have never foreseen that… I would be taken in by kind individuals.”

Shinjurou sighs. Senjurou knows he cringes when people call him kind, as if he did not, without hesitation, receive a demon and his brother with hanafuda earrings and then let them stay in their house when he knows if he had been the man before taking in Hakuji after he saw him with bloodied knuckles, surrounded by disintegrating demon corpses, he would be livid at the sight of him. He was kind, he simply lost the ability to be kind to the world after every experience he’d have undergone.

“Kid…” He starts— yet, there was something in Yoriichi’s eyes which completely fails to make him articulate that he was a bastard, instead considering the idea that he is a kind man with kind motives. He sighs, shaking his head with a dejected look. “You’re talented, kid— but you need to amp up your social skills. You’re lonely, but we wouldn’t know you are unless you say something.”

Yoriichi tilts his head. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” He blows on the cup of his tea before he drinks it. He has begun developing a craving for sweet things since he started living with the two Rengokus. They love cooking sweet things and offering him some even when Yoriichi never asked them. Aniue encourages their spoiling of their brother, too.

“Yoriichi,” the mood sobers when Senjurou has finished eating, with Yoriichi wrapping up his dinner. “I wish you the best of luck when you enter the Final Selection. There is no going back if you enter the forests of Fujisakane. You have yet to discover a demon in your days of journeying with Hakuji, and this will put a test on your knowledge, ease of mind, and the lessons I have taught you. If you pass the test with flying colors, perhaps I will…” He smiles a little. “Finally introduce you as my tsuguko to the other Pillars.”

Shinjurou props his arm on the chabudai, placing his head on it. “It seems you are following the trend of taking in potential slayers and turning them into tsugukos, when that is not quite how successors work.”

“Well, he may not be a demon slayer yet, but he has tons of hidden potential, hence why I will introduce him as soon as he becomes a demon slayer.”

“Tsugukos typically get scouted when they reach the rank of Kanoe.”

“We’re never one to follow the rules, are we not, Father?” Senjurou inquires with a raised brow.

“I suppose not.”

Yoriichi finds the corners of his lips quirk upwards. “Is there anything I need to learn about demons before I leave for the Final Selection?”

“Demons often gain strength through eating human flesh,” Senjurou tells him as they begin gathering dishes to be washed in the sink. “When they reach a certain point of eating humans, they begin developing Blood Demon Arts— sorcerer-like abilities that give them an edge over us.”

“We do not have any powers similar to them?” Yoriichi inquires, and Senjurou lets a bitter laugh out of that.

“Only our breathing techniques and our strength are able to keep up with the demons,” Senjurou says. “I am not sure what else.”

Yoriichi returns to his room (he began referring to it as his on the sixth night he had stayed here), seeing that Michikatsu is awake, and not asleep like he usually is when he has nothing to do. In fact, he looked more alert, aware of his surroundings since he had become a demon. Which is not fair to him, of course, but it is rare to see him sober and conscious nowadays, as if he has regressed to a sleepy child from their youths. He was reading the books that Senjurou had offered him, about sign language and interpretation. He was able to learn them easily, like he always does when he is shoved a book— he immediately starts reading them.

Michikatsu looks up from where he’d been reading, and signs a greeting. “How was the celebratory feast?”

Yoriichi, surprisingly, manages to understand what he had just said, perhaps because he had also begun learning about sign language with his brother. Because of the muzzle on his older brother’s mouth, he could no longer be the interpreter of Yoriichi’s feelings during the days when he feels particularly unmotivated to speak and tell his hosts about why he is suddenly mute. Thankfully, unlike his Father and a couple of servants around his home, they were understanding and accommodating, hence why they offered the two of them books about sign language.

“They were all delicious,” he says breathlessly, lying down on his futon as he stares at the ceiling. “I think I will miss them when I become a demon slayer full time.”

“You can still visit them from time to time.”

“Well, when I am not on missions, then, I suppose.”

Aniue manages to crawl towards him, giving him a comforting pat. “I want to ask you something.”

Red eyes look at his brother’s six eyes. He finds them beautiful, like all the phases of the moon in the sky he’d seen.

“Please, you do not need to ask permission from me. It is strange.” He feels uncomfortable being asked for someone’s permission, as if he was the heir of the clan that has been wiped out.

Aniu huffs from behind his mask, trying to roll his eyes but, it seems he is unused to rolling all six of his eyes. He decides to sign instead. “Do you think Senjurou would approve of giving me swordsmanship lessons?”

Yoriichi opens one eye. “I do not see why not.”

“Well, I am a demon, after all.”

“He took us both in. I believe he doesn’t have any sort of qualms teaching a demon basic sword fighting techniques. I do not understand why you would want to learn them, however. Did something happen?”

“I just wish to fight alongside you.”

Yoriichi’s breath hitches, and he could feel himself beginning to walk on cloud nine. His eyes well with tears, and he tries to hide it by covering his face. “I see.”

***

“Yoriichi,” Shinjurou calls for him from the main watsushi, where they typically receive their guests. Yoriichi, who’d been having a conversation with Michikatsu to practice sign language and get used to the idea of using their hands for communication, listens to Shinjurou’s beckon. After excusing himself from his brother’s presence, he encounters Shinjurou and Senjurou, sitting in proper seiza, across the watsushi. There is a folded piece of clothing on the tatami, and he looks at it before flitting his eyes to him.

“What is that?” He asks. It may seem tonelessly brazen to other people, but for the Rengokus, it sounded like a typically curious child.

Shinjurou gives him a fond smile as he pushes the white clothing to him. “It is a haori. Us Flame Pillars give those who have succeeded in our training a motif that means they have been trained by this Pillar and so. Urokodaki had his talisman masks — the current Water Pillar still wears it on his face — Jigoro has his patterned kimono, Irokawa has his snowflake pins that Hakuji hates so much.”

“There’s a reason why he hates that motif on Irokawa and his adopted children.” Senjurou supplies.

“Yes, but Irokawa doesn’t know that it was his wife’s—” Shinjurou clears his throat, trying to get their attention back at the intricately woven haori. “Anyways, try the haori on, Yoriichi! If you want, you can wear it over your uniform when you finally receive it, too.”

Sensing Shinjurou’s thrill and Senjurou’s excitement — he did not need to look into the transparent world to see it — he adheres to the elderly man’s instructions as he unfolds the haori, and, after studying it a bit, throws it over his shoulders to wear it. The silk and linen which has built the haori was comfortable, and warm. Not very hot, but it must be because it is only spring.

He touches the fabric, feeling satisfied.

“It suits you!” Senjurou exclaims, beaming, with Shinjurou nodding agreeably. “It contrasts well with your red hair and tanned complexion! I knew that we had the right measurements!”

“I appreciate your token of accepting me as your student,” Yoriichi says, patting the haori absent-mindedly. “I never had gifts consisting of clothes before.”

Shinjurou and Senjurou’s equally big smiles falter at hearing another tidbit of Yoriichi’s old life in the Tsugikuni household. It was not that bad— every time he talks about his childhood, with Michikatsu being his solace in that cold world, they look like they were about to cry. Well, Senjurou does, while Shinjurou looks angry. Not at him, he does not think so, but rather, at his Father, who stars a lot in his stories.

“By the way, Michikatsu has begun learning basic swordsmanship with me and…” Senjurou breathes. “He’s as talented as you. Subtly slower, yes, but he makes up for it with his intellect and brutality.”

Yoriichi nods. “My brother is tenacious and meticulous when he needs to be.”

Shinjurou rolls his eyes. “And a perfectionist.”

“Yes, that too.”

(Michikatsu, with keen hearing, picks up on that and bristles slightly.)

“Well,” Shinjurou sighs, giving him a comforting smile. “You best be going now— it is a long way to Fujisakane, and we do not want you to be late. Final Selections only happen once a year, after all.”

Yoriichi nods, sheathing the sword which Senjurou had offered to him so he could kill demons. He stands, bowing to the Rengokus in farewell. “I shall bring you a reputable reputation, to let the other students know that you take care of me well.”

Senjurou chuckles. “You do not have to.”

“I must,” he retorts. “It is the least I can do as a gift for taking care of me.”

Shinjurou’s face softens, but he still has a frown on his face. “Do whatever you want, kid. Just get back alive! … Please.”

Yoriichi nods. “I promise, and I do not break my promises.”

I am certain if Aniue finds out I am dead, he would try and find my corpse and then beat a sword over the head to wake me up.

He is outside of the gate when he is let go of the two Rengokus. Senjurou and Shinjurou begin waving at him as a farewell, and, with his own energy, he does the same. He feels a small smile creep up his face, as he runs to where Fujisakane is. It was difficult to travel through the country alone, without his brother guiding him, but he’s learned a lot these past six months. He will not fail Michikatsu, Senjurou, Shinjurou, and Hakuji by dying. He knows why he was born into this world now.

To defeat demons and turn his brother back into a human.

Nothing else.

***

Yoriichi reaches Fujisakane before the sun sets. The mountain was filled with wisteria, giving the entire mountain and its environment an ethereal, surreal feeling, as if he is walking into the spirit realm. Some of the wisteria blossoms tickle his nose— enchanted, he tries to touch them, but is stopped by a hand holding his wrist. He turns his eyes to look at a pretty, petite girl with flat black hair tied into a low, loose ponytail, her gray eyes looking at him with worry and caution.

“Don’t touch the wisteria, they’re poisonous!” The girl says, and her voice grabs the attention of the eighteen other examinees. Three people that looks like the girl’s company, looks rather distraught, or embarrassed at her volume.

“... Uta,” a boy with spiky dark hair, amber eyes and jagged eyebrows which makes him look angry all the time, speaks up, “Please do not touch strangers’ hands and tell them, politely, they are about to touch poisonous plants unprotected.”

The girl, Uta, colors in embarrassment, beginning to sputter apologies to Yoriichi, who was clueless.

“It’s fine,” he says. While the touch had surprised him, it was not made out of malice and out of concern. Additionally, he would not have heard her, thanks to his particularly difficulty hearing words that were not loud enough to gain his attention. “Thank you for preventing me from getting poisoned.”

Uta beams, and his heart skips a beat. “Don’t mention it!”

To his — subconsciously hidden — disappointment, she returns to her group, talking to them in that same loud, optimistic and happy voice that Yoriichi would love to hear again. The boy, however, glares at him, snarling slightly. The other girl with black hair and misty blue eyes, stared at him for a few more moments, before she was pulled off to the crowd by the louder white-haired girl — who had a snowflake clip pinned on her hair — complaining about how they were all being so noisy.

Yoriichi sighs, walking around the clearing. Almost all of the other examinees were not keen on socializing.

“Greetings, Final Selection examinees!” A boy with dark hair and dark blue eyes announces on a platform, gaining his attention. He looks up to stare at him. He seems to be young, younger than all of the people within this clearing, so he must be a host. He is wearing a pure white kimono that looks rather loose on him, his black hair pooling across his waist. Shinjurou and Senjurou mentioned that there is a Master within the Corps, controlling the slayers like chess pieces, however, this boy looks too young. The master’s son, perhaps? “You have my appreciation for joining the Final Selection. Within Mount Fujisakane, are demons trapped in a wisteria prison, captured by our acclaimed demon slayers. There is no way they can escape, so they await meals to get them by.”

He gestures to the wisteria all around them. He continues, “But from this point forward, wisteria blossoms will not appear, thus demons prowl from beyond this boundary. If you can survive in this place in seven days and reach the foot of the mountain on the other side, then you are qualified to be a demon slayer. I wish you luck.” He bows modestly, signalling the beginning of their exam.

Yoriichi takes a deep breath, trying to force his nervousness to be quelled. It will not do him good to be nervous.

With nothing to fear, he steps through the blossoms of wisteria, and into the unknown.

When the moon rises in the sky, as the sun sinks into the horizon, it is like armageddon within the forests of Fujisakane. Yoriichi runs, keeping his Breathing controlled, remembering that he is no longer in the training grounds and rather the habitat of the demons within this clearing. When his sensitive senses hear something from beyond the forest, he stills, his hands on his sword almost immediately. He whips his head around to find a demon lunging at him, and, with record speed, decapitates its head.

Flame Breathing, Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!

When the demon turns to dust, clarity settles into Yoriichi’s mind as he realized that he had just defeated a demon.

I can’t believe it… Yoriichi looks at his calloused hands, filled with scars of training and labor. I defeated a demon!

It’s all thanks to the Rengokus and Hakuji— this gives him more motivation to return to them safe and sound.

He takes a moment to look at the disintegrating demon, praying for their safe departure from this life to the next, hoping they will be reborn as human in their next life.

He finds more demons across the clearing— three, to be exact. Seeing that they have spotted him and, no one is coming to save him, he unsheathes his blade and begins to visualize the waves of fire which threaten to eat him alive.

Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire!

With precise speeds, he decapitates the first demon, landing on his two feet without any preamble, and then charging up to kill the other two demons.

Breathing slowly, he raises his sword, dashing behind the second demon before it could finish its spiel of wanting to eat him without any seasonings (he is sure demons eat their humans raw and uncooked?), mentally reciting, Flame Breathing, Third Form: Blazing Universe! As he does so. When he decapitates the demon, he soon focuses on the third and last demon, who was undeterred by the speedy, efficient, and gradual termination of the companions he’d tried to intimidate Yoriichi with.

He Breathes once more, stance becoming level, about to use the seventh form to decapitate him. Just when he is about to lunge, however, his blade gets caught on another— a thinner blade, but a nichirin blade nonetheless. A yari. He was so distracted by the sudden anachronistic appearance of the blade, that he did not notice that whoever is currently wielding said spear has taken his target and beheaded the demon without a single thought. Yoriichi could have sworn that, whatever Breathing technique he did, he used his own blood to guide the Breathing styles.

The boy — or girl, it’s hard to tell from the moonlight — who seems to be only a year older than him, was inhaling softly, as if he was sick. Their skin, from the glow of the moon, was deathly pale, and their hair was tangled, wavy, and unruly, but dark as night. They were wearing a black kimono that looks suspiciously like a kurotomesode (so they must be a girl, then? A married girl, at that.). They were holding the yari that had stolen the demon he’d targeted before they took it.

Yoriichi feels an unfamiliar feeling well up inside him. Something he’s quelled when he was a child since he, as the outcast of the family, has no right voicing his opinions about things that did not seem fair to him. He tries to quell his anger, but when the person turns to look at him and he comes face-to-face with red eyes, glinting at him with apathetic aloofness, he finds his vindictiveness spilling over. Their face was feminine, but there was a fiery look in their eyes that makes Yoriichi stagger, aggravation clawing from his stomach.

“That was my target.” He was never one to grow angry, but he is beyond livid.

The person turns to face them fully, and they, admittedly, look quite enchanting in the blooming moonlight. Their lips are turned to an unimpressed frown. However, when they study Yoriichi more, their eyes grow wide, as if they were in shock.

“No way,” they say breathlessly, their voice deep and unmistakably male. “Michi, is that—” They cut themself off, narrowing their eyes at him with the blade of the yari pointed at him. “Wait, you’re not him. Some kind of doppelganger? The household got ambushed, last I heard.” Their face turns nostalgic slightly. “I was going to say goodbye.”

“I don’t know you,” Yoriichi says, “and you should not be stealing others’ kills.”

They roll their eyes, crossing their arms. “You can’t be upset that someone killed the demon faster than you. Survival of the fittest is the key strategy to defeat those kinds of monsters. You just were not fast enough to do it yourself.”

Yoriichi bristles. “You came out of nowhere. If we killed the demon together—”

“Together?” The person repeats with a bemused scoff. “This is not a fairytale, Tsugikuni-doppelganger. This is real life. If you’ll excuse me, I will return to ‘stealing’ the kills of the other examinees, as you put it.”

Without waiting for another word, the person takes off, disappearing to the branches of the trees. Yoriichi, deciding he should not be picking fights with those who doesn’t want to, opts to stand and search for more demons and the exit. He was so annoyed he didn’t notice that the examinee had called him by his surname.

He stops running when he hears an ear-piercing shriek. He hides himself from the thick blanket of trees, as he tries to assuage the situation that is happening in the clearing.

It was the girl with the crane-patterned kimono from before, that had been with that pretty gray-eyed girl. Where were her companions, surely they would have noticed if she was in the clutches of the demon before him, right?

Said demon was large, filled with many hands covering its body, a part of its head being the only exposed part of his face. It is holding the girl with one of its many hands by the torso— her arms are free, although she did not have her sword on her, which was on the ground. Meanwhile, her legs were dangling uselessly.

The demon makes it its mission to turn his grip into a deathly one, intent on crushing the captive on its arms with eyes filled with glee.

Yoriichi could not stand such a face— Breathing once more, he jumps from where he’d been hiding, his sword drawn.

Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire!

He successfully brings down his sword onto the arm with the hand holding the girl, and the hand falls, along with the captive. The girl coughs, landing on the ground with as much grace as she could muster, adjusting to the fact that she’d been saved from almost being crushed to death. She had a soft look on her face, droopy eyes with thick lashes, and upturned brows pulled to make her look desolate.

He lands, standing right in front of her, with her sword. She stares at the sword in his hand, before taking it from him, breathing heavily.

“Are you alright?” He asks. His ears pick up on an affirmative hum.

The humongous demon in front of them wasn't exactly pleased by the interruption  of having the food he'd been playing with taken away. He narrows his eyes at Yoriichi indignantly, his hands scratching its arms until it bled red. “How dare you! You dare take away my food? She was ripe for the pickings but you still took her away from me! You little bastard, I’ll tear you apart!”

Yoriichi watches as the hands stretch from the main body, and he unsheathes his sword as he tries to access the Transparent World to find the neck of this demon. With narrowed eyes, he lunges towards the demon.

Flame Breathing, Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation!

He slashes all of the hands attempting to capture him, but not his head, as more of its hands securely block its neck from ever touching a blade.

It narrows its sickening yellow eyes at Yoriichi, and it could tell it was smirking. “You gotta try harder than that.”

“Um,” the girl that Yoriichi saved earlier is on her feet now, her posture one of a swordsman’s. It did not take Yoriichi long to identify that, just like him, she has control over her Breathing, despite the anxious and nerve-wracked demeanor that she is currently displaying. “How about I help you kill this demon? I can only assist, though, I think he sprained my leg.”

Sure enough, there was a slight limp in her step as she approaches the demon, her sword drawn.

“I need all the help I can get.”

The girl tears up, surprising Yoriichi. “Thank you so much for saving me, though! I thought I was a goner! I lost track of my group and ended up getting separated from them! I don’t know how I’ll tell them that I love them if I’m literally dead and buried!”

Yoriichi blinks. “You can’t tell your friends you’re dead if you’re dead yourself.”

Now, the girl begins tearing up with offense. “What are you trying to say?!”

Yoriichi was about to reply when he sees a barrage of hands flying around them to try and capture the two of them. His eyes grow wide, about to perform a Breath of Flame technique, until the girl in front of him realizes the source of his urgency and, with speed that may match his in battle, gets on to work by cutting all of the hands at once.

Mist Breathing, Third Form: Scattering Mist Splash!

So she was a Breath of Mist User? Senjurou had mentioned that he will be meeting examinees that use different Breaths from him, but to see it in action, to see the clearing enter in such a foggy state will never cease to not amaze him. She was graceful, elegant, and fast, able to create openings for Yoriichi to fall through.

She turns her head to look at him. “Is this enough of an opening for you to go for its head? And don’t take too long, this thing is already so scary, I’m praying for its downfall!”

The demon laughs. “You think that you brats could defeat me? Not even the strongest potential slayer had the chance to defeat me when he saw my bulking figure! I have long forgotten his name, but I remembered his peach hair! He ran away with his tail between his legs!” It laughs mockingly, a sound that fills Yoriichi nothing but irritation to no end.

“We’ll kill you for sure!” The girl confidently says as she dodges another one of its hands, still vehemently trying to take her captive once more. “And you think I’d fall for your tricks again?!”

Yoriichi is about to go for the head when he feels something shaking from underground. Eyes growing wide, he jumps as high as he can to avoid the sudden onslaught of arms, which had been burrowing underground, from attempting to catch him. He did not think he could jump so high, and yet, he had done it— even the girl from earlier was gobsmacked, almost getting her head crushed by the demon had it not been for her fast reflexes, despite the sprain on her leg. Which he will have to tend to later, but first, he must vanquish this demon.

Taking a deep Breath, and letting all his emotions flow to his hands, so that he may cut this demon’s head and it will no longer torment other potential slayers. Thanks to the girl distracting all of its hands, and it being caught offguard by how fast Yoriichi managed to fend off his attacks, its neck, despite still being unguarded, is now unprotected. With a certain kind of fire burning from the embers of his heart, his pulse quickens, feeling himself grow feverishly hot. He uses the demon’s outstretched hand to make his way towards its weak spot.

Flame Breathing, Fifth Form: Flaming Tiger!

He dashes forth, raising his head as he could feel the visuals of a tiger roaring as he cuts off the demon’s head, letting it fall to the ground.

Yoriichi inhales and exhales, lungs straining thanks to having performed Total Concentration Breathing while conscious for a long period of time. He always preferred it more if he had only been using it, unintentionally, when he was unconscious.

Then, he senses it— from beyond the Transparent World, the emotions of sadness and yearning. He drowns out the girl’s enthusiastic cheers and anxious cries, as he takes a step towards the demon with a look of solemn understanding.

In the end, just like its long list of victims, it was a victim of a being that had control over its mind, body and soul.

A soft sigh escapes Yoriichi’s lips, as he brings himself to hold the demon’s hand until it disintegrates, seeing the tears of repentance and regret from its eyes as it crumbles to ashes.

“You held its hand.” The girl breathes out, as Yoriichi’s hands fall limp to his sides as he stares at her. There was something familiar about this girl— not just because he had seen her in the entrance of Fujisakane, no, but rather he felt like he’d visualized her appearance before as if he had been imagining her whilst someone described traits that were similar to the girl before him.

“Is that bad?” He asks, tilting his head. There must be something wrong with his face, as the girl jumps as if she were burned, and, fidgeting with her fingers, looks around, biting her lip anxiously.

“N-no,” she says, although she does not sound very convinced by her answer. “I mean, you’re weird for holding a demon’s hand, because it tried to kill us— actually, it didn’t try to kill us, it wanted to kill us! So you’re weird. But not really, because you also saved me from this demon even though you don’t know it was me and even though you knew that it might kill you too. So, not weird. Not like I’m saying you’re weird, though, I think you’re so cool. But still. Pretty weird that you held its hand and made it cry. Did you say something to it?”

Yoriichi blinks. That was a lot of ‘weird’ put in one paragraph. And she seems to be prone to rambling, although not the kind Aniue does all the time, looking excitable, sharing information with Yoriichi just because he can. No, this girl rambles because, from the sound of her heart, she is nervous. Besides, he’s been called weird before. He does not mind the insult— he’s used to people commenting on his abnormality.

“I silently prayed that, in another life, he may be reborn as a human and reunited with what he lost.”

The girl blinks, and pales. “Okay. So you’re one of those demon sympathizers my Master told me to stay away from. That’s cool. Can we stay away from each other now?”

Yoriichi ignores the pang of hurt within him, that this girl whom he’d saved and just met is trying to get away from him, for some odd reason.“Is there something wrong with it?”

The girl stares at him, and she must have known that she had accidentally hurt him, as she shakes her head. “Um, no! My Master just, well, thinks that those who sympathize with demons are, like, weird. I mean, you’re already weird, but apparently demon sympathizers don’t last long in the Corps ‘cause they die. Really early, I might add. Because their heart is in the wrong place.”

“Hearts are always in the left part of the body.”

The girl tries not to put her face in her hands. “So I’m getting away from you because if we become friends, you’ll die early because you take your time praying in this scary dark forest! I don’t want to be friends with someone only for them to die! I get emotionally attached easily!” She begins crying, gripping at her black hair.

Yoriichi tries to comfort her, wondering why she was crying all of a sudden. He pats her on the back, as her cries quiet to sniffles. “I will not die early, I promise you that. And who is going to help you with your sprained leg if you stay away from me?”

She blinks. “My what—?” She immediately falls down, having exerted all her energy from her fight with the Hand Demon, but Yoriichi catches her easily. She wails, sputtering about. “I completely forgot about my leg! Forget what I said: you are totally not weird, and I need someone to help me out of this stupid, blasted forest! I didn’t even want to go, but all of my friends are going and I don’t wanna get left behind!”

From how loud she is going, he almost believes that she had single-handedly cure his deafness. Alas, such cures do not exist for him. Nevertheless, he does try and carry her in a bridal position, which flusters the girl heavily.

“Hey, no! This is highly inappropriate! You can’t just carry an unsuspecting girl like this! You weirdo!”

“I can let you climb on my back,” Yoriichi offers.

“That’s a better idea!” She gently climbs down his arms, and as the moonlight reflects off on them, the girl must finally have a glimpse of his face, and her eyes grow wide.

“What the—? No way, Michi, is that you?”

Yoriichi blinks at that nickname. He’s heard it being shouted not at him, but rather at his brother when one of his friends from another noble family gets together with him. On second thought, he had also heard that one person wearing the kurotomesode say it as well. Did they know his brother? He has no particular way of finding out, since Yoriichi is always out of the loop when it comes to clan politics in the Taisho Era.

“Um, no. My name is Tsugikuni Yoriichi.” He kneels so the girl could climb his back faster.

“Tsugikuni, that’s weird,” she mutters as she climbs on his back, looping her thin arms that was enveloped by the loose, flowy mist-colored kimono with the pattern of cranes, as her legs entwine with his waist.

“What is strange about my name?”

“You have the same surname as one of my friends back when I was still a civilian,” she replies, trying not to lean onto his sturdy neck for balance. It was embarrassing enough to be carried by one examinee, it was another to fall asleep as he carries her to the exit. “and also, you look a lot like him! Are you some kind of shapeshifter, or something?”

Yoriichi blinks, as he comes to a conclusion based on all her ramblings. “You are friends with my twin brother.”

She gasps. “No way, Katsu-kun has a twin and he didn’t bother to tell me? I almost killed you right here since you look like him, and I thought it was another demon playing mind games with me! You should’ve said something sooner!”

With her voice being near his ear, he could not help but flinch back at her loud voice. “He was forbidden to tell others about me. Don’t blame him.”

“Is he okay? Kinda strange he isn’t here in this blasted forest trying to risk his life to kill demons. He’s always been the workaholic. Please don’t tell him I said that.”

Yoriichi feels the corners of his lips curl upwards. “I will not.”

“You didn't answer my question. Oh wait, that was such a rude thing to say. I just wanna know if he's okay.”

Yoriichi feels himself pause a little, his Breath hitching. How is he supposed to tell this girl, with sad, droopy eyes, that the friend she knows as Michikatsu Tsugikuni is now a demon? She's been training to be a demon slayer for a long time, so how will she react when she encounters him? Will she freak out like what she's doing now, entering into an anxious, rambling cycle, or will she behead him with one clean strike like she did with the demon and its hands? She may be paranoid, but she was not a swordswoman for nothing.

She must have heard his hitched breath, and he could feel her crumple, almost letting go of Yoriichi but staying on as she curls in on herself. “Oh. I see. I shouldn't be sad. I mean, there's gotta be a reason that it's Michi’s secret twin brother who's attending the Final Selection instead of him himself, you know? Did you see him die, though?” When Yoriichi stays silent, she immediately backtracks. “Oh no! Um, I didn't mean it like that. Forget I ever said anything. Sorry about your brother, though.”

Yoriichi, who'd been mulling over what the most convincing last words Michikatsu would give to him, simply exhales with relief. He did not want anyone else to learn about his brother— he's risking the life of two Pillars and a retired one already, and it seems this girl has some ties to the higher-ups of the Corps. He did not want to get her in trouble.

They walk in amiable silence, until Yoriichi realizes something.

“You never told me your name.”

“Oh wow. I didn't.” A sigh. “This is embarrassing! I usually introduce myself before getting carried by a guy to the exit, but I'm disappointed in myself right now. I'm Toyonaga Haruhime, I'm training under the current Mist Pillar.”

Yoriichi nods, writing that name on the back of his mind to inquire Michikatsu about it later. “It is nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Yoriichi! Seriously, don't try to touch the wisteria blossoms unprotected. You're lucky Uta-chan caught your hand on time. And can you go faster? This forest gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

Chapter Text

The two of them walk in silence for a while, occasionally avoiding demons when the two of them are tired to fight. When a demon ambushes them, Haruhime always insists on being put down so she could help him win the fights. Despite her fearful demeanor, she was a formidable fighter— her slender legs made her all the more faster for attacks, and her arm strength is covetous. She has a focused expression on her face when she cuts off demons’ heads without mercy, before returning to her usual, tearful self.

“Aren't you too tired to carry me?” She asks as they reach a downward slope on the mountain.

Yoriichi pauses, then shakes his head. He does not feel particularly tired; the two of them sleep during the day, and by night they go off looking for the exit. “I am fine. You're the one with the sprained leg.”

Haruhime sighs solemnly. “I was so stupid! Ugh, I didn't think it'd happen in this Final Selection. I'm so going to get my Master in trouble again. I mean, I wasn't really worth the time, ya know? ‘Cause, well, um…” She trails off, a thoughtful look on her face. “Family stuff happened. And my Master caught me at the right time, even when his brother is yapping in his ear to never train me after what happened to Enmu.” She clears her throat. “Gosh, I sure talk a lot now, kinda like Uta. But that's mainly because there's nothing to do in this scary forest and you're the only one who will listen to me.”

“I like hearing people talk,” it wasn't a lie; he loved hearing Michikatsu talk, and he missed his rambling. He cannot get Senjurou to ramble, because he'd become bashful and excuse himself to either practice or go on missions. And Shinjuro was not much of a talker either. Hakuji, when he visits, simply checks in on his progress, chat with Senjurou about things that had happened in his missions, try to learn more things about Yoriichi and his brother, before leaving once more. “So please don't discourage yourself.”

“You’re nice. I like that in a man.”

He does not know what to do with that compliment. “Um.”

“Please ignore what I have said.”

The silence quickly becomes awkward, as it is filled with Yoriichi crunching on some branches, descending upon the hill.

After a few minutes, Yoriichi notices the blossoms of a certain purple blossom in the branches of the trees around him. He feels relief flood his veins, looking around to find that he has reached the end of the mountain. He lets out a relieved exhale, letting the girl in his arms go as she stands next to him.

She looks at him with a smile on her face, teal eyes filled with tears. “Thanks so much for helping me out there! I thought I was a goner!”

“There’s no need to thank me.” The two of them walked through the wall of wisteria, and exposed themselves to the bright sunlight. Yoriichi did not know he would miss the sun until he finds himself basking in the warmth once more.

“Oh my gods, we did it!” Haruhime exclaims— she looks like she wants to hug him, but because of her hung-ups about being inappropriate in contact, she settles with patting him on the back, kind of like what Hakuji does before he leaves.

“Haruhime?” A boy, the one that had told Uta to lay off him the first day they met before he gives himself wisteria poisoning, walks towards them. He looks quite sleep-deprived, and also ragged. His hand was on his sword, as if it was a reflex at this point. He looks the same age as the Breath of Mist User. He rushes to greet her, his frown giving way to one of worry. “Where have you been?! I’ve been looking everywhere for you when we got split up by that stupid demon! And— oh gods, your leg is sprained!” He exclaims as he takes only one look at her leg.

“I’m fine! Thanks for worrying over me, Zohakuten!” Haruhime reassures him with a smile. “I wouldn’t have made it out alive if it were not for Yoriichi’s help, however!”

“Yoriichi…?” He seems to have only noticed his tall figure hovering beside Haruhime, and his worried expression shifts back into a displeased frown. What for? He clears his throat. “Thank you for helping Haruhime find her way out of the mountain. You have my gratitude.”

His dismissive and rather jealous tone sounds like, while he is thankful, he did not want Yoriichi to be the one to save his friend. Not knowing the particulars about his peculiar thoughts, he nods, simply walking to a clearing all by himself alone. He does not hear the discussion the two of them are having, but if he had to guess, it must be about Haruhime’s safety. He looks around, finding that, outside of him, Haruhime, and her friend, whose name is Zohakuten, there was another person— the person wearing a kurotomesode, wielding a yari.

The person meets his eyes, and they scoff derisively. “So you helped that girl before coming here? And I thought that you were territorial with your kills.”

He sighs. “You misunderstand me.”

They roll their eyes. “For someone who has the same face as Katsu, you don’t seem to understand how the world works like he does. Though, you are quiet, I’ll give you that.”

“How do you know my brother?”

They stare at him, before shrugging. “I have nothing to say to you.”

They walk away, and Yoriichi, still feeling bitter by their brazen attitude they displayed in the woods of Fujisakane, did not follow them, opting to keep a large berth from them. He will certainly inquire Michikatsu about why he managed to meet the most unique and strangest people. When he walks to where he’d come from, he hears panting from beyond the wisteria. Knowing it was not a demon, he watches as the person comes out from between the blossoms— it was the girl who stopped him from touching the blossoms, the one with beautiful gray eyes.

“I’m alive!” She exclaims, barreling straight to Yoriichi, who did not expect her general clumsiness. She staggers back, looking apologetic and flustered. “Oh my goodness, I am so so sorry! Wait, you’re the guy who almost touched these poisonous plants! You didn’t try and touch them again when you exited, right?”

“No,” he says, speechless by this girl.

She beams. “Good!” Her eyes chance upon his white haori, and she gasps in recognition. “Wait, this is the same haori which students who study under the Rengoku family are given before their Final Selection! So you’re a Breath of Flame User?”

Her loud voice alerts everyone in the vicinity— the boy that hosted the Final Selection earlier, who was boredly sitting at the steps of the shrine, stares at the crowd.

“Yes…” Yoriichi replies, not knowing what else to reveal to this girl. “I am the Flame Pillar’s newest student.”

Zohakuten scoffs. “The Flame Pillar is younger than all of us in this clearing.”

He feels defensive at the behest of his mentor. “He may be young, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an amount of wisdom when it comes to demons and his Breathing technique. He is a brilliant person. It was the Destruction Pillar who recommended him to me as a teacher.”

“Well, I’m glad that the Flame Pillar has friends!” Uta, that seems to be her name, says with a clap of her hands. Even Yoriichi knew that such a compliment felt backhanded, but he hopes she did not deliver it that way. “And you know two Pillars now! Tell me, how long have you been training under the Flame Pillar? Everyone would know if a Rengoku has taken someone under his wing, since they’re the only slayer family left alive! All the Pillars are close-knit, you know!”

(“Only our mentors are close,” Zohakuten says with a sigh, listening in to their conversation.)

“I see.”

Uta stares at him for a little longer, and she clocks in his birthmark. “Your mark! It looks a lot like fire, more like the sun, now that I look at it closely. It is quite appropriate to have a mark like that and also being a Breath of Flame User, you know?”

Yoriichi blinks. “I suppose.”

“I’m simply surprised that we didn’t know that you were a student of a Rengoku. How long have you been his student before the Final Selection? I’ve been training since I was ten!”

“Six months.”

Despite his quiet voice, this answer is heard throughout the entire clearing. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy, who is still waiting for the last batch of students to exit the clearing, was writing something onto a paper that had magically appeared on his character. The person he’d been arguing with a while ago has their head turned to him, an outraged look on their face. Zohakuten and Haruhime, too, look rather surprised, with Zohakuten’s face crumpling into understandable envy and outrage. Haruhime stares at him with a starstruck look, her hands covering her mouth. He can feel the air of surprise and envy radiating throughout the air, and some sort of morbid fascination.

Uta’s smile falters, into a shocked expression, before she claps. “Wow, that is wonderful! I have never met a prodigy before! Six months of training and getting ready for the Final Selection? How were you so freaking fast! Even the Pillars who became Pillars after two months had a year’s worth of training! Then again, the current Flame Pillar’s father had been the strongest in his generation before Irokawa got promoted, so he must’ve also taken a hand in teaching you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“See? Ya know, it took me about a year to master Total Concentration Breathing. It’s an integral part of the entire body! How long did it take you to learn and master it?”

“I’ve been using it since I was born. Senjurou told me I just needed to use it during battle as well.”

Another silence enters the clearing. The boy that is supposed to be in charge of the Final Selection, lets out an informal snort. It wasn't one he would expect from a son of the esteemed Master of the Corps, so he elects to ignore the boy acting like, well, a boy.

Uta's smile has slightly faded now, with an envious glint in her eyes, fists clenched. Did he say something wrong? “Please, Mister… you don't need to gloat or exaggerate! Us examinees have waited years after training for this!”

“I'm not lying.”

Uta stares at him with searching eyes, and she shrugs, looking quite guilty. She smiles again, but it doesn't reach her eyes. “Um… okay.”

He is saved from this awkward turning point of a conversation when he hears the sound of someone panting and huffing from behind them, and he turns his head to see the final participant, the same girl that had been with Uta, Haruhime, and Zohakuten from the beginning. Her silky, covetous white hair that is the color of snow, which looks like the tails of a serpent, was dirty and matted with branches, alongside her kimono, which had been, no doubt, a very expensive pink kimono filled with motifs of winter, had been torn to the side, mostly among her sleeves and the part of her legs. She looks… taller than he remembered, but he must be imagining things now.

Her face was pale, and she had soft and delicate features too, despite her height. Her blue eyes, rivaling the blue skies, stare at the survivors. She must be counting them in their head, and she gasps, brows furrowed to a petulant frown.

“I can't believe I'm the last person here!” She whines, and it throws Yoriichi off. Someone who looks beautiful and mature, should not be whining like a little girl deprived of her toy.

“You're the one who went to pursue that demon in the first place,” Zohakuten replies. “Not my fault you got separated from the rest of us.”

She clenches her fists. “If you stopped searching for that crybaby—” She points at Haruhime, who sputters, “then I wouldn't have gotten split up from you!”

As they begin arguing, Yoriichi studies the clearing once more. He had counted over twenty in the beginning of the Final Selection, and seven days later… there were only six, including him. He finds himself surprised by this low number. Only six out of twenty people survived the Final Selection? How could that be possible? And it is implied that almost everyone here (except for the person in the kurotomesode) have been trained by a Pillar. Is that the reason why those who did not survive… well, failed?

The boy on the shrine stands— the white-haired girl must have been the last one he’d been waiting for, then. He clears his throat to get everyone’s attention, as his face becomes a mask of solid professionalism. With his hands clasped in front of him, he speaks in a soothing voice, “Congratulations for making it back safe and unharmed.”

The chill around them grows stronger. It was like he is trying to ignore the fact that almost all of their potential swordsmen have been wiped out by the lethality that is demons. No one seems to comment, even if their faces look grim and they are trembling, far too tired with their emotions.

The white-haired girl scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Where’s the sword?”

Zohakuten glares at her. “Ume,” he whispers a warning to her.

The boy ignores her. “First, please accept the distribution of uniforms. We had them measured and tried in advance.”

Yoriichi blinks, as he remembers Shinjurou measuring his shoulders, feet, and height for something. He’d forgotten what it had been, but it is more than likely that it had been about a uniform rather than the Rengokus simply doing it for fun. He feels quite stupid to even assume that.

The others look very satisfied with the distribution, with Haruhime and Uta even chatting to each other animatedly over what tint their black uniforms would have. Apparently, Uta had requested a skirt while Haruhime wanted those pants that look like a skirt, but isn’t actually one. Zohakuten simply nods along to what the boy is saying, and the person with red eyes looks preemptively bored. However, he could feel impatience and arrogance swirling within the white-haired girl, who was glaring at the boy as if he had done a slight against her.

The boy continues to explain the rankings— they all start at Mizunoto, and Yoriichi could feel something being carved on his wrist. He finds the kanji of his aforementioned rank engraved on his wrist, and he wonders if these leaders practice some form of magic. He could still feel aggravation from the girl, growing brighter and brighter as the entire thing progresses, with her not getting what she wants. Was she a successor of a pillar too? While the others are certainly high-strung or not easily impressionable, she screams more like a spoiled heiress rather than a professional demon slayer.

“Where’s the sword?” Ume asks, and he almost forgets that, thanks to Zohakuten, he knows her name now.

“Ume,” Uta whispers, wanting to shut her up, but not knowing the most efficient way how.

Again, the long-haired boy ignores her outburst. “The sword will be made from the ores that you all have chosen today. The sword-making process will take ten to fifteen days to complete.”

Ume looks flabbergasted, and a little outraged. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Ume, you’re the adoptive daughter of the Ice Pillar,” Zohakuten lectures her, and Haruhime looks like she wants to say something, but she does not, looking away like she doesn’t want to join the brewing fight. “You know this is not how the swordmaking process goes.”

“Shut up, you sea urchin!”

The boy claps his hands, and from the trees emerge crows, with feathers as dark as the abyss, their gray eyes twinkling with mischief. It seems that the crows choose their masters, and a rather noisy one lands on Yoriichi’s head, affectionately pecking him.

“Wait,” Haruhime states, and on her fingers was a sparrow. “This isn’t– hey, this isn’t a crow! Did someone mix them up? How could you mix them up when they look different? They are, quite literally, dark and this bird is tiny and… brown!”

He hears the person in the kurotomesode scoff. “Still noisy as ever.”

“These are kasugai crows, their primary use is to alert you on new missions, or to communicate with other slayers. They will follow you from now on and check your progress.”

“Okay, that’s it, I’ve had enough!” Yoriichi turns to see Ume swatting her crow away, who flies away from the slender girl in distress. She struts up the steps of the shrine, despite Zohakuten, Uta, and Haruhime’s best attempts to stop her from doing something she’d regret. She swats all of their attempts to calm her down, as she walks to the boy and grabs onto his hair. “Where is that color-changing sword! I don’t wanna wait fifteen more days for it to finish being forged! I want it now so I can be with my brother!”

Yoriichi did not know why, but he finds himself stiffen at the sight of this girl, using her position as someone older and taller than the one who she is pulling their hair out. He remembers a time when, Aniue made the mistake (his older brother calls it a mistake) of inviting his ‘friends’ over to his household without their Father’s explicit permission, just so they can play with each other devoid of judgment. However, they seemed to enjoy making fun of the large birthmark on his face, his ragged clothes, and his, apparently, bird’s nest of hair, pulling on it until Yoriichi had begun weeping.

The boy looked shocked at the sudden aggression, before it shifted into fear, then rage when his hair kept being pulled and he was being thrown around. “If you want to keep tugging at my hair, at least refer to me by my name— Kaburamaru. You can do that, can you, Irokawa?”

Haruhime gasps, “Oh no, oh gosh! She’s literally tugging on the master’s son’s hair! What do we do?!”

Uta looks slightly panicked. “Ume, stop that! Imagine what kind of things Young Master Kaburamaru will tell your father and brother! Wouldn’t that make your relationship with the latter become even frosty? Please think rationally for once!”

Ume bristles, but does not let go. “My surname is Shabana! That’s just my adoptive dad’s name, you—!”

Zohakuten steps forward, about to separate her from the boy. “Ume, you stupid—”

Before any of her friends could take another step, Yoriichi dashes towards the girl and restrains her from pulling on the boy's hair further by keeping his dominant hand on her wrist. He could feel anger curling inside of him— he wasn't very fond of strong individuals such as this girl herself asserting her authority to the weaker ones, the ones that need her protection. His mother told him to never lay a hand on those who are weaker than him, and he did not want anyone else to violate this ideology.

The clearing hushed into stunned silence, as everyone watches the standoff between Yoriichi and Ume.

Ume glares at him, trying to escape his hands, but to no avail. “Hey, let go of me, ugly freak!”

He doesn't care about insults to his appearance. He'd been mocked for his birthmark ever since the day he was born, after all. The inferior one. The spare. The cursed child. All he cares about is she is still holding onto the boy without a care in the world.

“Let the boy go,” he tells her, gazing on her face. From what he can access within the Transparent World, she was tired from having to fight demons all week, and she seems to have forgotten that her wrists were in delicate condition right now. “Or I'll break your wrist.”

(“You can't say that to a girl!” Haruhime exclaims, looking perturbed.

“Oh wow,” Uta comments breathlessly as she could feel some anger over how her friend is being threatened boiling over.)

Ume rolls her eyes. “Yeah? I dare you to.”

Whether it was her goading him into doing something violent and drastic, or it was his anger seeing this display, he does so. Harshly, he bends her wrist to an abnormal angle, and everyone could hear the resounding crick of the fracture. With a pained whine, Ume lets go of the boy to massage her wrist, glaring at Yoriichi with tears in her eyes.

“You… you broke my wrist!” She wails petulantly. “You bastard! You jerk! Why did you do that?!”

“You dared me to.”

“Obviously I didn't think you’d be serious, you freak!”

“Are you two finished?” The boy speaks up as politely as he could, but judging from the aura emanating around him, he was far from pleased— in fact, he was downright furious he’d been callously manhandled by the girl. Yoriichi stares at his hands, as if they had wronged him somehow, while Ume merely scoffs and looks away, her free hand massaging the wrist he’d broken. The boy takes the silence as affirmation, as he uncovers the blanket covering the table to reveal ores in all shapes and sizes. “Before a certain girl decided to pull my hair, I was about to give you guys the freedom to choose which ore you guys want for your sword. So, without further ado, please choose which ore suits you best.”

He bows, stepping back; he gives Ume a wide berth as she watches her out of the corner of his eye. Ume doesn’t seem to notice, her lips are trembling and she looks like she wants to cry.

Uta pats her on the back comfortingly, as she walks towards the table and stands beside Yoriichi with a strained smile on her face. “You went too far, don’t you think?” She asks, and Yoriichi finds himself feeling guilty. He focuses on the ores, so he will try and forget the intense gaze the girl in front of him gazes at him for. She sighs. “I didn’t expect her to do that. But you should apologize the next time you see her. She isn’t that bad— usually.”

He was actually going to keep avoiding the examinees when he finally becomes a demon slayer. They do not take kindly to those who, presumably, sympathizes with a demon. And because he plans on traveling with his older brother, he would have been at odds with almost all of the people in their friend circle. Additionally, he has already broken the wrist of their friend’s, so he is less welcomed by them after this. Apparently, Senjurou tells him that no one ever makes friends in their Final Selection, and they make friends during assist missions.

Yoriichi, however, doubts he’d ever find a friend that would try and understand him, the way Aniue does. So, he tries to ignore the buzzing of conversation, with many wondering what they should pick amongst the ores, even if they all look the same in his eyes. Even trying to access the transparent world was not very useful, since, well, these ores are not human or a living being.

To get it over with and to reunite with those he consider as family, he chooses the ore closest to him, and the others follow after evaluating which one they’d like for themselves. The boy nods at them approvingly, as he offers all of them satchels of their uniforms. The last thing which Yoriichi sees before he goes home was Uta wrapping Ume’s broken wrist with a bandage. They meet eyes for a while, but Yoriichi averts his gaze, turns his back and makes a beeline to the Rengoku household.

***

As Yoriichi returns to the Rengoku household, the rest of the examinees return home as well after their measurements are taken and Ume’s broken wrist is treated properly. Haruhime attempted to have a conversation with the raven-haired boy with crimson eyes, recognizing him from somewhere, but he had immediately vanished after the measurements of his uniform had been taken. She huffs, crossing her arms and puffing her cheeks as she walks with the rest of her friends home to their respective Estates. It's the perks of being friends with other successors of Pillars— they know when to have each other's backs, and they don't need to be friends with anyone else.

She couldn't help but think about the boy who broke Ume’s wrist, though. He looked a whole lot like the young boy who she thought she’d never see again, after she got kicked out of her family home. The boy made all of the meetings between their family fun, however, even if his face was trapped in a perpetual frown, and his background is elusive as ever.

But he wasn’t the boy who saved her from the Hand Demon. His face was imperceptive, impassable and unchanging. Michikatsu’s face, while remaining in said frown, has its quirks and changes into something she believes more palpable as certain prominent situations comes to rise. And then the boy, Yoriichi Tsugikuni, Michikatsu’s twin, confirmed it for her: Michikatsu is dead, he must have been killed by a demon, hence why Yoriichi is in Fujisakane, and not wherever vault he’d been to not be mentioned by his family.

Uta, for once, wasn’t the one leading the conversation as they return home. Another perk of being friends with successors or adopted children of the Pillars is that their Estates are closer to one another because of their overlapping interests. It's strange not to hear Uta say anything, but after what the stranger had done to Ume (to be fair, she acted out of turn) it was understandable.

Ume was also strangely silent, massaging her wrist. Zohakuten was fuming.

“That bastard,” he says, finally breaking the silence. He was, no doubt, mad at the stranger. “How dare he do that to a girl!”

Haruhime rolls her eyes, willing to defend the boy who saved her life from that ugly demon. “She was pulling the Master’s son’s hair. Who wouldn’t get mad at the sight of it?”

“He didn’t have to break my wrist!” Ume exclaims, eyes stained with tears while her brows are furrowed in indignation. Haruhime sighs contemplatively. The white-haired girl turns to her with an accusatory glare. “You’re just defending him because he saved you from dying! You know how to fight using Breaths, but you still couldn’t kill a demon!”

Haruhime sputters. “Hey! You wouldn’t be saying this shit if I was dead! You’d start crying like a pig if I’m gone, whining ‘Hime-chan! Hime-chan! Why’d you die so stupidly?!’”

Ume rolls her eyes. “You were gonna die stupidly, despite being trained by the Mist Pillar! It’s pretty embarrassing.”

“Says the girl who can’t use breaths! At least I know three forms!”

“Zohakuten and Uta can use all forms of their Breaths, but you couldn’t! For someone who got trained by a Pillar, you had to be saved by some nobody!”

“Actually, the boy was trained by the Flame Pillar!” Uta speaks up suddenly, causing Haruhime to jump in surprise.

“Uta, at least warn us if you’re gonna talk! I was gonna have a heart attack!” Haruhime screams.

“Future Mist Pillar, everybody,” Ume murmurs, rolling her eyes.

Haruhime swivels at her. “I heard that!”

Zohakuten crosses his arms. “You’re saying this like she’s a worse option than the other Mist Pillar successor.”

Haruhime blanched. “Hey, he's not that bad! And Master wants us to share the Mist Pillar spot, so it's clear he sees some use in me!”

Haruhime and Ume turn away from each other, arms crossed.

Uta decides to return the conversation back to the main topic— being the strange swordsman with a firelike mark who saved Haruhime from the utter doom that is the multi-generational hand demon they avoided due to the absolute fatality that will befall them, his sincere attempts at conversation which led her to figure out that he had the shortest time training out of them all, and still outdoing a successor of a Pillar, and how he had broken Ume’s wrist after the blatant disrespect she’d shown to Young Master Kaburamaru. She couldn’t help but feel jealous of him— how could he become so talented?

“He said he was training under the Flame Pillar, after being recommended by the Destruction Pillar,” she says with a whistle, gray eyes looking everywhere. She so badly wants to take a bath, but from the pace they were going, they might reach all their respective estates by sunset. She can’t blame any of them— they’re shaken and tired after having to fight several demons before reaching the wisteria. “And there’s something interesting with the way he referred to them, too.”

Zohakuten sighs. “What?”

“He called them by their first names,” Uta replies. Leave it to her to learn anything about the demon slayer corps. Everyone always lets their guard down around the bubbly, optimistic girl who always has something to say and is able to salvage the conversation. Haruhime is the polar opposite— outside of her incessant paranoid muttering, she was quieter like a snake. “He feels casual enough to refer to them as ‘Senjurou-kun’ or ‘Hakuji-kun.’”

“So they’re close,” Zohakuten rolls his eyes. “Big deal.”

“No, what I’m saying is, how come we didn’t know about him, when the Destruction and Flame Pillars are involved in his training?”

“I mean, no one likes the Flame Pillar,” Haruhime says matter-of-factly. “My Master never interacts with him unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“Mistress avoids the Rengokus,” Uta says. “But she would have known the Flame Pillar had taken in another student, shouldn’t she?”

“My brothers don’t interact much with the Flame Pillar, but they all respect the Destruction Pillar greatly,” Zohakuten replies with a thoughtful expression. He sighs. “Oh well. Uta, why do you care so much? He’s just an examinee from the Final Selection— and if he becomes the next Flame Pillar, breaking Rengoku tradition, then whatever.”

Uta smiles cryptically. “I mean, aren’t you guys slightly impressed that this boy managed to enter the Final Selection, come out unscathed, while only training after six motnhs?”

“No,” Zohakuten mutters immediately, which leads to Uta’s laughter. “My brothers are still better than him.”

***

The Master’s crow arrives at the large, eloquent residence which his Master resides in, sitting on the engawa of his grandiose home with a serene expression on his face. He does not smile, thus many of the Pillars believed that, if it had not been for his wife, he wouldn’t feel happiness or joy towards anyone around him. His hair, which was dark as the abyss and flat like pathways, sway due to the morning wind, as he pets the head of his crow. He looks out at the garden, and feels unmistakeable envy and shock when he hears the reports of the newest slayers.

Some, he was already familiar with, due to his Pillars having mentioned them multiple times, but two of them, however, were sticking out of the crowd of these new slayers.

“Only six managed to survive?” He says in a disappointed, unimpressed tone, his lips curling to a frown while his multi-colored eyes narrow. “And five of them were taught by current Pillars. Is there a decline of cream of the crop slayers, or am I just pissed that so many potential children died?”

The crow merely caws.

The man sighs, coughing slightly. “Whatever. I can deal with that. I just hope that those who passed won’t die stupid deaths.”

***

Shinjurou had been sweeping by the gates of the Rengoku household when he sees the figure of Yoriichi walking towards him in the sunset, the skies tinged with pink. He may be bruised, battered, and tired, but he was still in one piece, unlike the many other students that had befell tragic fates from within that hellhole. He could not help but drop the broom, as the sunset rakes over the two of them— he runs to him, and envelops him in a short embrace before dropping it.

Yoriichi did not expect Shinjurou to hug him, but he wasn’t quite against it either, reveling in its warmth before the partiarch breaks the hug. There is a smile on his face, one of relief and pride— Senjurou’s very first student has made it out of the Final Selection alive.

“To be honest, I’d been very cross with the idea of sending you to the Final Selection with only six months of training,” he tells him, as they enter the grounds of the household. “I thought you weren’t ready, no matter how you were perfect in your martial arts, and your stances in Breath of Flame. I thought it will not be enough.”

He grips his shoulders, though it doesn’t feel tight across his shoulders.

“But you proved me wrong once again! I’ll cook you a feast, Yoriichi, and you will be the guest of honor.”

“Aren’t I always the guest of honor? Well, I am your guest and I live under your roof.”

Will Senjurou kick him out once he learns that Yoriichi has accomplished the Final Selection? While he has never thought of his household being his home, metaphorically addressing Michikatsu as his only home in the world, but he realizes, despite how empty this certain home was, at least his household offered him a roof over his head, and some morsels of food. Being a demon slayer, it seems, they have some form of home that wasn’t actually a home, because they’d be traveling for what seems to be days before slaying a demon. Will Yoriichi have to beg for money to feed himself? (Well, not like it was necessary to eat much food.)

When he enters the gate, he finds Senjurou and Hakuji playing a game of shogi. It did not take him long to notice who is losing, from Senjurou’s relaxed but focused expression, and Hakuji’s frustrated one.

When the Destruction Pillar catches notice of Yoriichi returning, he beams at him as he hops off the engawa. “Well, look who’s back!” He slaps Yoriichi hard across the back.

Senjurou squeaks when he realizes that Yoriichi has arrived, as he hastily wraps the shogi up so he could run up to Yoriichi and embrace him, tears of relief pouring from his eyes. He stares at him with a look of surprised.

“Why are you crying?” He asks Senjurou when he lets go. He’s never seen the boy cry before, and his presence had always been filled with sadness and misery.

“I just… I thought I would send you to your death!” Senjurou replies, sniffling. “That I was too confident sending you despite only training for six months. I thought you would’ve ended up like—”

Kyoujurou, Yoriichi finishes for him, but he shakes his head.

“Basically, what he’s trying to say is that he’s glad he didn’t send you to an early death,” Hakuji says with a serene but guarded smile. “Now, old man, Senjurou, you should start cooking now. I’m starving!”

Senjurou nods. “Right, I forgot! Yoriichi, do you have any preferred foods?”

Why is he asking him that? He wants nothing in particular. Everything for him is tasty.

“I don’t have a preference,” he tells him. “All I want is the five of us sitting on the chabudai and eating our dinner.”

Senjurou looks quite flattered, Shinjurou looks rueful, and Hakuji simply shakes his head fondly.

“Michikatsu’s been impatiently waiting for you to return,” Hakuji interferes, looping an arm around Yoriichi’s shoulders. “If the sun had set earlier, he would be out of the house looking for you.”

Yoriichi slides the doors open, and what Hakuji was saying is true— Aniue, who has just opened the doors to their shared room, catches sight of Yoriichi. Without any preamble, he lunges towards his brother to scoop him up into a hug, tighter, more comforting, and familiar to Yoriichi. He feels himself smile through it all, as the unmistakeable tug of the flute from within the pocket of his hakama becomes significant.

“Yes, Aniue, I am back,” he says. “Do you want to watch me eat?”

He hears a sigh from behind him. “God, don’t say it like that. It sounds creepy.”

Chapter Text

*

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.”

— Lao Tzu

*

There is a woman wearing an Okame mask standing by their gate as if waiting to be let in by him. Yoriichi had been tasked with sweeping the yard since Shinjurou wanted to sleep later than usual, Michikatsu was practicing his sword movements inside their room, and Senjurou and Hakuji were practicing in the front yard, sparring. He could even hear their blades — or Hakuji’s nichirin brass knuckles — clash with one another when he noticed a presence outside. She does not seem to be a danger, despite the strange mask on her face. Noticing her carrying a covered object in white cloth, he waits for her.

She was a short, petite woman with sun-kissed skin, her hair was cropped short, black hair with orange-colored ends. She is wearing an orange kimono which matches her hair— she seems quite older than she looked, especially because of her calloused hands, a clue of her experience.

Yoriichi stares at her, and he must have been studying her for too long since she snaps her fingers in front of him.

“Oi, kid, I’m not going anywhere, so stop giving me the death glare,” she tells him, “and let me in! I’m s’posed to give this to Yoriichi Tsugikuni!”

“Oh, I am Yoriichi Tsugikuni,” he introduces himself, stepping aside so the swordsmith can come in. “Is the sword for me?”

“Ain’t it obvious, kid? Who else is named Yoriichi Tsugikuni, and who else doesn’t have a damn sword yet?”

Incredibly out of depth, Yoriichi tries the same tactic that Senjurou had asked of him when they first met. “Would you like some tea?” He had never experienced being a decent host, due to being prohibited to prowl around the ground when his Father is entertaining some guests, and Michikatsu is the one helping his father with hospitality. Additionally, Senjurou and Shinjurou barely had any guests outside of Hakuji, and he could see that they were not held back by the barrier of formality, due to their familial relationship.

The woman studies him more, and she scoffs, waving away his offer. “I doubt you’d be good in a kitchen, so I’ll pass. Just bring me to the guest room so I can get this sword-wielding process over with.”

Yoriichi nodded, turning to Senjurou and Hakuji, who were still sparring. They seemed to be very focused on their task, unaware of what was happening around them, so Yoriichi had difficulty trying to get their attention. He is not one to raise his voice, after all, and he doesn’t like shouting either. It would seem quite improper.

He does not hear the swordsmith mutter, “Oh, for goodness sake.” She inhales, and, with all of her breath, shouts, “OI, FLAME PILLAR! DESTRUCTION PILLAR! A guest has arrived and you’re being rude by not showing me inside!”

Senjurou, who’d been about to strike Hakuji, turns at the sudden outburst, and Hakuji accidentally punches the boy square on the cheek. With a choke, Senjurou crumples to the ground, with a shocked Hakuji shouting expletives at the woman, telling her that this is her fault and they should have notified them like normal people. Concerned, Yoriichi peers within the transparent world— Senjurou is still conscious, just disoriented from the impact. He was subtly impressed that the boy had not died, or had his neck broken due to the nichirin brass knuckles Hakuji wears.

“He’ll live.” He tries to alleviate Hakuji’s concern.

“That doesn’t help one bit!”

After making sure that Senjurou is, as Yoriichi put it, all right, every one of them sit inside the estate, with Shinjurou announcing that he’ll brew some tea for the guest. Because this is the first time that an individual who is not involved in the very treacherous secret that is Michikatsu is staying within the house, he is told to stay inside his room until further notice. All of them sit seiza, as Hakuji continues to glare at the woman whilst grumbling under his breath.

“So,” the woman begins, looking impatient and bored. “The name’s Susamaru Temari, and I’ve been assigned to be the swordsmith of Yoriichi. Yes, before you two could start asking me questions that I’ve answered a million times already, I am also the woman who forged Kyoujurou Rengoku’s sword, former Flame Pillar.”

Senjurou’s expression shifts to sadness slightly, before it returns to his usual calm demeanor. “It is nice to see you again, Temari-san.”

She snorts, and Yoriichi could feel her rolling her eyes. “Nah, no need to lie to me, little Rengoku— you’re still bummed about your brother. I get it.”

Senjurou’s polite smile falters.

Hakuji crosses his arms protectively. “Just get over it. Give the damn sword to Yoriichi and leave.”

Susamaru laughs derisively. “Oh wow, still hot-headed as ever, huh, Soyama? Whatever, I don’t want to be here any longer— the only reason I came here was because I heard word of the new student the Flame Pillar suddenly took in after six months of being a Hashira.” Like she was a cheetah, she had gone from sitting seiza to crawling towards Yoriichi, getting up on his personal space, much to his disconcertion. The hands on his hakama clench into fists, but he tries to fight back the urge to defend himself.

Senjurou sputters. “Temari-san, this is highly inappropriate! What are you studying my student for?!”

It was the first time Yoriichi heard Senjurou raise his voice, and it was all to defend him from this strange woman, currently trying to force his eyes wide open.

“Woah,” she comments breathlessly, while Yoriichi tries to stop her from getting too close. “You have burning red eyes! And with red hair to match, too! You must be a kid of the sun, like what all those legends say!”

Yoriichi… does not know what she is talking about.

“... But I am the child of Akamaru and Akeno Tsugikuni, not of the sun,” he murmurs confusedly.

“Just a metaphor, kid,” Susamaru tells him lightheartedly, as she, thankfully, backs away from his space. “Breath of Flame kinda suits ya, ya know? It’s the closest thing we get to mimicking the Sun.”

“It’s considered the most powerful Breathing technique for a reason!” Hakuji says with a prideful smile on his face— Senjurou blushes at the praise.

Yoriichi nods, although… he feels a seed of doubt within his soul. He shakes it off, however. He should not be doubting the strength of Breath of Flame when he’d practiced tirelessly to get the hang of it. He should not burden Senjurou with the fact that, when he’d fought against the demons within the Final Selection, he felt… restricted by the movements he is only able to do with Breath of Flame. It was like he was caged by the flames, that will not burn him, nor will they part until he uses it for something else.

Susamaru busily hefts up the clothed katana, unraveling it to find a scabbard with the motifs of sun and flame around the scabbard. “I am gonna bet my arm and leg that the color of your blade will be red! Redder than Senjurou’s!”

“It’s rare to have a red blade, some say it’s a myth,” Senjurou says with a furrow on his brows. “So don’t beat yourself up if it doesn’t happen.”

Susamaru gives Yoriichi the sheathed blade, drumming her fingers wildly on her lap as he unsheathes the blade. It was still light, translucent, and colorless, but if he touched it, it would explode into the very color that would, apparently, set him on his chosen breathing technique for life.

“C’mon, raise it up!” She says wildly, behaving more like a child showcasing her newest creation to a concerned parent.

Yoriichi does so, with the blade displayed. Shinjurou, who must have heard that Yoriichi is about to find out about the color of his blade, comes out of the irori with the tea ready, waiting with bated breath for the blade to change its color.

Everyone in the room believes that he will attain a red blade— not like the fiery orange that Senjurou’s sword exhibits.

They waited.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, a sudden change in pigmentation from the bottom begins working its way up the blade.

However, it was not the color of red everyone was looking forward to.

The translucent blade begins to creep up, up, like it was a wisp of smoke, tendrils catching the eyes of those whose fate they’ve secured or damned them to.

Senjurou’s excited smile falters slightly, before dropping to a frown altogether, meanwhile, Hakuji’s fierce expression turns to one of morbid denial. From behind Yoriichi, he hears Shinjurou inhale harshly as if he’d just heard something he did not want to hear.

Susamaru, too, is oddly silent.

It was not a red blade that awaited Yoriichi.

It was a black blade— pure black, like the night.

Yoriichi is enthralled by this demonstration of magic, oblivious to the tense atmosphere around everyone. “It’s not… red.”

“It’s black,” Susamaru hisses, snapping her fingers. “Damn. It’s nice ta know ya, kid.”

“Temari-san,” Senjurou scolds her with gritted teeth.

“What? You ain’t gonna tell your student what the color of this blade means?”

Yoriichi looks at them with a confused look. “What? What is wrong with the color?” He thought it suited him perfectly— it was beautiful.

Hakuji gains his wits immediately. “Nothing! It’s just… not a common color amongst the slayers.”

Though Shinjurou, failing to read the room, says, “Those who wield black blades are doomed to never find a proper breathing style suited for them.”

Yoriichi looks quite dispirited with this, as he looks down at his blade dejectedly. “Oh.”

Is that why he’s been feeling… unsatisfied with Flame Breathing, even though he’s only used a few forms when killing a demon?

“Nothing to worry about!” Hakuji reassures him. “It’s cool to see a black blade. Those kinds of swordsmen are always thought to be extinct.”

Despite their affirmations, Yoriichi’s doubts cannot be assuaged, as these facts about the color of the blade swirl around his mind.

***

In spite of Hakuji and Senjurou's comfort that having a black blade is nothing to worry about, Yoriichi could feel the thoughts buzzing around his mind of what it could possibly mean. When Shinjuro looks at it, something close to grief and hurt enters his face before he stamps it down, joining his son and friend by saying it means nothing. His frenetic energy continues to be palpable the entire day. That is what Yoriichi is afraid of— that one day, things around him will mean something. Their expressions of bewilderment interlaced with sadness haunts Yoriichi's mind, and for his sake, he tries to drown it out by performing the Breath of Flame techniques with the sword he'd been given.

Yoriichi has yet to receive a mission, and it makes him somewhat anxious. Senjurou tells him it just means that his crow is having a hard time finding missions that befit a Mizunoto, due to most of the demons being too advanced for someone who was just starting the job. They most certainly would not like it if the ones who have accomplished the Final Selection would die almost immediately, as they had so much potential.

“Do you think there is something wrong with the color of my blade?” He asks Michikatsu when he'd exited his room at night after dinner. Dinner after the Final Selection had been filled with more secrets they're trying to withhold from him— apparently, the reason why he's alienated from the other students of the Pillars is because Senjurou is not in favor of the Master after an incident before he became a Pillar. “Everyone keeps looking at it like it was an omen.”

Michikatsu blankly stares at the sword, touching it briefly before he furrows his brows. He waves his hands together, having become prolific in sign language immediately. “I don't think anything's wrong. Why are you asking me that when I'm not the demon slayer?”

Yoriichi feels mildly embarrassed.

Michikatsu stares at the blade again with a pensive look. He signs, “Don’t you think the blade looks familiar? Especially the ‘destroy’ kanji.”

Yoriichi frowns at Michikatsu’s question. This blade is one of a kind, according to Susamaru, forged using the ore he'd chosen in the Final Selection. But… he does remember, during times when Yoriichi is allowed into the main room of their house, the sword hanging on the tokonoma, frayed at the edges with its sheath all but decaying due to time. Michikatsu had shown Yoriichi what lies within this decaying sheath, pulling out the sword gingerly. In the moonlight, he could see the color of the blade— a light purple.

“It has a striking resemblance to the sword we had once displayed with pride in the common room,” he says, to which Michikatsu nods.

“Don’t you think it’s strange? We’re not supposed to know about the demon slayers, and yet we had an heirloom, dating centuries back with the characteristics of the Corps?”

Yoriichi bites his lip, not knowing what to do with this piece of information exposed to him. “What should I do? Should I ask them what the color of this blade means?”

“Look, if they don’t want to tell you, they don’t want to. There’s no use prying any information from people who wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

He doesn’t look very convinced, but Michikatsu knows people more than Yoriichi does and has claimed to be excellent at reading people, though whether or not that ability still holds true is ambiguous. And, if they’re not willing to talk to him about why they are so apprehensive about his black blade, let them be.

“Yoriichi, would you like to spar with me before you are sent on a mission?” Senjurou inquires from outside, as Hakuji enters, yawning, stating how he never gets any sleep. (Senjurou tells him that no one gets any sleep as a demon slayer, much less as a Pillar with many duties.)

Yoriichi nods, and Michikatsu sees him off. Michikatsu huffs, slightly lost on what he’s going to do now that the Pillar who was teaching him sword movements was helping his brother. He could not help but feel like he was being left out— he was a demon within a human environment, and because of this stupid muzzle, he could not express the words he wanted to say to Yoriichi. Most especially, he couldn’t say the insults that his mind had thought up of which resorts to him using the sign language he learned swiftly— just as swiftly as learning sword movements.

If he wants to, perhaps he could incorporate the Dance into the movements he’d learned…

“Hey, Michikatsu.” He looks down — which is incredibly funny — to find Hakuji looking at him quizically. He looks serious like he was a man on a mission. “I need to talk to you a little bit.”

Michikatsu blinks all of his six eyes, even if demons do not need to blink, but it exhibits his surprise at the suddenness of the question. Outside of teasing and general bullshitry which Hakuji acts towards him — something which Michikatsu finds distasteful and disenchanting — he’s never quite shown him that he could be serious. Thus, feeling a brush of wariness around him, he could not help but find himself nodding as he obliged to follow the Destruction Pillar into the irori, where Shinjurou, too, was there. They look grim, but brimming with interest and curiosity. What for?

“You recognized us,” Hakuji tells him instead of answering, as he always does when Michikatsu sits seiza (he may be a demon, but it isn’t like he lost his manners when he turned into one.) “Over six months ago when you got out of your ‘must eat humans’ frenzy. And I noticed that you stared at Senjurou’s blade a little longer like you were comparing and contrasting the blade towards something else. Is there a reason why the Progenitor has targeted you and your family?”

Michikatsu looks between Hakuji and Shinjurou— it seems they have caught on to his cautiousness and vague clues about how he knows of their organization. Not like they were stupid, of course. But Michikatsu has tried to act casual, even when the last dream he’d had with his father was about how he must not trust men with swords.

They deserve some answers.

“The blade you all have,” he begins signing, and Shinjurou interprets for Hakuji. “It has the same insignia and quality as the sword we once had in our home.”

Hakuji raises a brow. “You and your brother did mention that your family was a samurai family all the way from the Sengoku era. But I have never heard of any samurai families having a sword with the components of a demon slayer’s blade.”

Shinjurou taps his chin, looking thoughtful. “Sometimes the role of a samurai will overlap with the demon slayer profession.”

“It was from the Sengoku Era.”

Shinjurou blinks, and he covers his mouth as he murmurs, “Strange.”

“There’s another thing,” he signs, as he tries to articulate how he will reveal this other piece of information, one which has been puzzling him in the last two years.

“It’s enviable; you can remember your human memories,” Shinjurou coaxes gently. The idea is so foreign that even the Rengoku patriarch looks unsure of how to approach this subject without being forceful.

“Two years ago, my Father received a visit,” he meets their eyes, “she was a beautiful woman, to the point that I mistook her for a spirit dwelling within the sakura blossoms. Apparently, she was a higher-up of the Demon Slayer Corps.”

Hakuji’s breath hitches, while Shinjurou’s eyes grow wide in recognition.

“You met the mistress of the Demon Slayer Corps?” The Lady is rarely seen by the Pillars, unless Master has one of his bad days.

Michikatsu shrugs. It seems to be.

“Please tell us why she sought your family out!” Shinjurou says, seemingly a bit overeager, but he contains himself at the last minute with a cough. “Excuse me… if you could announce it, then will you share why she found you?”

Michikatsu sighs, wanting to sleep. He’s always been wanting to sleep since he became a demon— an uncontrollable feature, now that he thinks about it.

“Fine. It started two years ago…”

Memories from before the attack are… hard to remember, but memories from years ago he can remember crisply. When he tells them through his hands, and Shinjurou interprets them, he watches their expressions change; from excitement, interest, and curiosity, into grim, disappointed, and shocked looks.

“I see,” Shinjurou murmurs, the most shell-shocked of them both. “She sought you out because your family was traced from the Original Breather. And your Father’s hatred of demon slayers has been instilled through the generations.”

“What did the demon slayers do to their family?” Hakuji asks with a furrow of his brow. “Don’t you have any records about the Original Breather in the archives?”

Shinjurou sighs, “The Sengoku Era records are… muddled. I blame it on the Incident that happened during that time where almost all of the demon slayer families were wiped out. Except for, of course, the Master’s and I’s ancestors. However, I will try.”

The two of them turn when they hear the sound of nails scraping across the wood. They looked at Michikatsu, who was giving them an expectant look.

“Yes?” Hakuji inquires.

“Now that I asked your question… answer my question next. What does a blade with black color mean for a person wielding it?”

***

Senjurou and Yoriichi’s spar finishes with Senjurou’s obvious victory— though, Yoriichi did enjoy it, even if he is still reeling over the fact he’s taken up the sword.

“Your movements and forms are amazing,” Senjurou compliments, panting. He is astounded that Yoriichi does not seem to be tired after dodging, being on the defense, and trying to catch him off guard. “You’re so fast, Yoriichi. Being a Breath of Flame User means being physically strong, but that doesn’t mean speed is not one of our main priorities when it comes to performing some forms.”

Yoriichi’s lips curl to a thin line— however, he simply nods.

Senjurou smiles at him. “You are destined for great things, Yoriichi. However, the path beyond this household will be filled with difficulty and hardship. People might not like the fact that you’re traveling with a demon— I’m sure none of the Pillars would like the fact that you’re breaking Corps rules and us encouraging you, but…” He inhales, looking resigned. “My family’s already been infamous after Kyoujurou’s disappearance.”

“What happened to him?” Yoriichi could not help but ask.

Senjurou’s eyes were pained, looking at him solemnly. “He had a run-in with a Lower Moon— he should’ve been able to kill it, he’s always been the more powerful of all the Flame Pillars, but something went wrong. When the kakushi came to the scene, he had vanished without a trace, with only a bloodied haori left in his wake. A lot of the Pillars accused my brother of being turned into a demon and tried to convince the Master for our family to lose our status since one of our kin defected. I say it is ridiculous. Especially when they want us to perform seppuku.”

Yoriichi blinks. “You never did anything.”

“Do you think they care?” There was a sudden bite in his voice, but he realized he was talking to Yoriichi rather than one of his colleagues, he backtracks. He takes a calming breath. “I apologize, I should not have snapped like that. But… please promise me that you will be careful going forward?”

Yoriichi nods, planting a reassuring shoulder on his mentor. “I will. I promise.”

Senjurou smiles at him. “That’s enough for me.”

A caw from above catches their attention, and the two of them look up to find Yoriichi’s crow soaring above. It flies for a few more seconds before lowering itself onto Yoriichi’s shoulder. “Yoriichi Tsugikuni! A new mission for you!”

(“How come his crow doesn’t shout into his ear?” Senjurou mutters to himself.)

As a form of addressing the crow’s message, Yoriichi looks him in the eye.

“Make haste to a town northwest from here! Multiple women; wives, widows, and mothers, have been disappearing within its walls! This is your first mission as a demon slayer, Yoriichi Tsugikuni!”

“I know,” Yoriichi replies, “this is my first time being a demon slayer, after all.”

Then, he realizes it is still daytime— thus, Michikatsu cannot freely travel with Yoriichi. They could use the basket, but he seems to have misplaced it in the frenzy of training and Michikatsu usually stays within the household.

“Don’t worry about carrying your brother,” Senjurou assures, “we requested someone to build a box that could block out all of the sunlight. Follow me.”

They end up inside, as Yoriichi watches Senjurou carry out a lacquer, wooden box. From the get-go, he could see that it was big enough to be carried by Yoriichi without a struggle, and it seemed big enough for a mini version of his brother to be stored in. It's also quite sturdy, something that will not get punctured by a blade easily unless it is a forceful strike. He knocks on the wood, and it produces a solid, low sound— which means it was quality wood that the best wood cutters could offer. Michikatsu will like it, but he remembers his brother is an extremely picky person when it comes down to it.

“Much more efficient and sun-proof than the basket, if I do say so myself,” Senjurou says with a prideful tilt of his head. “Ah, speaking of your brother, there he is!”

Yoriichi senses him before he could touch his shoulder. The sharpened nails connected to pale skin is one indicator that Michikatsu has reached the main room, staring at the box on the floor.

“For you,” remembering Michikatsu dislikes vagueness, simplifies, “to sleep in as I navigate during the day.”

Michikatsu stares at the box as if he wants to set it on fire.

However, he begins to shrink into his toddler form, when his kimono is pooling over his body, and his hair completely covers all of his six eyes. He crawls inside of the box, as the two watch him adjusting to the space of the box, and, when he looks satisfied, he hums affirmation towards his brother that he is completely alright with the box.

“He likes it!” Senjurou cheers. He looks at Yoriichi. “Good luck on your journey, Yoriichi.”

Yoriichi nods, feeling determination crawl around his stomach like veins. “I will not let you down.”

***

Yoriichi wears his uniform after he realizes his brother is sound asleep within the box. The uniform was tinted red, like the same flame-red tips of his hair. It fits well, and while he wasn't fond of the way it was buttoned up to his neck, he could manage, if it means having additional protection against demons. He looks vaguely the same, except no longer wearing a kimono above his hakama. And this uniform is tighter than his normal wear too. He drapes the white haori the Rengokus had given him over his frame.

He looks at himself in the mirror. The same expression he makes when he cannot think of anything to say, heavy-lidded red eyes, and curls that were like the crests of the sun stare back at him. For some reason, his birthmark has become… bigger. Taking up his forehead like a disease. He frowns at it, but shakes it off, not having the time to be studying for surprisingly sentient birthmarks.

Yoriichi is not the type to be coddled— neither was Michikatsu, who hated the idea of affection outside of head pats or ruffling of hair. Even moreso when their Father is, generally, not a very affectionate person— not an affectionate person at all. Actually, the only one who came closest to coddling the two of them was their mother, Akeno, who was more of a hands-on, gentle parent than their father ever was. She would praise and reward the brothers with gifts or clothes, anything she could convince her husband to give to her. He didn't understand why she was doing this, he was the family's black sheep, but… he loved it and looked forward when his Mother visited and let him walk with her.

But he is sure that whatever Hakuji, Senjurou, and Shinjuro are doing is classified as coddling.

“You have everything you need?” Shinjuro asks, sounding unlike his Father when he asks his brother if he'd gotten the things they needed for the Dance. He sounded concerned, mostly for him.

“My sword, my brother inside of my box, and…” He shrugs. Demon slayers are supposed to pack light, after all.

Senjurou gives him four pieces of onigiri. “Here. For the road.”

Yoriichi takes them into his palms gingerly, and he smiles appreciatively. “Thank you for the food for the road.” Thank you so much for letting me stay in your place when I am feeling lost. Thank you for giving my brother a chance. Thank you for being kind.

He did not need to say it— his smile says it all.

(When he leaves for the mission, Hakuji, Senjurou, and Shinjuro watch until he becomes a distant blip in their line of sight.

Shinjuro huffs. “He should smile more. It'd make him look a lot younger.”)

Chapter Text

In the darkness, the widower watches. He watches in jealousy as a couple in their forties, past their prime, the way he never had with his beloved Satoko, walks along the streets with the vigilance of drunkards not knowing where they are going. They talk pleasantries, and then they flirt sickeningly, in their old age, while the demon watches from beyond the bog with jealousy and yearning. The man is holding a lantern to guide the two of them home to their children.

But only he shall be returning to his family.

The demon makes his move, as the two of them cut through a corner.

As they pass by another gate, gone was the woman he'd called his wife.

When he realizes that she has gone missing, it is too late for him— his wife has all but vanished into thin air, and no amount of searching for her will ever bring her back. He will return to his children with a distraught, haunted look, and he will report his wife’s disappearance to the police, who’ll only address that he was the suspect.

When morning comes, he’ll be the talk of the town. They will spread rumors of how he killed his wife in cold blood and will kill his children now that she is gone. He is too broken to even refute such statements, questioning his reality— did his wife disappear into thin air, or did he kill her?

***

Yoriichi arrived at the village northwest of the Rengoku Estate as fast as he could. It was still daytime when he arrives in the rural town; he can’t afford to reach the village too late at night lest the demon had already taken another one of its victims. Although he did reach the village in the afternoon, when the sun was at its apex, he had a lot of time investigating any leads of this demon that snatched married women. Despite this, the village tries not to show their alarm, even when their wives are being taken away by some outside force.

Yoriichi walks throughout town, often feeling everyone's anxiety, sadness, and fear over what is currently happening with their wives. He sees them boarding up the windows, their gates, their doors, as if that would stop an intelligent demon. He couldn't fault them for trying when they did not know what the threat was capable of. Remembering Senjurou's warnings about local townsfolk and their distrust of people who wield swords, the new haori that Shinjuro had offered for him was able to hide the scabbard holding his katana well.

Yoriichi finds it exclusively difficult to simultaneously hide his motivations for cracking the rather cold case of the missing women, while also hiding his sword from them. It's not the most subtle paraphernalia to hide, after all.

Additionally, he realizes how grueling it must be to initiate the conversation himself, without the help of others (like his brother or Senjurou) to aid him in what his intents and tone is supposed to be. He keeps his voice level and monotone, and he struggles trying to convey emotions that aren't basic indifference into his sentences and tone unless he's doing it unconsciously. Which he did the first time he'd seen Michikatsu demonized.

This'll be harder to do than the average party he was forced to attend as a server.

At least he had Michikatsu's company when he was in those parties. However, he was still sleeping within his box, soundly for the matter, thus Yoriichi did not have the heart to wake him for something so menial and easy to be done by others.

How does one even investigate any leads of a demon? This entire town reeks of the aura of demons, however, he doesn't know where it would originate or where it congested the most.

So, finding leads it is.

Which… isn't very difficult, seeing that most of the men in this village looked like they were on the verge of collapsing into tears in the middle of the streets when he hits a very populous part of the village. It was… difficult to blend in with the crowd, not only because of his uniform but also because of his unfamiliarity with crowds and people. Yoriichi tries not to act like he's never been outside of his household, for once in his life. It would make Aniue embarrassed to see that his younger twin is tarnishing the Tsugikuni family name.

If there is still a family name to continue with—

He shakes himself out of those impulsive thoughts— stop it. He will find a cure for his brother, even if he has to make a couple of enemies for him to acquire what is supposed to be impossible. He can’t just give up. He has already given his life to this dream.

Trying to remove those thoughts from his mind before it wraps around him is hard to do, since they always rear their ugly heads during bad days. When he remembers the cold, wintry morning he returned because he foolishly left a piece of his brother behind, only to find a bloodied house of corpses in his wake, and a brother who has been thoroughly changed. He's not sure if it's for the better, too.

Now he has a piece of his brother, and he's trying to collect the tiny pieces of what his brother had become.

Yoriichi is at a loss on what to do. How could he try and tell the widowers in this town that he means no harm and that he is, indeed, searching for the leads of whoever has been taking away their wives and mothers? However, he doesn’t know how he could spin the tale he wants without them getting suspicious and questioning his motivations. He wants his job done quickly, so no more children and husbands will ever fear for their women’s safety again.

He bides his time, trying to find a ripe opportunity to be presented to him— with the demonic aura growing closer in some areas where the women must have disappeared, he begins searching for any signs of demonic activity. On the ground, on the fences, anywhere these demonic residuals are the strongest.

He could feel townsfolk’s eyes on him as he investigated the anomalies in this town, but he paid them no mind. He is used to people staring at him with funny looks, even though he is not fond of said staring. He supposes that since he was acting peculiarly and rather obliviously around a town that has not seen oddities in person, it was valid for his sake.

Yoriichi wordlessly gets up when he senses someone standing behind him. For the past few minutes, he’s been feeling the ground for any signs of this demon. He looks up to find an old man, with flat blue hair cascading down to his waist with a blue kimono on his physique. He looked confused and glum as well, but he didn’t seem to be burdened at the sight of his investigation, unlike a few bystanders who were inquiring he leave before he disturbed the children even further.

Wordlessly, he stands, surprising the man before him. Has he never seen someone regaining their stance, or was he this grief-stricken, from the tear tracks running down his face to his shadowed eyes?

And, remembering how Aniue would address those who want to be noticed by him, he asks, “May I help you?”

The man shakes his head, sad and tired. “I am not sure if you could help me.”

He is clearly a widower. He has lost his wife to a demon. He needs a lead, and someone has arrived just in time. “I believe I can help you. My name is Tsugikuni Yoriichi; what is yours?”

The elder man shakes his head. “My name is Kazutora, and I doubt that someone young like you can help me. I mean, could you find my wife for me?”

He means it as a joke, but for Yoriichi, it was a sincere, sound request.

“I will try to,” Yoriichi meets his eyes, startling the older man. “If you tell me where you last saw her, I can track down the one who took her away from you.”

The man simply blinks— it was too good to be true, that someone who had just come out of nowhere, with a sword strapped to his waist (it was very obvious), and with a strange birthmark on the side of his head is reassuring him that his wife will have her cold case solved. Not even the authorities could get a crack on this confusing case, conniving everyone who had their wives and mothers stolen from them without evidence of an abduction.

So how will this child, with the strange uniform and eyes that burn like the sun try and solve the case himself?

Kazutora, simply, nods numbly, gesturing for the young man to follow him through the hustle and bustle of the village.

Yoriichi ends up following the man until they find themselves in a lonelier part of the village, at a crossroads of paths and fences everywhere. He can see how the demon managed to elude many of the men here in this town. They pick the most appropriate time to carry off their loved ones, leaving them deep into their grief, hysteria, and confusion.

Kazutora looks at him with a sad look in his eyes— the same kind of look Shinjurou and Senjurou have when they are thinking about the ones they’ve lost, such as Kyoujurou, who is supposed to be the brother that went missing, and Ruka, the Rengokus’ apparent late wife, and mother, who he has only heard through some of Shinjurou’s mumbling when he is asleep. “This is where Emi disappeared. I was just walking her home when we lost track of time, but then… she…” He chokes on a sob, and Yoriichi is at a loss for how to comfort him.

It is clear as day that he loves his wife.

Did his father love his wife as well?

Yoriichi had never really known what his mother had thought of her marriage with his father. She had mentioned that her marriage with their father was born out of duty rather than love, which is, apparently, commonplace in their tradition. Yoriichi doesn't want to marry someone out of obligation: he first wants to get to know who they are and if they're compatible enough for him before he decides to get married.

His brother did not seem to like the omiai he was forced to attend, either, but perhaps that was for another reason entirely.

“Did people blame you?” He asks, looking around the place. Indeed, while it was not the strongest place the demon had implanted its aura in, it was its most recent hunting place.

“No,” Kazutora replies. “But I wished they would. She was my wife, and I got her kidnapped right from under my nose by the scumbag taking away our wives. What kind of husband am I? Not even my children will meet her again.”

“I’ll get her back,” he promises, more for himself than the man who is currently having inner turmoil over getting his wife taken from under his nose. It was not his fault. It was Yoriichi’s for taking so long before being given this mission. If he had arrived a little earlier, perhaps a day earlier, then perhaps this man’s wife wouldn’t have been devoured.

She must be dead, Yoriichi thinks to himself, but he furrows his brows at such a straightforward, skeptical response from his head. Why does he immediately go to the worst-case scenario?

Being a demon slayer means preparing for the worst. However, Yoriichi doesn’t want to end up as paranoid or as anxious as the other slayers, even if it is the most pragmatic response when it comes to finding victims. Most victims end up as skeletons or corpses rather than alive. And, seeing that it had happened last night, they must already be feasting, and waiting for the day to end to take their next victim.

Yoriichi grits his teeth. Not this time.

He looks at Kazutora with a resolute look— well, something he hopes is a resolute look, with him looking like everything he is doing is futile for this man’s wife and many others. “I’ll bring the killer to justice. You needn’t worry.”

Kazutora doesn’t seem at all convinced by his bravado. He could not find a reason to blame his uncertainty.

***

When night falls upon the town, it becomes something like the middle of a warzone— residents neglecting the work they’ve been doing prior to locking themselves in their houses, husbands rushing their wives to their boarded-up houses before locking their doors, and children being immediately confiscated from the streets, their parents fearing that, whoever is going after their wives and women, will soon be going for their children.

Alas, they do not know that, whoever is responsible for these crimes, is not a man with a vendetta against adult women who have lived their lives to the fullest already. No. This was a more sinister being, hiding deep within the bog, his eyes gleefully looking from his hiding spot. He loved seeing them all so distressed, over something natural, something that they would never see coming, because, if they ever knew the truth, they would be dead soon already. He supposes that taking so many women from their husbands, in the middle of the night, would be cause for suspicion, however, he is starving, and his love is decomposing in every waking second.

He has sacrifices to make.

Through this bog, the swamp he calls home, where he is impenetrable and unchallenged, he watches as a lone woman bids her children good night, snuffing off the brazier in her room so she can sleep soundly.

He smiles— it was a sharp smile, as he emerges from the pits of the bog.

She will make quite a feast.

***

Danger.

Immediately, Yoriichi senses it through the air. Kazutora was still standing right where he’d seen him last, for some reason like he wants to see if he was being true to his word.

He did not mind it— if he wished to stay and find the culprit who’s been making the lives of every husband miserable, fine then.

But when he felt the shift in the air as if the demon had struck once again and so soon, Yoriichi stands, the scene of the crime discarded. It is nighttime now— how could he have forgotten that demons strike in the night? He could even feel his brother slowly waking up, and he internally apologized for what he was about to do, something which would jostle his brother from his sleep even more.

He runs.

Kazutora jolts in surprise when Yoriichi begins to run in the direction where he feels this danger. Where he felt fear begin to grip a victim. “Hey, wait! Where are you going?”

“Following a trail,” he replies, as he runs through the streets, locating the anomaly, the demon, with the intent and purpose to kill it immediately, and, perhaps, give the families that had been torn apart with some closure.

Embers that surround his heart begin to grow big— until they are more like the flames of a hearth, roaring with determination to get a mission down.

He will not let anyone down. He will not let them have fates as solemn as his.

Not anymore.

This is what he trained to be as a demon slayer, after all. He should not be complaining.

Not even if no one is going to tell him what the black blade means.

He taps into the Transparent World; the darkness covers many things— things that the demon he’s looking for would take full advantage of.

Then, right in front of him, he sees a ripple.

Grounds do not ripple— they quake and crack.

It is not water.

Drawing his sword, he waits until whatever is causing this abnormal rippling has fully emerged from the outside of this ground. They must have taken another woman while he was out investigating cold leads. Mentally, he slaps himself— he should’ve checked other areas, no matter if the aura of the demon is strong or mild.

Then, he sees it— out of the corner of his eye, jumps out a man — no, a demon — carrying something over his shoulder.

Kazutora, who had followed him all the way to the middle of the street, gasps in recognition at the sight of the demon, and the woman unconscious on his back. “He’s– he’s got Sayoko! Eijirou’s widow!”

Yoriichi immediately jumps into action. Despite Kazutora’s loud exclamation, the demon did not seem to have noticed Yoriichi yet. Taking advantage of his speed, and, feeling the fire course through his veins, he sprints to the demon, aiming for his head.

Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire!

The demon seems to have expected an attack and, despite having a one second delay, disappears into the ground, into what seems to be his safe domain, before reappearing once more behind Kazutora, causing the man to shriek and take a step back when he realizes he is not alone.

The demon looked very young— he looks to be the same age as Yoriichi, except his kimono was tattered, bloodied, and slowly decomposing. His hair was dark and cropped short, and his eyes were the color of amber. Like every demon, he has claws, slit pupils, and fangs sticking out of his mouth.

Glaring at the demon, sword brandished, Yoriichi orders, “Let her go. She will not be your next meal for tonight.”

The demon, undeterred, only sneers. “So a demon slayer has finally come knocking on my humble abode, huh?” His voice was rough and hoarse, as if he’s never gotten over crying about something. He places a finger on his chin, scrutinizing Yoriichi, who is still alert against him. “Tell me, slayer, have you gotten married yet?”

What a strange question. “No.” Not yet, anyway. But not like he’d want this bastard to know what his deepest desire is.

The demon laughs sardonically. “Then you wouldn’t understand why I’m doing this, then! So you can go scram. If you don’t, I’ll kill you and add your skin to my mannequin!” He laughs, although he sounds more sadistic and disturbing.

Yoriichi furrows his brows. “... Mannequin?”

The demon’s smile seems to grow even wider, holding tightly onto Sayoko. “Well, it does me no harm to show my guests — who I’m going to kill anyways — my beloved wife!”

Out from the rippling ground that is not supposed to ripple like water, sprouts another figure. However, instead of moving like the demon, it stays absolutely still, leading Yoriichi to the appropriate conclusion that it is, indeed, a mannequin, and it is not a demon as he'd feared. He'd just begun as a demon slayer; he couldn't possibly defeat two demons at once while protecting an innocent bystander. To top it off, this demon is using a Blood Demon Art, meaning it is strong enough to use their blood for magic and other methods. He has to act fast, but safe enough that those caught in the crosshairs of this demon won't be harmed.

Kazutora gasps, as the figure of this still being comes to light— Yoruichi Wishes that it had stayed further in the dark where it belonged.

It was less of a mannequin, and more like a corpse currently being held together by fragments of skin (from the skin of the demon’s victims, no doubt), ligament, and clothes. And even the clothes, it seems, were scrapped from the clothes of various victims that he'd absconded from their families. The differences in quality, time, and patterns from the frayed, faded, and otherwise bloodied patterns on the initial kimono are quite telling. The deceased woman’s dark hair was covered with kanzashi pins, from simple designs to intricate ones— it doesn't change the fact that, for the matter, the hair looks so thin, threatening to be removed from her scalp.

Horrified at the disturbing scene in front of him, outraged over how this demon has been treating his supposed wife (if she really was one and the demon is simply in denial of her death), he looks at him defiantly.

“Are you sure this woman is your wife? She's been dead for who knows how long.”

The demon bristles at the idea that his beloved is all but dead, gritting his sharp teeth. “How dare you insinuate a lie like that! This beautiful woman, Satoko, is my wife, and she is not dead! She is still alive, she just needs a few finishing touches before we consummate our marriage and have children!” The man lets out a laugh, one that simply brings nausea deep down in Yoriichi’s spine.

“But why take married women from their husbands and children? Because of you, families have been torn apart by your insatiable hunger!”

It laughs, a grating sound amongst the silence of the night. “Why, to give my beloved wife more gifts! You see, she's been decomposing since… since I first laid my eyes on her, and decomposing is a bad thing to a human body, right, Satoko?”

No response.

He continues on, clearly unaffected by this. “So to feed myself and give her the items necessary for making her look, well, better and presentable, I've been killing and eating all the women in this town! At least they had the chance to get married and had children with their husbands, unlike my sweet Satoko here.”

Yoriichi's stomach churns. “You're disgusting.”

The demon's smile simply becomes wider. “You don’t know what it's like to please your wife. You have no say in this, boy.”

It is there that Kazutora, remembering what this demon had taken from him, exclaims, “Where is my wife, Emi? You took her away from me just last night!”

The demon hums. “Emi? I don't know an Emi. I never keep track of any of the women I took. I usually just eat them and then put whatever most alluring thing they are wearing on my wife.” He gestures to his wife, who still stares at them with milky, empty eyes, her lips having decayed. “If one of your wife's precious trinkets is currently being worn by my precious Satoko, then consider them gone for good!” He lets out another bout of repulsive laughter, as Kazutora looks at the mannequin in question, raking his eyes up and down the figure, before he zeroes in one particular trinket he remembered buying for his wife the day of their anniversary of marriage.

A floral kanzashi hairpin, right around the eyes of the long-deceased woman.

Kazutora doesn't know whether to cry or stare numbly at the realization; in the hours he spent mulling about, mourning over his wife being taken from him, she was getting devoured like an animal. Did she scream? Did she fight? Did she feel her soul being transported to the land of the dead?

He simply stands there, slack-jawed.

What would he tell the kids?

Yoriichi calculates which form he should choose to get this demon to let the poor woman go.

You're always so hesitant, Shinjuro’s defeated voice rings through his ears.

He is hesitating right now, in a situation that doesn't require hesitation.

Summoning all his strength, he grips the hilt of his sword with as much power as he can muster and, like a ball of Flame burning bright, barrels straight toward the demon, brows furrowed and shoulders squared.

He has to save Sayoko first.

Flame Breathing, Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!

The form wasn’t to try and cut the demon, of course— it was to get him to try and drop the woman he’d restrained, to which… he did not.

He stumbled and almost dropped Sayoko. It was a win for Yoriichi, anyway.

The demon glares at him, like he was just some guy which Yoriichi had crossed. “You– you almost made me drop my food! How dare you! Don't you think seeing everyone have families when I am trapped with a wife that doesn't talk to me feels good or pleasant? It doesn't! Leave before I begin taking this fight seriously, demon hunter!”

Yoriichi takes a breath, before moving to a defensive position. “Never.”

With tremendous speed, he manages to disorient the demon and run around him, alarming it. He swipes his sword up, before bringing it down.

Flame Breathing, Fifth Form: Flame Tiger.

He unties the binds that had been attached to Sayoko, whilst also cutting up the limbs of the demon. He couldn't reach for this demon's head, since Sayoko’s body is getting in the way of it.

Sayoko's body falls, but he dashes and catches it, almost falling deep in the bog if he hadn't been helped by Kazutora recovering from the awful news that his wife has been killed.

“Thank you,” Yoriichi offers him gratitude, but they are interrupted by a guttural scream coming from the demon.”

“Hey, give her back to me, you bastard!” He exclaims, voice cold and commanding. It was reminiscent of his father. “I took her from her home fair and square! Besides, what's she doing without a husband anyways? She should've gotten remarried if she wanted to keep her kids so bad!”

Yoriichi gives Sayoko, still prone, to Kazutora. He confronts the demon, legs braced. “Your cluelessness of the damage you've done to this town astounds and apall me. Have you no shame?”

“Shame?” The demon scoffs, as the last of his lacerations are being healed. “Being a demon means you've got no damn shame. You're not bound to the human limits, whatever they are. You're bound to what the rules you as a demon make. And I don't care about the families I've torn apart. They had the time to get married and have children. Satoko and I never had that time.”

“You didn't have to transfer the pain and jealousy you feel onto others who have not wronged you.”

“What are you, a psychologist? You're nothing but a boy, a bachelor even. Actually, let me guess what kind of girls you're interested in. You seem like the type to like girls who are hyperactive, bringing you into dozens of fun things and talking your ear off. Am I right?”

“I never asked for a demon playing as some kind of nakuodo.”

“And I never wanted a slayer to ruin my marital bliss, but here we are!” He waves his hands together, looking manic. “Blood Demon Art: Mannequin of the Swamp!”

At first, nothing happened.

Then, the sound of bones snapping alerts Yoriichi, as he turns to see that the mannequin— corpse has begun coming to life. Yoriichi watches in horror as the body contorts to life, clumsy steps moving forward, but with an odd, somewhat deadly precision to it.

Moving its neck at an unnatural angle, Satoko’s corpse is face-to-face with him.

So it was the demon, her husband forcefully moving her.

How despicable.

That mannequin is not his biggest hurdle right now— he has to protect the civilians while trying to kill his current adversary, who has all but gave him one last gleeful look before diving back in the water.

Yoriichi should consider it a day. He saved the woman that was about to be devoured. However, he sees all of the little trinkets around the corpse's body, and realizes that she has become a sole graveyard of all the other demon's victims. He has to salvage this woman's corpse somehow, but he doesn't know how.

If he doesn't act soon, he'll lose the demon.

Satoko begins running up to Yoriichi, with her hands — bones being exposed, maggots currently eating through the skin with no care in the world — holding daggers. It's not something he can't dodge, but he has to go through the bog to find the demon.

But that would mean leaving this puppet with the civilians, who are defenseless.

Yoriichi is strong. Therefore, he has to prioritize protecting the weak.

Satoko is gaining on him. The demon is starting to sink into the bog below, about to escape and find its next victim, now that he's taken his initial for the night.

Yoriichi makes a mistake— he turns his back on Satoko, looking for a way to bring Sayoko and Kazutora to safety, without disregarding his mission.

He could already hear Hakuji and Senjurou scolding him for being so unaware of the battle, despite all the gifts he is given.

The door on the box opens, and someone kicks the corpse. The sound of skull cracking fills the air, and Yoriichi gasps, remembering he is in an active battlefield. He turns to look at the scene behind him.

The corpse falls to the ground, but, momentarily, gets back up again.

Michikatsu is awake, Yoriichi remembers. And he has just kicked the corpse of a demon's wife away from his younger brother.

Wordlessly, he jumps out of the box, looking at Yoriichi with an expectant look.

“Get that demon,” he signs to Yoriichi. “I'll handle the civilians.”

Yoriichi nods, trusting his brother completely. How could he not, when he gave him the leeway to chase after the demon?

Without hesitation, Yoriichi jumps into the bog, the world sounding more muffled, the air becoming null and thin, and his sights turning blurry.

Chapter Text

Michikatsu dislikes having to be separated from his brother. Again.

It wasn't the first time that he left him on his own accord; there was the Final Selection, where Michikatsu wasn't there to assist his brother when he was needed, because it was a mountain infested with demons, to the point that, with his six eyes, he'd fit right there and get killed by a bunch of novice hunters.

He was so much more than that.

But Yoriichi is the licensed demon slayer; Michikatsu is just a demon.

Like that guy who turned his wife into a puppet.

Satoko, the mannequin, is strong enough; he doesn't know whether it was the demon's strength and he had poured some of his blood onto the mannequin, or this had been her strength when she was alive. Although Michikatsu doubts it— from her frail arms and small height, she may as well have been a normal village girl, doing what the people here consider normal before her untimely death. He cringes at the sight of dried blood which cake her kimono, a furisode, from what he can see in the dark. It's not like seeing blood on someone's clothes would make him salivate, of course. It is moreso the morbid question of how long she has been dead.

The mannequin runs to Kazutora and Sayoko, knives raised, one of her eyes popping out from her skull, the overall scene almost causing Kazutora to go through a heart attack twenty years too early.

Michikatsu reins in his frustration of not going after the main body, trying to protect the civilians caught up in the demon attack. Protecting civilians is as noble as killing the demon that is terrorizing the town, after all. And, he could help prove his innocence as a ‘good demon’ in the corps’ eyes by trying to stave off his appetite for human flesh.

It was notably hard being a demon, now that he thinks about it. Especially when he had nothing to do in the Rengoku household for six months while his brother was out taking sword fighting lessons. And he was the one who requested that Michikatsu be trained as well— because of course, they would never take the request of a demon seriously.

He never got to learn Flame Breathing, even when he sometimes watched Yoriichi practice at night. He can mimic some moves, but he doubts he has the same efficiency as his younger brother.

He lunges at the body approaching the couple at high speeds, but she dodges out of his tackle, veering into another direction before resuming its onslaught against them. Kazutora cowers, like he couldn’t have run when Yoriichi is endangering his life right now.

He was stupid.

Michikatsu was not.

He doesn’t hunger for human flesh— at least, not the way he’s supposed to. Because Satoko is a decaying corpse, and he certainly felt disgusted trying to put any of that kind of meat near his mouth. Even looking at the man and woman he’s protecting doesn’t incite the same appetite he had when he had regained consciousness, when the world was still covered with reds and blacks and he had tried to sink his fangs onto his own brother.

He visibly shudders as he forces the mannequin corpse to face him.

He does not want a repeat of that.

Michikatsu thinks this would be easy enough— from the way the corpse is trying to dodge his attempts at bringing it in a more physical level, the demon puppeting the doll knows that it has a delicate form. One single scratch could cause it to get destroyed. From what he’d heard of their conversation, he’s been trying to doll her up with dead woman’s things, as if it’d make her any more alive than she currently is.

He sighs through his muzzle, trying to remember how to work his legs. It’s been a while since he’s been this combative, and this isn’t some classmate he can knock out with a single punch because he’s making fun of his brother.

He’s going to have to try harder than chasing this bitch.

***

Yoriichi tries to resist the idea of breathing down here. It was a murky space, filled with nothing but darkness. He feels like he is floating, being submerged down, down down the waters. Once he is finally ready to open his eyes, he grips the hilt of his katana even tighter than he should. This entire bog is making his movements sluggish and slow on purpose, which was detrimental to the way he fights. He takes pride in his speed, no matter the opponent he is currently against.

If he was a Water Breathing user, he would have a better time maneuvering himself to the direction of the demon. Flame Breathing, when it comes to real life situations, is more adept when he’s off fighting in a volcano somewhere, or in hotter environments rather than the cool night air.

How the Rengokus found out about that particular strength of Flame Breathing, he doesn’t know either.

Yoriichi tries to get access into the Transparent World once more, only to locate where the demon went. At first, he could see nothing, but then a figure near him began to pulsate as it grows closer.

The demon slayer, knowing when he’s about to get attacked, musters all his courage and strength into veering out of the way before the demon physically mauls him.

He swims and faces the demon, preparing a Flame Breathing form.

The demon sneers, “You’re in my territory now, demon slayer! You can’t breathe in here, so you can’t practice your precious Breathing techniques!”

Yoriichi tries not to breathe in the water within the bog reflexively. He doubts any of it was liquid in any shape or form.

The demon holds up a hand, preparing another attack. Yoriichi catches him offguard by dashing towards him, his sword raised.

Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire.

The demon dodges, and all Yoriichi could show that he’d tried to swipe a sword at him was the large swish around the bog. The demon simply sneers once more, gloating about the fact that he is faster within this bog than he is in real life. He disappears from view— no, becomes faster than the human eye could comprehend, and Yoriichi tries to access the Transparent World once more, but his eyes begin to sting and his throat begins to bubble with suffocation. He has to finish this soon so he could give the victims and their families some form of justice.

He feels the demon approach him, and he jumps out of the way, spinning in the thick bog water. Gripping his sword, he assumes a combative stance.

Flame Breathing, Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation!

This works more than the first form, as it knicks the demon, causing him consternation and anger.

Without another word, or pause between these movements, Yoriichi dashes to the demon, sword raises as he tries to decapitate him.

Flame Breathing, Seventh Form: Stirring Embers!

It’s a risky move, of course, for his upper body, and eventually, his lower body, to be exposed. At least it was effective against the demon, who tries and fails to dodge the attack, forcing him to go back up, which is just what Yoriichi needed. While his plan of just jumping into the bog was rather hare-brained and stupid from the start, lacking the foresight needed to make that decision — perhaps that was why Michikatsu had wanted to tag along with him when he wordlessly and thoughtlessly jumped into the swamp — it had been the best he could do for his abilities.

What was Aniue doing up above, anyway? He hopes he’s safe and sound and had not eaten the civilians.

He shakes his head, holding the remainders of his breath before he suffocates in this bubble of Blood Demon Arts. He shouldn’t be doubting his brother’s appetite and need to hold on to his humanity!

So, he simply tries to get the two of them up.

And, with more Breath of Flame forms, alongside his covetous speed, he was finally able to return to the surface, as he raises his sword and thrusts upwards.

Flame Breathing, Second Form: Rising Scorching Sun!

They pierce the edge of the bog, and, out of the demon’s choice, sends the two of them sprawling onto the ground. Out of the corner of his eyes, he finds that Michikatsu has completely subdued the mannequin of Satoko, with his own two arms. He is, distinctly, not making any sort of eye contact with the civilians Yoriichi has saved, although he finds this understandable— they should not learn about one of their saviors’ inhumane nature, and the six eyes were quite a self-explanatory way to force themselves to explain what is currently happening around them.

He opens his mouth to call for Michikatsu but is then interrupted by the demon’s claws reaching for his face. He pulls back and slices his hand off in one clean strike. He curses himself for not getting the head.

“I worked so hard!” The demon exclaims, filled with anger, fire-like fury in his eyes. His fangs grind together, creating a noise that manages to distract his demon brother long enough for Satoko to slip from his grasp. Through his ears ringing, he realizes that the one he’s been holding is trying to get away, he chases after them. “I’ve been killing all the women in this village because they never deserved to have happy endings while my poor Satoko rots! I should’ve had children with her! We would’ve had a happy family together!”

“She would not appreciate being used like this,” Yoriichi tells him, as he can feel his heart begin to pulsate faster and stronger than ever before. “She will loathe what you have done to the remainders of your marriage.”

“Lies!” He shouts, dashing towards him, and, with sharpened nails, tries to scratch his chest. Yoriichi is not deter and, mentally telling himself to get faster, stronger, better, he aims for the demon’s body.

As if the night has become day, and the cold, frigid night of eve is nowhere to be found, transforming into a haze of heat and temperature that could rival even the hottest of desserts. The demon’s eyes, as if realizing that the heat has become one of day, tries to get away from his attempts, but Yoriichi is faster, driving straight into the chest of his opponent. Desperately, he tries to get the assistance of Satoko, but she was still being restrained by Aniue, who looks practically adamant in letting her stay beneath his foot.

(Yoriichi doesn’t yet know that what he had just did to his opponent had not been a Flame Breathing technique— not yet, anyway.)

He summons the bog underneath Yoriichi, too disoriented and in pain due to the flaming hot sword that he couldn’t think straight, but at least Yoriichi stumbles.

He tries to run away, the pain in his stomach flaring like he was being toasted alive— like he was truly standing in the midst of the sun.

Yoriichi gets his foot out of the bog.

With narrowed, detached eyes at the sight of the main perpetrator of torture and sadness in this town, he dashes towards him.

First, he cuts off his limbs.

Flame Breathing, Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation.

Kazumi screams in pain, as his arms and legs were cut off from his torso, leaving him limp and unmoving.

Flame Breathing, Sixth Form: Exorcising Torch.

With a blink of an eye, the demon slayer has Kazumi pinned to a wall, blood splattering across the wooden patterns of the fence. Kazumi, for the first time in his life, looks on with terror at the sight of Yoriichi— with long, wavy hair cascading down his waist, to his red eyes— so much like blood, but in a gentler, more beautiful way. Not like a bright red he’d seen course through the skin of his victims. His hanafuda earrings, too, leave a pang of fear and hatred pulsating within him; Kazumi wants to escape, truly, however, from the demon slayer’s impressive strength alone, and the other demon that had stepped on his wife as a way to restrain her, it is futile.

He tries to scream, thrashing about, but the sword moves from the stomach which this slayer had impaled, towards his throat. He chokes, the nichirin blade burning, searing through him. Flame Breathing has always been the most painful Breathing technique— Kazumi narrowly escaped the last Breath of Flame user unscathed.

But this boy’s fire is different.

Instead of borrowing the flames from the fireplace, expanding it, making the embers become bigger until they are a wildfire, blooming with rage, ambition, and strength.

But this slayer’s fire? It did not feel like regular fire. He wants to inch away from it, as if it will incinerate him with just a touch. It was like he is meeting the sun after so many years of avoiding it— avoiding the looming thread of the barest bones of his immortality pulling taut and turning to dust.

This slayer was not fire— he was the sun. The heat of fear.

“I have a question to ask of you,” he speaks like Kazumi has a choice, as the sword digs deeper into the meat of his throat. He could still speak, he was just restrained. He leans forward, although not enough for Kazumi to try and bite his face off for pulling off a stunt like this. He opens his mouth to ask him the question, and Kazumi’s eyes grow wide with horror.

This slayer is a foolish, foolish boy.

He’s searching for the Progenitor, the Great One.

For what? Does he not know that all the demons are bound to serve the Great One? They are not going to tell him what he wants to hear simply because he is trying to scare him into spilling out information.

He opens his mouth, but no sound but a whimper comes out. Fear bubbles throughout his entire frame, shivering despite the heat of the blade.

Don’t speak.

The voice comes from his mind, but also… not really. It came from his ears, as if this voice was talking to him right now.

Suddenly, the image of the demon slayer from above him begins to warp into a familiar image— the same man that had given him the power to feast on the women in this town, offered him a chance to be with his wife forever even when her face is dissolving into maggots as they had spoke. The silhouette is shrouded by darkness, but he knows who those eyes belong too, piercing him with expectations and suspicion. His lavender eyes narrow as he looks at him like he was a mistake waiting to happen, while he puts his pale pointer finger over his lip, to signify his silence.

Don’t talk about me.

His voice, despite it being years since he’d last heard it, was still as haunting and authoritative as ever.

Kazumi trembles.

No one is supposed to know I exist.

“No,” Kazumi stammers, his indignance of being defeated, and then about to be beheaded by this slayer. He shakes his head, as much as he could, anyway, blood trickling down and to his sword. “No, I’m not– I can’t– He’ll kill me—”

The slayer looks slightly disappointed to hear this answer. “I see.” His sword moves up, causing the demon to choke on his blood, as the sword goes through his skull in one motion. “Then I do not need to keep you alive.”

He beheads Kazumi once his answers are set in stone, and the body begins turning into dust. Unlike the case with the Hand Demon, who looked rather sad and remorseful for the way his life had become, but this demon simply felt fear grapple on his life when he uttered the name of their king. He feels no remorse for him, but he feels regret over the fact that he could not save the women he’d devoured and put the things that remember them by on his wife.

Michikatsu touches his shoulder, confirming if he is all alright, and Yoriichi simply nods as he looks over at Satoko’s body, limply laying down the concrete. Now that the sky is a little lighter, he could spot patches of skin being stitches around the already decayed face of the young woman. Yoriichi, of course, looks away from the grotesque scene. Michikatsu looks like he wants to sleep, so he lets him return to the box so he could salvage the situation that had just happened.

Like a puppet being removed from its strings, Kazutora hobbles over Satoko’s now prone body. While the corpse is still decaying, there is nothing they can do to change that, she did not follow her husband to disintegration. Yoriichi watches, as light begins to shine thanks to the rising sun, as the widower scrounges up a few items that were identifiable to his wife’s, such as the ornate floral kanzashi hairpin that had been attached to Satoko’s head. He doesn’t seem to care much about the fact that his hands were currently in ratty hair and decayed clothes, and Yoriichi is uncertain he’d get him to stop trying to ransack a girl’s corpse.

Kazutora begins to cry at the sight of the pin, and he fails to find the right words to comfort him from this heartbreak. He isn’t even sure whether or not he should intervene with his mourning, as he is terribly out of his depth. When his household had been killed, he did not begin crying, with tears spilling down his face as his face contorted to a mournful look. He did not sob like a man who lost his wife. He most certainly will not have dug into a corpse to find any recognizable figment of the past they both shared.

“Emi… oh gods my Emi…” He sobs into the kanzashi, uncaring if his hands are filled with grime and blood. “What will I do without you? What will I say to our children? They don’t even know that you’re dead, eaten!”

Yoriichi is aware that the kakushi are coming. While they can help this man and other families of the victims, he’s not sure if they’d be perceptive to seeing one of their fellow demon slayers carry an eternal adversary on his shoulders. Speaking of which, Aniue must be pretty exhausted, seeing as he returned to his box as quickly as he could now that his job was done. He can thank Michikatsu for minimizing the damage to the corpse, because now she can rest in peace, without a demon jerking her around to be his weapon from karmic justice.

“How will I ever move on?” Kazutora’s words makes Yoriichi’s heart clench, and he wants nothing more than to help him get back on his feet. He needs to be happy, for the sake of his wife and children, his remaining family.

“There are plenty of other women in the village,” he says, making the man go stiff at his words. He must have forgotten that he was there with him. “You can be happy with them.”

Kazutora stopped crying all of a sudden, meaning he heard Yoriichi’s futile, much less inexperienced attempts at comfort. He turned to look at him, and his gaze, which had initially been heartbroken, was contorted with rage and hatred. “What did you just say, young man?”

Yoriichi only blinks. He must’ve said something stupid— even his brother, who is in the throes of going to sleep, huffs through his bamboo muzzle.

Without warning, Kazutora seems to have closed in on his personal space, grabbing the collar of his uniform. Yoriichi tries not to whimper, or flinch due to the way that he is manhandling him reminds the younger Tsugikuni of the way his father constantly treated him when he’d gotten too close to him. He did not stop his heart from beating faster, or for his hackles to rise at the sight of the man’s anger.

“You think that meeting and marrying another woman can cheer me up?! Emi was the light of my life! She was the only one keeping me through the rough days, and you're suggesting I forget about her soon?!”

Yoriichi breaks away from the man's hard grip, breathing heavily. The way his ears were beginning to ring, administering every word as some sort of threat to him— it was overwhelming, really, to feel so vulnerable around strangers. He fell to the ground, staring at Kazutora warily.

Kazutora must have realized what he'd done, as his face flashed with guilt. He lets his hand fall, no longer wanting to fight with him. But he still seems bitter about what Yoriichi had said, as he looks away. “It wasn't appropriate for you to say something like that. It makes you sound inhumane. Have you never grieved for a family before?”

His words pierce through Yoriichi's heart. Had Yoriichi grieved for his family? His father and the servants? He had been so caught up in his quest to cure his brother, and then Hakuji showed up before Michikatsu was about to devour him, that he didn't focus on the fact that his family was out there, lying in the snow, blood staining the white snow. Did he ever feel sad when he was faced with his father's body? Hakuji didn't seem to give him the time of day when he told him he wasn't very despondent at the sight of his father's body. He respected his death by giving him a funeral that was proper enough, despite the urgency in which he must leave before whatever is trying to find him gets him.

“The kakushi will come and settle what happened,” Yoriichi reassures him, voice mute and lacking enthusiasm. “I'll get going now.”

Without another word of farewell toward Kazutora, nor asking if Sayoko is fine, he turns his back and goes in the direction where the Rengoku household currently stands. Perhaps having a conversation with whoever is in the house right now would do him good.

Chapter Text

The sun is already rising across the horizon, casting long shadows over the place. The entire household looks grander in the morning light if Senjurou says it himself. He had just returned from his own mission— thankfully, it was in the corner of the district he'd been in charge of, not like the overseas mission Hakuji had been assigned at the last minute. His father is off cooking breakfast for the two of them; oddly, he requested what Yoriichi had taken the most liking to when he'd been staying with the pair for six months, which had been soba. It was a rather simple request, confounded by the fact that Senjurou’s preferred food takes longer to prepare than Yoriichi's.

It has only been a day since Yoriichi departed for his first mission, but Senjurou is missing his presence within the household already. He did not think it was possible, but the entire household became as quiet as it had once been before Yoriichi came into their lives like a whirlwind of change. Senjurou never thought he’d get attached to the older boy as soon as he stepped foot inside their house, and yet, he did. Even his father, who’d been in a depressing trip ever since their mother died ten years ago, looks younger and lighter when he is talking or accompanying Yoriichi.

Yoriichi does not demand much— not even Michikatsu, but that may be because, as a demon, his needs are lesser than Yoriichi’s. Letting him live and stay around a legacy slayer’s home would be detrimental to their already dwindling reputation, especially if the rest of the Pillars found out about this, so soon after what happened with his brother. If it hadn’t been for Hakuji’s letter notifying them of his new experiment about a pacifist demon accompanying his twin, his father wouldn’t have hesitated to cut Michikatsu down when he saw him emerge from the basket.

It doesn’t take a genius to notice that Shinjurou had begun to like Yoriichi after their first dinner together. Shinjurou’s eyes had grown wide at the sight of the hanafuda earrings that hang on Yoriichi’s ears. From what Senjurou had gathered during the times when Yoriichi talks about his childhood — which ranges from sparse to not at all — it had been a family heirloom that had started all the way from the Sengoku Era. It was an interesting artifact, too, having stayed intact for three centuries.

However, Senjurou notices that, despite staying with them for six months, Yoriichi had never once shared what his home life had been prior to it being uprooted by their main adversary. It was the thing he keeps quiet about the most, especially with the things he’d picked up from his home. Senjurou and Shinjurou were not prompt for small talk and letting a conversation drag out, so they had let him be. Hakuji had implied that Yoriichi and his brother had ‘major daddy issues,’ and whatever the case may be from that wretched home, it may not have been good news.

Yoriichi is taciturn and laconic in nature, so Senjurou never asks him any questions that aren’t his business. Even his father, who seems to think that Yoriichi is the second coming of another savior, doesn’t ask him about the household. He simply levels his questions towards Michikatsu, especially after he had taken to sign language more efficiently. Even then, he’s, ironically, more tight-lipped about his home life with their father, only mentioning the basics about their childhood and the fact that their mother has been spared the grotesque slaughter that had befallen their family. He seems more defensive explaining their childhood, unlike Yoriichi’s morose countenance when he thinks about what he had left behind in that home.

Yoriichi never demands too much. In fact, it was the opposite— he demands too little. He is used to letting the others trample over him, take whatever they want from him, and expect him to continue serving them with the same profound, poetic loyalty that only, in Shinjurou’s words, dogs follow with their masters.

Yoriichi’s home life must have been messed up. Senjurou has noticed that Yoriichi, in the few weeks he’d been staying in their home, always avoids being close to his father. He may be taller than the older man, but he is still intimidated by the sight of the rueful middle-aged man. Yoriichi sometimes flinches when Shinjurou approaches him with an ambiguous expression, or if he does not tell him his motivations as to why he has chosen to approach him. Yoriichi is more perceptive with being told what to do, but when it comes to something like a question, or simply spending time in the same room alone with Shinjurou, he is alert.

As if his father would explode on him.

And, in the limited time they’ve been together, Yoriichi has never made any sort of mistake whatsoever with his chores.

He does make his fair share of mistakes with his swordsmanship and footwork, but Senjurou can chalk it up to him being a beginner. But there were times when he shrinks when he, seemingly, commits to an error and attempts to rectify it. Senjurou has to stop him from solving things that aren’t meant to be solved, or more like things that aren’t supposed to be solved.

It’s painting a very ugly picture in Senjurou’s head— one hypothesis he shares with his father, who has been walking on eggshells with Yoriichi in those first initial few weeks.

Senjurou sighs, sitting on the engawa, feeling lonely for the first time in his life since Yoriichi became a new member of the household. Shinjurou doesn't want to admit it, but he's starting to see him more as a son than the odd older student his son is teaching. He did the same thing when he brought Hakuji home with… Aniue.

Senjurou inhales sharply as he remembers Kyoujurou. There is nothing he can do that can turn back time and pluck him out from where he'd been off with his mission. Nothing at all.

When the sun fully rises from the horizon, that is when he sees the unmistakable figure of Yoriichi returning. Senjurou raises a brow at this; when he began receiving missions when he was barely out of the Final Selection and rinsing the scars of seeing what he'd just signed himself up for (death, blood and violence) he never really returned home unless the crows didn't give him missions back-to-back. Even then, he stayed in wisteria houses or with the homes of the families he'd saved from demon attacks. He only ever came home when the mission wasn't stacked against him, or he's finally able to be fast enough to speed through home so he can accompany his father. Gods knows he needs it.

But seeing Yoriichi return to their abode instead of checking out in a wisteria house? It warms Senjurou's heart. It makes him feel like he's gained not just a friend, but a new member of the family.

He catches himself smiling when Yoriichi enters the gate— he looks worse for wear. A few tears in the haori he'd received as a token of appreciation, his hair somewhat free from the constrictions of his ponytail, his eyes sunken in from the lack of sleep. All in all, a very high standard when it comes to accomplishing a first mission.

At least he isn't dead. At least he wasn't reported to go missing, with only his haori being the remnants that he ever existed there.

Senjurou shakes his head, sighing as he holds his forehead. None of that now. He’s been thinking a whole lot more about his probably-deceased, but hopefully not older brother since Yoriichi had begun living with them. Then again, the wound is still quite fresh, even when the incident is a year ago now. He’s counted the days— he has become the Flame Pillar so early, so young. Shinjurou should’ve taken his place, but… there was the career-ending injury in that he could never use Breaths properly again after encountering an Upper Moon.

He tries not to show these thoughts in his eyes and face as Yoriichi is in eye contact distance. Despite looking like a mess, he does not seem too wounded. And, despite the fact that there was some sadness deep in his eyes, he looks okay.

Senjurou can count that as a win. He always does.

“You’re back,” he breathes, relieved. It wasn’t like he never had faith in Yoriichi at all— he was a talented boy, who learned how to do things with just a stroke of a sword and the footwork of an expert. He might become the next Pillar in about a few months’ time. Senjurou lets himself be carried off from the engawa in which he was sitting on to approach his friend, touching him gingerly by the shoulder. Yoriichi did not reciprocate the touch, but he didn’t walk backwards, away from the contact like it burnt him either, so he considers that as a win. “I knew you could kill a demon. You didn’t hesitate when you were dealing with it, did you?”

Yoriichi jolts as if he’d been struck by fire. Then, with a guilty look, he replies as sincerely as possible, “I wondered if I should keep the civilians safe or go after the demon. In the end Aniue ended up taking care of the being harassing the civilians while I went and killed the demon.”

Michikatsu saving his brother? He’s not surprised one bit. And he was rather interested in how he managed to stave off his appetite on snacking on the civilians, since he could sense Michikatsu’s presence, sleeping soundly in the box.

“That’s okay,” he reassures him. “It’s hard to decide between protecting civilians or killing the demons sometimes. You always have to keep making impossible choices.”

Senjurou, too, has his fair share of making impossible choices that relinquishes his morals. He could feel the childlike whimsy he had tried to retain in his formative years growing up suddenly disappearing, fading away. It leaves him confused and sad at himself— did he have to become a demon slayer, follow in his brother and father’s footsteps, in order to continue the family line and make them proud of him? The things he’d seen in his Final Selection, which had been over two years ago now, were the stuff of nightmares. He was honestly thankful he had met a Lower Moon before becoming a Pillar so suddenly. In addendum, as a Pillar, he’s seen more gory, grotesque and morbid scenes he’d like to erase from his mind.

He has to bear with it, though. For the sake of protecting those who cannot protect themselves. Although, he could see that this hesitation, of being kind, isn’t the only thing that’s going on in his mind right now.

But he doesn’t know what he’s currently thinking, too.

“... Has Shinjurou cooked breakfast yet?” He asks tentatively, like they’re going to chase him out for asking an obvious question.

Senjurou laughs pleasantly. “Yes, he’s still cooking. Want to sit on the engawa and talk about your mission, or do you want to spar?”

“My arms are tired.” No to sparring, then.

The young Rengoku chuckles and sits on the engawa, with Yoriichi following. He sets the box keeping Michikatsu tucked into a shade, away from the sun, so that he may sleep peacefully.

“Something’s bothering you,” Senjurou guesses. “And it isn’t about normal demon slayer things.”

“Senjurou,” the way he says his name, soft and delicate, getting used to saying it in a familiar manner… it warms the Flame Pillar’s heart. “Did Hakuji ever tell you about who we were before the attack?”

“Bits and pieces. You two aren’t very talkative when it comes to your family.”

Yoriichi nods, not taking offense to something extremely accurate. “During the mission, a man in his forties lost his wife. She was eaten by the demon I was assigned to kill, and her hairpin was turned into some decoration for the demon’s corpse bride.”

Senjurou blanches in disgust when he hears that, but makes no point to interrupt the story to express his disgust. So, Yoriichi continues, “When I retrieved the hairpin, and gave it to the man, he was so distraught over the loss of his wife. He doesn’t know what he’ll do without her. Of course, being the only person conscious, I tried to give him some advice. He didn’t take it well and manhandled me.”

The Flame Pillar sputters. “What– what did you say? Did you offend him?”

“I don’t know. The only thing I told him was that he’s free to marry anyone else to fill that gaping hole in his heart.”

Senjurou stares at him, aghast. “Yoriichi… you don’t say that to other people.” He wasn't the best at reading social situations, that Senjurou knows, but he just can't go around saying things like that to Strangers.

“My father had been considering marriage with another woman suddenly after mother’s death,” Yoriichi says with a shrug. “He never seemed affected by the loss of our mother, as if she was nothing to him. Aniue told me that husbands, when losing a wife, will just find another woman to have heirs with. That’s what Father told Aniue when he questioned it, anyway.”

“That is… a conundrum,” Senjurou says, honestly flabbergasted. He’s never met a man who wasn’t devoted to his wife— his father and Hakuji were both men that have been devoted to the wives they may have had, if life had been kinder. “But Yoriichi, what your Father said isn’t true. He was just a miserable jerk.”

A glint in Yoriichi’s eyes. “That is what Michikatsu will keep telling me, yes.”

“Then what happened next?”

“Well, he started talking about how I was heartless, inhumane, due to never having the experience with handling the effects grief has on one’s psyche. He was quite distraught, but some of the things he’d said struck a chord in me. I had a horrific realization: did I feel encompassing sadness when my family had been killed and my living brother had been turned into a demon?”

Ah, Senjurou has heard of that kind of dilemma before. He's met all kinds of people in his journey, and sometimes, their grief is usually numbed by the fact that they were in dire situations, and could not process the loss they felt when they realized that they’re short a family member or a loved one. It’s a normal process— once the dust settles and the demon slayers leave the ones who were scarred by the demons to the hands of kakushi experienced in psychology and mitigating the traumatic effects, well, they began sharing their grief in a healthier manner.

Even his fellow Pillars have trouble trying to display the grief that he knows they feel. It was particularly hard to get them to open up with whatever they’re thinking.

“I’ve seen the same problems float on people’s heads often,” Senjurou says, giving him a comforting pat on the back. “It shouldn’t be a problem that you’re starting to realize that you think you’re not grieving for the people you knew since you were born died.”

“I did not feel sad when my father died,” Yoriichi murmurs, looking downcast and guilty. Senjurou tries to backtrack a bit after that revelation.

“... If you don’t feel sad about your Father dying, then there must be something wrong about the bond that you had,” Senjurou tells him with a worried look on his face. Should he tell Yoriichi the truth? That they’d been observing his attitude since he came to live with them? That doesn’t sound creepy, right? “How did you feel when you found out your Father was killed by the demon that invaded your home?”

Yoriichi looks like he didn’t want to talk about that, but, well, he instigated this entire conversation in the first place, thus, he has no choice but to talk about whatever had happened that day, when he came home after walking through the snow and found that his house has become a graveyard. After a few moments of silence, he answers, “Relieved, at most— nothing, at worst.”

“Nothing?” Senjurou repeats, “How come?”

“I never truly knew him,” he says tentatively, and his solid voice, for the first time in months since he came here to be trained, was subdued and softer, more delicate. Senjurou has come to a realization that, while Yoriichi is inherently a kind boy, he’s never shown the times he is vulnerable. In fact, it was hard to see him in a state like that. “When I was born, I had this mark on my head. My father tried to kill me, but mother fought him and they agreed to let me live as long as I live far away from the main household.”

Senjurou’s eyes blow wide. Out of all the guesses and assumptions he's made with his father and friend, that hadn't crossed his mind one bit.

Anger burns through his veins as he grips the edge of the engawa. It is rare for Senjurou to get angry— rarer to show it to everyone, too. “Your Father did what?”

“I just said it a moment ago.”

“Why would he try to kill you? You were just a baby!” Senjurou could feel his usual calm demeanor slip away at this revelation, that someone as sweet and kind as Yoriichi had almost faced certain death at the hands of his Father when he had been out of the womb. And, from the way he is implicating the rest of his home life, he spent the rest of his years in formative isolation, to the point he never became familiar with his father. It was good, in a way— his Father must've been so volatile and hateful of his second son that he never wanted to willingly spend time or look him in the face.

There'd been a time in his life when Senjurou's father dedicated his life to being married to the bottle after Mom's death, but he got out of it quickly when he realized he's about to make the same mistakes aunt Tamayo did when her husband was killed. It still hurts, that from when he was four going on eight, Kyoujurou had been the one raising him. At least his father got his bearings straight immediately, but he never truly convinced Senjurou to pursue any other careers outside of demon slaying.

“He was a superstitious man,” his student replies, as if it was the only answer he could think of. “In the sixteen years of my life, the only times I've ever interacted with him was when I got too close to the main household, or, the day before… he died. He was going to kick me out of the house once Aniue finally got married.”

Senjurou stares at him with his jaw agape. Quelling all of the rage and irritation he feels towards Yoriichi's long-deceased asshole father, he continues, “I think not being able to feel sadness when your father died is a rational thing. You don't owe someone sadness when all they did in the life you had with them was abuse, ignore, and disown you. Before you found out your older brother was a demon, were you scared for him not waking up?”

“Of course,” Yoriichi says with a dismal look. “When I saw him laying in my room trying to run away from whatever had killed the household, I was panicking and heartbroken. It'd been the first time I raised my voice, and it was to scream.”

“Then you're not inhumane or broken,” Senjurou concludes gently. Since the day he became the Flame Pillar, he had to pick up the pieces of various civilians and fellow slayers, comforting them even when he himself wanted to be comforted. “You almost grieved for your brother when you thought he was dead. You're hellbent on acquiring a cure for him, even when so many has tried to dissuade you from this path. If your father had become a demon, would you have convinced him to snap out of his hungry stupor and went on to become a slayer so you can find a cure for him?”

Yoriichi makes a face. He doesn't reply, but Senjurou has a feeling that the answer is no. A harsh denial.

He smiles at him. “You're not broken, Yoriichi. You're just trying to live life even when it had turned upside down for you in just one night. You needn't fuss about the fact you didn't feel sad that your father died. Did Michikatsu feel sad when he died?”

“Not at all. He was always the one more vocal of his opinions about our father.”

“See? I still don't have the full picture about what your home life had been like, Yoriichi, and I don't want to make assumptions, but from what you told me, it wasn't all the best. We tried to make you feel comfortable and satisfied here in our home, so we respect your boundaries, need for space, and your quiet days when talking is too much and all you need is to listen to us. Yoriichi… you're the best thing that's ever happened to us.”

He perks up, surprised. “I am?”

“You're welcome to stay here anytime you like. Most demon slayers often travel a lot, so they don't have a solid home to come home to. But we're offering solace to you and your brother, partly because you, quite frankly, need it, and because we grew fond of you. Don't tell father I said that.”

A small smile manages to tug on Yoriichi's lips. Another personal achievement for Senjurou, if he does say so himself. He's never much breached the usual stoicism of the boy, but in the span of two days, he's seen him smile.

“I am glad that I can regularly return to you when I wish to,” he says softly, like a breeze during spring. He really didn’t deserve whatever his home life had been, and neither did Michikatsu. “Thank you for this conversation. I have already done my deeds as the second son of the Tsugikuni household. It is my father who had yet to accomplish the deeds he was supposed to carry out his duty as man of the house.”

Senjurou stands. “I think my father is about to finish cooking breakfast— we have to get him to cook you some food before you go about your merry way to your next mission.”

Yoriichi nods, heading for the door to the interior, taking Michikatsu’s box with him. “I’m starving.”

“What about the onigiri we gave you?”

There is a flash of sheepishness in his eyes. “I gave two of them to the civilians I saved. It’s partially why I came back here.”

Right, he still wouldn’t have gotten his salary when he’s just starting out. The younger boy sighs affectionately, as the two of them head in. “Good thing we have plenty of food to spare.

Chapter Text

*

“Fate leads him who follows it, and drags him who resist.”

— Plutarch

*

Yoriichi received his next mission so soon after his last one when he’d barely recuperated from the suffocation and deprivation that he’d endured in his last mission. He did not want to deal with haunted bogs that preyed on women who were living their lives. Thankfully, Aka had waited until after the breakfast that Shinjurou had cooked for him had been thoroughly digested— it would make his trip to the location of the new city a whole lot more bearable.

When Aka announced that there was some slight demon activity going on in Asakusa, Tokyo, the capital of Japan, housing so many modern trends, inventions, and Western-like ideals, the Rengokus were, for better or for worse, floored at this idea. Yoriichi has heard stories about Asakusa before— of bright-colored lights, the smell of food lurking around the streets, waiting for well-meaning customers to pay a yen and some, the hustle and bustle of the city folk, girls trying out the new Western skirts with shockingly short hemlines. Aniue makes it clear that, as much as he enjoyed being in a big city, it was filled with, as he claims, busybodies who don’t understand when to mind someone’s business or not.

“Are you sure that Yoriichi should take this mission?” Senjurou asks his crow, but the crow doesn’t even seem like he heard his concerns. He was busily eating the bird seeds Yoriichi had offered them from his palm.

“Do you even know what goes on in Asakusa?” Shinjurou questions Yoriichi with a raised brow, hands on his hips.

Yoriichi’s eyes grow wide with recognition. “It is a modern city filled with new experiences.” He completely repeats what Aniue had said to him, in a pointedly exasperated manner, the day he returned from Asakusa. He never wanted to go there again.

“There’ll be a lot of noisy automobiles around the urbanized areas,” Senjurou points out worriedly.

Shinjurou nods in agreement, “And a lot of noisy people.”

“There are also bright lights, completely contrasting the idea that nighttime is for darkness and dread.”

“Then there’s the noisy people— they’re very rude.”

“Of course, there’d also be confusing, confounding directions. Tokyo and its surrounding areas are like a maze waiting to be explored.”

“Have I mentioned that the people there are annoying?”

The other demon slayer nods sincerely. “Yes, thrice.”

Senjurou levels him with a look of care. It feels unfamiliar, having someone who wasn’t immediate family care for him the way they would a brother. But he doesn’t feel like he wants to get rid of it. “Are you sure that you are up for the task of having a mission in something as big and intimidating as Asakusa?”

“I am not a child, I can handle myself.”

“I know, we know,” Shinjurou reassures, scratching his head. “It’s just… I don’t think you’ll adjust well to the stimulating experience that is Asakusa at night. Luckily, some demons will always avoid large throngs of people— ironically. Best you should look in back alleys or locations distant from Asakusa. That way, you won’t make yourself feel overwhelmed.”

Yoriichi nods. “I'll heed that advice. But I've never been to a big city. Only Aniue had been in Asakusa, and he was tired when he came home.”

Shinjuro cringes. “Damn kid, do you ever go outside?”

“Only at times when my father kicks me out of the household, and my older brother has to find me before nighttime so I won't get sick.”

The Rengokus wear a look of utter horror on their faces.

The patriarch simply grunts, placing a palm on his forehead. “Are you… doing okay?”

“The punishments don't last long, usually. I always had to worry over my older brother and Father arguing about how my father treats me.”

He doesn’t notice the way Shinjurou is tightly gripping on his teacup, careful enough not to shatter it on impact in order not to alert Yoriichi, but enough for Senjurou to notice that he was miffed about Yoriichi’s situation. If his Father had been alive right now, he may have some choice words for him.

Yoriichi was, at least, happy he could have breakfast with people he's learned to grow fond of before going on his merry way to the city.

***

Yoriichi had ignored or dismissed Senjurou’s warnings about what cities are like. He had, after all, been a part of a noble clan that had managed to keep up with the times— he’s seen what social gatherings are like, and how intolerable (Aniue’s words, not his) guests are when they’re trying not to mind each other’s business. He thought that Asakusa and the people which belonged in an urban city would be like those elites in parties; snooty, quiet, and born to be cruel. However, it doesn’t seem to be the case here in this city, because, as soon as he steps into the boundaries of the district, he suddenly feels like he has stepped into a whole other world.

He notices one thing immediately.

Asakusa was noisy.

He had arrived at the city at almost sundown, meaning Aniue is going to be waking up soon. He wonders if he can convince his brother to act as a guide to him once the night begins and he can continue his search. Even during nighttime, it seems, the city doesn’t get a wink of sleep. Bright lights that rival the sun filter in from the streetlights, buildings are still filled with people meandering about, and vehicles fill the road with their car horns and wheels veering down the pathway. Yoriichi’s ears ring at the noise surrounding him, encircling him like a prey surrounding a predator. It was not good noise, if he was being truthful to himself— it feels like the most unpleasant sounds he’s heard during parties he was allowed to be in had increased in rowdy, raucous noise tenfold and the bright lights were not helping him at all.

He needs his brother— trying to find a private or lonesome part of Asakusa, even at night, was arduous and challenging; it was like the people here are competing to cramp themselves into narrow and dark alleyways. Yoriichi did not even have the time to look at the sights, and he did not feel the need to act like a scandalized man when he sees women with those short hemlines many of the males in his household (save for Aniue, who finds the fashion style rather charming himself) loathed. Trying to find a landmark that is most recognizable, he finds himself staring at the Ryounkaku, which he’s only seen through illustrations. It was the tallest building Japan has to offer.

Similarly, he feels at ease when he begins remembering all the information that his older brother had given to him about Tokyo, particularly the Asakusa district.

With a deep breath (he almost chokes upon the smell of urine and wastes around this particular alley, and he decides not to breathe in city air so deeply), he takes off the straps connecting the box to his back, and sets it down a verifiably and hopefully clean area of the dirty and narrow alley he found himself in. He looks over at the Ryounkaku, and laments he might not get to see inside the place, as he has a mission that takes place outside, distant and away from the demon he’s seeking.

He doubts that a demon would hide in a place like this. While yes, it was like a school of fish packing into a can of sardines, with how many people are mulling about this time of night in order to buy or perform leisurely activities, there were also too many witnesses, and the bright lights were too much to a demon who was only accustomed to darkness. It was no wonder that Senjurou had implied that Tokyo, and other sprawling cities that were now filled with technology and innovation was up for grabs among the thirteen Hashiras. It was usually a free-for-all, they were free to travel to Tokyo to indulge in the new things currently in boom, and there was no threat of demons around places like these. It was a whole other world.

The box opens, and he waits for Michikatsu to gain his bearings before asking him to guide him around Asakusa.

His older brother crawls out. He stands as soon as he is out of his box, rubbing his bleary eyes as he looks around lethargically. All of his six eyes seem to grow wide when he realizes the change of surroundings from rural to urban. He looks at Yoriichi with an accusatory look on his face, as if he has an explanation ready for him.

“We’re in Asakusa and it’s nighttime,” he tells his brother, “although, it doesn’t feel like nighttime. There’s so many people here and they don’t care if they’re bumping into me or other people. At least they’re not being more rowdy than they are now.”

Michikatsu takes a few more minutes to get accustomed to his surroundings, and his face scrunches in noticeable disgust when he smells the stench rotting in the alley.

He begins signing with his hands— while it seems he still has not shaken off sleep yet, he is coherent enough to practice his sign language skills. “Of all the alleys you chose around this area, you had to choose the one that smells like utter shit?”

Yoriichi flushes in embarrassment. “I need your help. You’re the only one who has visited Asakusa, and I’m just a newcomer.”

Michikatsu huffs around his bamboo muzzle, looking around and finding the Ryounkaku. “Fine, I’ll hep you. But wouldn’t that mean going through public spaces? What about my eyes?”

Yoriichi can see a flash of insecurity in his brother’s face, and a pang of regret begins to make its way around him. He supposes that he has to find a way to obscure the two additional pairs of eyes so Michikatsu can assist him as they weave their way through the bustle of the crowd.

“You can shapeshift, can you?” He suggests. “You can grow from a child to a full-grown adult. I think you can do it with your eyes too.”

Michikatsu blinks all six eyes at once. After a few seconds he nods, and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“It’s like trying to practice a Breathing technique,” Yoriichi advices, and his older brother rolls his eyes.

After a few more minutes of waiting for absolutely nothing, something begins to happen around Michikatsu’s face. The upper part of his eyes begin to sink low into his skin, molding into it as if the eyes were never there. The same thing happens with the lower pair of his eyes, and, when Michikatsu looks at Yoriichi, it was like he had never become a demon in the first place. Of course, until he notices the red instead of white sclera with spider-like lines running along it, and the fact that his eyes were still golden amber with slitted pupils.

Michikatsu had red irises like Yoriichi, but of course demonization had taken away one of their only traits of similarities.

“I don’t remember much about Asakusa— memories aren’t surfacing properly right now,” Michikatsu signs, looking around. “However, I can find a place where you won’t be so high-strung and overstimulated. We have to hurry though, I’m not sure if I can keep this cover.”

Yoriichi nods. “Alright, please lead the way, Aniue.”

Despite Michikatsu’s short-term memory, the two of them were able to thread through the sea of crowds without any fanfare. Although Aniue still manages to get funny looks from the crowd, they did not manage to think twice as they pass by the Nakamise shopping street, where most of the people have conflagulated in. Thanks to his brother, Yoriichi does have the time to look around, immerse himself in his surroundings, even when his brother was staring distastefully around the shops and smells that litter by.

“Is it always so crowded in Asakusa when you were visiting?” He asks, making Michikatsu’s ears perk up.

Michikatsu lets go of his hand to sign briefly. “It’s more annoying at night. When you should be sleeping, everyone is out working and trying to get drunk. I hate this place.”

“You’ve said that many times when I asked you. Now I see why you hate this place.”

Yoriichi doesn’t hate Asakusa. It was a strong word. He simply thinks that this city is too much to handle for someone like him. He doubts that he could handle it at its busiest.

Michikatsu makes the wrong call by veering into an alley, before stopping. Yoriichi, suddenly alert, puts a hand on his sword and pokes his head to see what’s got Michikatsu so spooked. However, all he could see was a couple caught in a moment of affection, and Michikatsu immediately resumed his firm grip on his wrist as they wordlessly got out of the alley without disturbing the couple.

“They’re a couple,” Yoriichi observes smartly.

Michikatsu nods, his face impossibly red. It was the first time he’d seen his now pale face color with red.

“They were kissing in public,” Yoriichi comments. He knows it was rather improper for couples to enact passionate and affectionate movements— not even the servants rumored to be a couple together had gotten as close to kissing each other or touching one another. No one has ever tried to be so forward with their paramours in public before.

The older brother turns to give him a scrutinizing gaze.

“Isn’t that improper?” He asks the question rhetorically, already knowing the answer.

His brother gives him a short nod.

“Why did they do that?”

His older brother huffs, which means, I don’t know, stop asking me stupid questions.

In the end, they managed to find a comfortable, if not alright spot away from the center of Asakusa, where the people are sparse. Finally, he feels peace and quiet and concordance return to his ears. He did not even notice that his hands were clammy with sweat and moisture until he wiped them on his white haori. He exhaled, not knowing that he’d been holding his breath until he had gotten out of that crowd. He didn’t want to go back there if he had anything to say about it.

However, a job is a job.

First, he should eat something. Perhaps that’d make him less deciduous and make his ears ring less. His heart had been beating fast, and his hands were shaky. At least Michikatsu was faring better— he never really did like loud noises, as it made him more belligerent and temperamental.

He orders a nice bowl of soba from the shopkeeper, and he sits next to Michikatsu, who is facing away from the vendor. It seems that his little shapeshifting magic has worn off, as he returned to having six eyes. Yoriichi wants to ask if he misses having two eyes only, but it feels like a sore subject to him.

Michikatsu hums in satisfaction at the sight of his brother eating, as his claws pet his hair. Yoriichi did not have the heart to be embarrassed at this absent-minded affection. His older brother was not the most affectionate of people, after all.

He silently eats his dinner, trying to figure out ways to find the demon Aka has been talking about. The shaking of his hands subsided slightly, but perhaps that was thanks to Michikatsu, who was currently petting his hair, combing through it. His breaths return to their normal pace, and while he laments still unable to practice Total Concentration Breathing outside of day-to-day life, he supposes that this was a win for holding his breath so long in that place.

While the noise of Asakusa was still heard, at least he didn’t feel like a drum overflowing with water. It was just background noise; not necessarily music to his ears, but simply something that he could live by without feeling irritated or paranoid about. At least he is able to get rid of the feeling of someone shouting into his ear, or the vibrations that shake him to his very core.

The bright lights were welcome if they were not blaring on his face every single second of his time in the city.

He tries to keep his nerves at bay by recalling every single point of consternation, overwhelming confusion, and paranoia towards Michikatsu, who, for all intents and purposes, was listening to Yoriichi ramble.

He hates how the alleys smell like waste and urine. He doesn’t like it when people bump into him or touch the fabric of his clothes because he has no other particular way to dodge incoming strangers and bystanders. He loathes it when people shout next to him, to his ear, causing him to go into flight or fight mode quickly. He dislikes how bright, bright, bright the light is, like they want to create a show exclusively for blinding people.

The rest of the time is spent eating his soba— he is about to finish when he begins to feel the same stomach-churning, nauseating, and generally unpleasant feeling that he had when he found the scene that awaits in his home. His heart, instinctively, beats faster, as his eyes are blown open.

Why now? Why this feeling?

Yoriichi stands up as the feeling encompasses him whole, as if it were a heavy lift on his shoulders as if it will eat him alive so soon. He slips into the Transparent World so easily, as if it has become nothing but a reflex. It does nothing to stop the crowding of his mind, nor the way that his fists clench, as if it is currently sensing the danger clawing within his walls. His head begins to pound as an awful stench makes its way to his nose— the smell of oblivion, massacre and hopelessness. A foreboding chill settles on his back, and he's starting to think that this mission is too much for him to handle. He doesn’t even process the fact that he'd dropped his meal.

A hand tugging on his haori tries to bring him back to reality and the present, but he is still in the Transparent World with no way back. He knows he's scaring his brother, but all he could see was that man. He doesn't know how, for he is so far away that he is supposed to be a speck, but he could see a thread connecting him to the man who he'd sensed was bad news.

Overcome by the need to find him, Yoriichi’s body begins to run. He doesn’t notice that his older brother doesn’t follow, perhaps caught up with the mess he made, but he'll explain later.

(That is if he lives to tell the tale.)

His feet pick him faster and faster, and he realizes he has returned to the crowds along Asakusa, but because of his access to the Transparent World and his large focus on the thread snaking around the streets. He follows it as it commands him to walk away from his brother, away from the dark, sparser streets, and return to the material of nightmares— simply because of a little hunch his mind made up for him.

With his long hair flying across the strained wind around this street, his feet began to pad faster beating on the road, as the thread begins to shorten, meaning that the distance of whoever the man that had been in his house is shortening as well— he is about to reach the finish line, and he is unsure if he likes to see the other side of this race. In fact, he is unsure if he wants to see what the Progenitor looks like; he tried asking Kazumi, but in the end, he chose to die rather than answer a simple question, about where the Progenitor is.

But now… how could this demon, this adversary of humanity, the Scourge of Life, be caught dead in a crowded place like this? Filled with so many humans to the point of no remorse? Is that how he did it? To hide in plain sight?

Now, he thinks that the streets of Asakusa are worse than the nights where he is alone, trying to listen if there may be demons in the wind. In a city as vast and wide as this, he doesn’t know who to trust.

A memory filters through his mind— one where Yoriichi has told the Rengokus the story of his his brother became a demon.

They exchanged grim looks, as Yoriichi watches his older brother sleep. Senjurou decides to be the one to tell the young boy what is bothering him. “Yoriichi, I am afraid that it is no ordinary demon who had traipsed into your home and killed your family and turned your older brother into a demon.”

Yoriichi doesn’t notice when he steps foot onto a different establishment altogether, no longer on the road. Not even the guards and waiters could stop the boy as he enters the restaurant with elite patrons, reminiscent of the times his father had held feasts in his home. He doesn’t stop until he could see the outline of the Progenitor’s back, busily speaking to one of the clients in said establishment.

Senjurou’s voice continues to fill his mind. “There is only one demon in the world who can turn an individual into a demon, without getting their blood in their wounds.”

He is wearing a white, Western suit. It suits well in the pristine surroundings of the building, the lights pearly white, blaring down on Yoriichi, blinding him slightly.

“His name is…”

Yoriichi, panting, raises his red eyes to glare at the stranger, and, in a move that’ll scandalize high society, touches his stainless white suit on the shoulder, gripping it tightly.

The client he’d been speaking to gasps, as the man — no, the demon — stops talking in order to stare at the boy who had the gall to touch him with his stained, muddied fingers.

He could feel the fabric crease.

All of a sudden, the world becomes bright and clear again, and he finds that he can no longer access the Transparent World.

All he gets is a headache, and the sensation of his many, many senses attacking him.

The man turns to glare at him, an offended, outraged frown on his face.

He now has a face for the man who ruined his brother’s life— turned him unrecognizable.

Lavender eyes with slit pupils.

Sickly green hair, like mint.

Pale skin.

And a Western suit to cover up the scent of immortality, decay, and stasis.

He cannot fool Yoriichi, someone who wants to get revenge on him.

Senjurou’s voice echoes, as if he knows that Yoriichi has finally met his main adversary.

“Yushirou Imakurusu.”

Chapter Text

Suddenly, Yoriichi remembers that he is confronting the King of Demons in a private establishment. Not just any kind of private establishment, but rather, a place filled with people seated on the seats of the tables.

To any other person, what Yoriichi is doing is a scandal— he should fear getting kicked out, and trespassing along the premises without any permit or warrant.

But Yoriichi did not care for the social lives these people play. He is here for one person only.

Yushirou.

He killed the household. He turned his brother into a demon and left him buried in the snow.

Yoriichi never wishes to seek violence upon people, however, with this poor excuse of a man, he wants him to pay.

Besides, Yushirou cannot do anything here. They were still in a public place, full of innocent bystanders. One wrong move means that he would be on the radars of the Demon Slayer Corps. He must act like a normal human person.

Or else.

Yoriichi continues staring at him, noting all of the things that make him human— his eyes were a detrimental factor, although…

“Nakamura-san?” The client this demon had been speaking to before suddenly speaks up, sounding uncertain and nervous. Yushirou realizes he has company, and, much to Yoriichi’s shock, his eyes change from catlike pupils to normal human ones, even including a gleam in them as if it’ll help him plead his case.

Yoriichi wanted to laugh at the fake surname— it was one of the most common surnames in Japan, and he was sure that he simply flailed, looking for a fake alias to hide his true nature in, but it would not work. It will never work anymore, if Yoriichi can remember his face, and live to tell the tale.

The latter part is going to be difficult to accomplish.

“Yes?” His voice was a deep baritone, quiet and soothing. But for Yoriichi, he could feel his hackles raise, the hand on the shoulder beginning to shake. He shivers.

“Do you know this boy?”

Yushirou hums blasedly, as he looks at Yoriichi once again. However, when Yushirou glances at his earrings, he stiffens all over, causing Yoriichi to let go of him in surprise over such a reaction. The fangs hidden in his mouth begin to return, as his eyes glint red with murder. “No, I do not know who he is. He must have confused me for someone else.”

The client’s eyes zero in on Yoriichi, his uncertain tone hardening as he glares at him. “Would you like me to remove this man from the premises?” He asks coldly, and Yushirou waves a hand in a dismissive manner.

“Gladly.”

Yoriichi’s eyes grow wide, as the client calls for the guards to take him away so that he can lose the only lead he has against Yushirou.

He was right here in the flesh!

He tries to move his sword, brandishing it so he can challenge the demon who wears human skin, but his hands are shaking too much. Yushirou’s aura is too chaotic, brimming with anger, outrage, and intimidation.

However, if Yoriichi focused enough, he could smell a tinge of fear and apprehension from the Demon King’s aura.

Why would he be afraid? He is single-handedly the most powerful being in Japan right now, and while Yoriichi, so badly, is tempted by the idea of ramming his sword into the demon’s throat, he doesn’t want anyone witnessing such a grotesque scene.

The man who had been speaking to Yushirou steps forward, his hands on Yoriichi’s shoulders. The boy flinches, almost overlapping the image of this man with one of his father’s, and his breath hitches. He should’ve thought more before he had gone here, inside a private establishment, all to hunt for Yushirou. Yet, if he had not done so, he wouldn’t have known what the man had looked like. However, he had left Aniue alone— he hoped that the place they chose, sparsely populated, would help hide his demonic nature from bystanders more.

He has to return. He has to tell Aniue about coming across the Demon King.

“No,” he pleads, grasping on the man’s hands. “It is that man you should be restraining. It should be him! He is a danger to society!”

“He’s a madman too– of course,” one of the ladies from the tables speaks up, and Yoriichi attempts to hide the hurt at the idea that he is considered to be a madman.

“He’s probably a drunkard and went to go harass Nakamura-san,” another woman whispers to her husband. “No doubt because of Nakamura-san’s clothing.” Her husband agrees with a firm nod.

Unfortunately for the man currently trying to restrain him, Yoriichi is physically more able than he is, so he throws him off to follow Yushirou. He knows he has a death wish, and he most certainly should just retreat, but he wants to know why he was doing this. Why had he come to his house, ambushed those inside, and then turned his brother into a demon? Yushirou weaves through the tables at a brisk pace, but Yoriichi is much faster, catching up to him once more, and, righteous anger unfurling in his stomach, shoves him onto the wall.

The Demon King looks rather astonished by Yoriichi’s boldness, but his lavender eyes are focused more on the hanafuda earrings swaying in time with his moves.

“You are not getting away this time,” Yoriichi says, his voice low and dangerous. “I will not let you escape.”

Yushirou scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You are temerarious, boy. I’ll give you that.”

The slayer doesn’t notice that they are all surrounded by a couple of employees of the establishment, their hands holding onto his uniform, trying to pull him off their faux patron. He hears the sounds of their voice, scandalized and indignant about the way a country boy is treating their patron.

The man’s eyes transform into slits for a moment, as he gives Yoriichi a fanged sneer. “But your boldness is not enough to follow me to oblivion.”

His hands transform into claws, raising them up, discreetly enough that the other bystanders wouldn’t notice but him— Yoriichi moves his head out of the way, but Yushirou’s sneer grows even wider, as a cold feeling swells in Yoriichi’s stomach. Before he could process what had just happened, one of Yushirou’s nails scratched one of the men trying to restrain Yoriichi, in the hands, making it bleed. He hisses, letting go of Yoriichi immediately. However, what coherent thought the man has is now being drowned out by the gurgling and eventual growling, as he begins to shake.

Yoriichi looks back at him, then at Yushirou, who watches the scene unfold.

Yoriichi tries to catch him once more, but a guttural scream rips out of the crowd as the man who had been human previously, suddenly feels and smells like a demon, all in seconds.

Yoriichi’s eyes grow wide, as he turns to find the man that had once been human, no longer one but instead a beast whose mind is focused on one thing only: the taste of human flesh. The fledgling demon, who has lost all sense of decency and civility, lets go of Yoriichi as he tackles the man beside him to the ground, biting into his shoulder. The rest of the men attempt to get him off, but now that he has a taste of human flesh, a demon becomes stubborn, and leaving him bereft of his meal is like a suicide mission.

Yoriichi looks back at Yushirou, who is now walking away from where he’d entered the kitchen, not disturbed by the scene. Yoriichi sprawls into action— he tackles the demon, getting him off the man’s shoulder, which is currently staining the gleaming white uniform he’d been wearing. Yoriichi uses the scarf he wrapped around his head to stuff the man’s mouth with the fabric to get him to stop biting everyone, as a precautionary measure.

“Put pressure on his wound!” He orders the other men, as he resists the demon’s thrashing, his saliva mixing into his scarf; so much for Senjurou’s attempts at giving him another gift. The employees seem to listen to his instructions, procuring a first aid kit from nowhere. His red eyes return to the distant back of Yushirou, and, gritting his teeth, he exclaims, “Yushirou Imakurusu! No matter where you go, I promise from the bottom of my heart that you will not escape me! You can run as far as you want, but I will always follow you, my sword ready and raised to behead you at a moment’s strike! I will never forgive you, and I swear to the gods that the souls of those you’ve killed with drag you down to hell!”

Yushirou continues walking, and he doubts that he’d managed to affect him with promises that may be dubious at best and impossible at worst.

(He doesn’t see the way that Yushirou’s teeth, fanged and bared, are growling, as his hands have formed into fists, clenching.)

Once Yushirou disappears, Yoriichi’s attention returns to the man who had been unwillingly turned into a demon. He cannot let this man run amok— he feels pity for him. He didn’t have to turn into a demon, to be stripped of his human traits and regressed into a beast thirsting for flesh. Yoriichi does not know this man, so he doesn’t know how to break him off the spell Yushirou had given him.

So, while the rest of the workers, victims of Yushirou’s cruelty and apathy towards the psyche of humans around him, are still fussing over their friend who has been injured by another one of their coworkers, he finds the door to the back alley and, without trying to get attention, he opens it and pushes the demon onto the ground. The demon tries to scamper away, but Yoriichi grabs ahold of him. The eyes that had been human, were now brimming with bloodlust and starving anger.

“I am so sorry that my carelessness has turned you into this,” Yoriichi apologizes, softly brushing apart the hair on his face. His face is truly apologetic— if he had not ducked out of the way— no, if he had not given Yushirou the upper hand in the situation, he would’ve still been a human. He wonders— does this man have a family? Children, wife, parents? Now, his family will have to live with the fact that this man has died a dishonorable death, not even human when he died. “If I had a cure, I would have offered you a vial in a heartbeat.”

Silence falls within the alley, only being interrupted by the demon’s growling and thrashing, but Yoriichi is stronger and bigger, he can restrain him. The sword on his hilt feels warm, however, he doesn’t have that impulse to bring it to this man’s neck.

He can't. Not yet, when the transformation is still quite fresh. Yes, he successfully tasted human blood, thus his insatiable desires, but Yoriichi had hope that he would be pacified quickly as Michikatsu had.

Oh, right. Michikatsu is not here with him. Hopefully, once he is finished with this situation, he can return to where he’d left Michikatsu, and, if he did not have an ill temper, write up a report of what happened— the Corps might want to know about his meeting with Yushirou, as they’ve been searching for him for years. Who knew that the one who would have a lead on him would be Rank Mizunoto, who had just become a demon slayer a few days prior?

He stiffens as he feels a demonic presence behind him, but before he can move, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, he finds strings attached to the body below him and is pulled out of his hold. He falls to the ground unimpressively, but he gets up in no time to face another demonic presence— however, this one is more subdued, controlled, and inconspicuous if he is amidst a crowd. The only reason he can pick up on it is simply due to the absence of people.

Sword brandished, he looks over to the new demon that had entered the alley— a child, about eleven years old. He has pale, pristine white skin, glowing in the iridescent moonlight, with red dots all over his face. His hair was white, although it fades to black tips, looking like the claws of a spider. His eyes look human enough— lavender contrasting the pale skin. He wears a black gakuran with a light purple tint; eerily, it looks so much like the demon slayer uniform.

The man that had been demonized was wrapped around a silk cocoon— the Blood Demon Art of this demon, perhaps? Strange, Yoriichi was the one who was caught off guard by this boy, but he made no move to go after him, but rather, the man he’d been restraining. Still, it would not hurt to be cautious of a demon.

“You never once raised your sword to kill this man,” the boy says, and he, indeed, sounded like an eleven-year-old boy, even if his inflection is sage as if he’d lived for so long. “How come?”

Yoriichi stands, his expression guarded. “He was turned into a demon by Yushirou. He had been here in this building a few minutes ago.”

The boy’s eyes grow wide in astonishment. “You met Yushirou? But you’re—”

“Yes, I am still alive,” he nods.

The boy looks back at the demon, still thrashing, then at Yoriichi. “You look like the demon Genya caught a few minutes ago.”

Yoriichi looks alert, eyes wide. He shouldn’t have left Michikatsu alone! “You have Michikatsu? Why—”

The boy holds up a hand, placating him before he speaks. “Yes— he was around the streets of Asakusa, wandering around before he encountered my two other companions. He recognized that they were demons, but after proving themselves trustworthy, he asked if they had seen anyone that looked like him, sans the six eyes.”

“He’s my twin,” Yoriichi confirms, still frowning.

He nods, looking pensive. “I see. He is in our hiding place— follow me.”

Yoriichi wants to question if his statement is credible, however, he cannot smell or feel any sense of maliciousness wafting around the aura of this demon boy. He looks petite, delicate, and overall harmless. Yoriichi is sure he could kill him in one fell swoop if he does something he’d regret. So, warily, he follows the young demon boy, who seems to be struggling to carry the demonified man. He sighs, and, sheathing his katana, he approaches the boy, closer than ever before.

“I can help you,” he offers, to the boy’s surprise.

His eyes flit from the man and Yoriichi’s outstretched hands, and he obliges with a shallow nod, passing the weight of the demon trapped in the silk prison to Yoriichi’s hands.

“... What is your name?” The young demon asks one who looks young but may have years ahead of him.

“Yoriichi Tsugikuni,” he replies.

The demon nods, his eyes trained upon the hanafuda earrings. “My name is Rui Ayaki. It is my pleasure to be in your acquaintance.

Chapter Text

“I apologize for accidentally letting that delinquent in our establishment,” the host tells Yushirou, bowing deeply in front of his form. Yushirou tried not to roll his eyes, clutching the place where that demon slayer had touched him with those hands filled with the dust of his fallen cronies. It was rumpled, and, to the unseen eye, darkened. He feels more displeased by his stained suit than anything else, as compared to what happened in the restaurant. “Would you like it if I bring some of my guards to escort you back home to your apartment?”

Yushirou schools his frustration, changing his expression into a neutral smile, letting the patron know that he has severely displeased him, and it will take him a long time to consider dabbling in his establishment again. He waves a dismissive hand. “No need, I can return to my apartment fine on my own. I have several other business meetings to attend before returning home, anyway. I am grateful for your hospitality.”

The patron bids him farewell with a bow, much deeper than the one he’d given to him last time. As Yushirou turns away, his smile fades into the ever-present scowl, as his bad mood begins to claw its way across his stomach. He could feel his claws reveal itself, digging into his flesh. Of course, it heals quickly, as he walks around the streets, trying not to lose his bearings and temper over the street. It would not do him well to be detected by that abominable slayer again.

Speaking of which, he had escaped from his grasp, along with the man he had turned into a demon.

He feels his frustration bubble.

Instead of finding the woman with a flowery haori, he finds someone with the same earrings, if not, the very earrings worn by that man from almost half a millennium ago. It is like heaven is sending out a sign to him— a sign that his time of reigning over the country, of his immortality, is coming to a pause.

No matter. He will find that boy and kill him if it’s the last thing he will do.

However, sending one of his Kizuki after a low-ranking demon slayer will cause suspicion amongst the Corps— resulting in his cover being blown faster than he would expect. So, he decides to send two of his favorites that were not part of the Kizuki.

He snaps his fingers, and he feels the wind change. Without turning his back, he knows that he is no longer alone in this dingy alley— the only place where he can converse with his demons privately, outside of his apartment.

He doesn’t need to know that they are bowing.

“Aoi, Rokuro,” he addresses them, a neutral expression on his face. He wants to remain calm and composed, despite his blood boiling, the veins protruding along his face, and his teeth cracking through pressure, grinding it so much. “I have a job for you two: kill a boy with hanafuda earrings, and the two of you shall be rewarded by becoming Lower Moons.”

He hears their breaths hitch; being a Lower Moon is not something to be proud of— he has to replace them every decade or two or so, and they were always so adamant on proving themselves superior, attending more Blood Battles between them than Lower Moon meetings where they are being replaced with someone who — he hopes — fulfills the two set requirements he thought should be obvious.

“Understood.” The two reply, hiding their excitement, before the wind changes its tune again.

When he knows that they have disappeared, going off to find where that boy with hanafuda earrings went, he raises his fist and punches the wall, leaving a fist-shaped mark on the concrete. He was trembling at this point, hands shaking as sweat dripped down his face. His eyes are bloodshot, almost like he had seen something he preferred he wouldn’t see. His scars, from beneath his clothes, begins to freeze, like the great burning night of a winter, or when someone interrupts the sun from its appropriate revolution.

He couldn't help the sudden memories flooding into his head— of the night when his superiority, his reign of terror had been challenged by a man whom he had encountered one night, as he tried to wrangle the boy with the spider motif back to his side, and forced him to suffer a horrible loss that day.

This man had been a mere human— and yet, in his memories, forever emblazoned like a plaque that will never be cut off, he is depicted as a monster.

A demon.

Yushiro is looking up at the man, his face scrunched in fear and shock. No slayer had ever gotten close to him before, much less strike his neck in one fell swoop.

His face is shadowed by the night's natural darkness, but the moonlight makes some features of his face clear— his dark hair tied into a ponytail, misty blue tips lighter than his features, the shape of cloudlike marks on his cheeks, and the glint of those accursed, hanafuda earrings. He raises his sword over Yushiro, its blade tinted purple.

It could not be possible, he thinks, seething. The child has red eyes, and he is sure his blade is the color of black. He cannot be his successor. He doesn't feel like he uses Breath of…!

Yet, this child resembles the other child he'd injected blood into forcefully. And it has been confirmed by his very own Upper Moon One that he had a family… albeit unwillingly. It seems he'd forced himself to forget even the most basic things.

He's going to kill that bloodline.

No one should have the power to wield the Eclipse.

***

Despite having a resemblance to a spider, Rui seems to take on the grace of a butterfly, waltzing through the streets, sticking to the alleys rather than the hustle and bustle of the streets around them. Well, it is not like Yoriichi minds— he has no love for Asakusa, and ignoring the fact that they are carrying a fussing demon along the streets, Rui does not look human himself. He seems to take it in stride though; unconcerned by the business occurring around Asakusa, as Yoriichi continues to follow him through the streets.

Finally, they arrive at a dead end. He stares at Rui, stiffening. Did he trap him here?

“You don’t need to panic,” Rui says as if reading his thoughts. “One of my acquaintances hides our headquarters in a camouflaged Blood Demon Art. It is a measure against getting detected in Yushirou’s radar.” As if proving his point and easing the boy's anxiety, he steps forward, completely phasing through the faux fence.

Yoriichi takes a deep breath— if Rui says they have Michikatsu, then he'll do it. Besides, he doesn't seem to mean any harm. He goes through the fence, feeling everything warp around him as if he were phasing through water. Instinctively, he holds his breath, before he sees that he is no longer in-between the space of the illusion. He stares at a house by the lawn right in front of him, beckoning him to approach. He spots Rui, watching him with a curious gaze. It was less friendly like Senjurou’s, but less hostile unlike his father’s, so he accepted it.

“You do realize that your twin is a demon,” Rui states, as they enter the house. Yoriichi can smell the scent of tea wafting from the kitchen, and the glow of warm lights creating an effect wherein everything seems to be basking in a warm, xanthic glow.

“Demons don’t drink tea,” is what he says other than refuting this demon boy’s question. He looks taken aback by the change of topic, although he schools it entirely.

“... We have modified our bodies, enough to withstand human delicacies such as tea and sweets.”

Yoriichi hums, clearly interested. Shinjuro told him about demons’ hatred of human food, holding them with contempt, as they could not taste the delicacies they once had as humans. “I did not think it was possible.”

“You have not met many demons in your life.”

“My brother is one.”

“It still befuddles me— you know he is a demon, and yet, you do not leave him.”

Yoriichi’s face becomes conflicted. “He is my brother, and my only family left. Why would I leave him?”

The two of them enter a room smelling of gauze and ointments. There is a bed reserved for patients, a study desk covered with documents and a pen, a study desk, and some books about human anatomy with illustrations of the human body. It completely feels like a room of a doctor. Not like the rest of the house was lofty, of course, designed with the intent of imitating Western architecture. Yoriichi feels his stomach plummet— this smell is familiar, as he always could smell it when he enters his mother’s room, especially during her final days of life. The smell of life is overtaken by the smell of rotting and medicine that did not manage to cure her. Yoriichi can feel his eyes welled with tears, before he watches Rui placing the man that had been demonified down a medical table.

The man is still snarling, biting at his bondages, attempting to break out— Yoriichi makes a move to restrain him, but Rui holds out his hand. His surefire and stoic expression causes Yoriichi to stop in his tracks. “You need not worry— I have this under control.” As he says this, he pricks a sharpened finger on his arm, letting blood trickle out. A calm, wafting aura permeates around the room, causing Yoriichi to stagger. Bleary eyes watch as the man calms down, before drifting off to sleep.

Rui faces him once again, but upon seeing the lethargic state Yoriichi is in, widens his eyes. “My apologies. I should have warned you that my blood can cause patients to act docile and unaware of their environment. I'll have Gyomei help you return to consciousness.”

He barely processes this information as Rui's porcelain fingers reach for a string, pulling it. Rui tends to the man, getting rid of his binds, his back turned to a semi-conscious and slightly dazed Yoriichi. He hears the unmistakable sound of a door opening, to find a huge, hulking figure by the doorway. Yoriichi’s heart hammers, wanting to say that he's in danger, although the man's milky white lens did not give him much  reason to fight him.

The demon was, as mentioned before, huge, having to duck through the doorway. His skin is as gray as rock, and he possesses four arms, one of which is holding a cup of tea. It looks strange, when it seems thin and small in his large, bulking arms. He is wearing a Western suit, his black hair spiky and cropped short. He has prayer beads on his neck and one on a pair of his arms. He was extremely tall, taller than Michikatsu and Yoriichi, the very first time he must crane his neck so he could look at him.

When he looks down, he must be looking at Yoriichi, as he sighs and, after placing the cup of coffee on the desk, disappears, before returning with another porcelain cup that, Yoriichi decides, does not look like tea.

“Rui, I have mentioned this many times before: be careful with your Blood Demon Art. It could hurt and disorient people.” He extends the hand with a cup, and lightly, Yoriichi sees that he is holding the cup with two fingers. “This is a cure to help you with your addled mind. Drink slowly, so it can have a more efficient hold on making the Blood Demon Art dissolve.” Then, his focus returns to Rui. “I swear, between you and Genya, you are more reckless with your spells.”

“We can't all have Blood Demon Art that does not rely on poison like you,” Rui shoots back, trying not to roll his eyes. “Bring our guest to his brother, he is due for a reunion.”

Yoriichi cautiously takes a sip, and, after making a sour face at the bitter taste of the concoction, he feels his mind become less cloudy and more aware of his surroundings again. Holding the cup closer, he drinks, taking in the sight of the new demon. He is not Genya, it seems, but a jolt of excitement keeps him from being disappointed. The man is taking him to meet his brother!

“And you?” He asks.

Rui waves him off. “Once I move him to the basement, I will have my overdue conversation with this boy.”

The larger demon nods, before beckoning Yoriichi to follow. “Your brother awaits you in the lounge. He is accompanied by Genya. My name is Gyomei Himejima, and I am a demon against Yushirou Imakurusu.”

“I did not know there were demons who are not loyal to the Progenitor,” Yoriichi states as they head upstairs— Yoriichi feels himself relax when his instincts are saying that his brother is here, and, as of now, unharmed, with this Genya.

“Your brother is a demon, and he doesn’t seem to eat humans, due to ignoring the surplus amounts in the city whilst searching for you. And, from the looks of it, you are a demon slayer, so you are knowingly breaking a rule by keeping him alive.”

“How do you know—?”

“I may be blind, but I can hear that you breathe differently from other humans.”

They enter the first room upstairs, and Yoriichi is met with Michikatsu’s six eyes staring back at him. Before Yoriichi could speak, he was tackled to the ground by a rather irritated Michikatsu. From the look in his eyes, he was not pleased Yoriichi left him to go after the bad feeling he had about Yushirou being in the same city as they were.

“I had an explanation for that,” Yoriichi says instead, but it still did not please his brother.

“Your twin is a demon slayer?” A new voice says through the reunion (it being heartwarming was debatable), so Yoriichi turns to look at who spoke his current profession with disdain.

Michikatsu rolls all six of his eyes, but he gets off of Yoriichi. It’s clear that they will be talking about the stunt he pulled off later. This gives Yoriichi the attempt at looking at the demon who holds him in high disdain— it is a young man who seems to be in his twenties, wearing a purple nagagi with a white haori over it. The sclera of his eyes is pitch black, his pupils golden and glowing. His fangs are exposed and bared at Yoriichi.

His anger towards him, however, is eclipsed when his eyes wander to his ears— specifically towards his hanafuda earrings. “Wait, your earrings—! Where the hell did you find them?!”

Yoriichi blinks, subtly touching the earrings he is focusing on. “It’s a family heirloom.”

Genya wants to speak further, but he is interrupted by Rui appearing next to Gyomei. It seems he has finished tending to the demon, and has now moved him to the basement.

“Genya, do not be rude to our guests,” Rui admonishes him softly.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t know or assume that this guy’s twin was a demon slayer. They’re the type to strike first and ask questions later. Also, why the fuck did we bring him here?”

Rui makes eye contact with him. “Because he has met Yushirou Imakurusu.”

The room goes stock still. Gyomei stares at him, a surprised expression on his face. Meanwhile, Genya’s jaw had dropped, as if the idea of him meeting their maker was impossible. Yoriichi stares unabashedly until he feels someone tug at his haori. When he turns, he looks at Michikatsu’s six eyes— filled with worry, anger, and anguish. He was genuinely concerned that he would not survive the encounter with the King of Demons, the man who had caused everything.

He reassures his brother by holding his hand, their fingers twisting together.

“No fucking way.” Genya stands, glaring at Yoriichi in a scrutinizing manner. “He may have his earrings, but he doesn’t look like he’s cut out for that Breathing style. Although…” Genya’s eyes narrow when he looks at Michikatsu, who growls in response. He hates it when someone holds eye contact with him without his express permission. Yoriichi has never made eye contact longer than a few seconds, but that is only because he feels uncomfortable holding it more.

“He also helped me restrain a newly transformed demon— Yushirou may be responsible for it,” Rui says, unconcerned.

“I believed that Yushirou had done that to distract me from following him,” Yoriichi says, feeling regret for the man. He did not deserve to be catapulted into his mess, before being deprived of his humanity.

Genya scoffs. “The bastard would’ve fucking killed ya when he has the chance.”

“Genya,” Gyomei scolds; while the man rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, he instinctively shuts up.

“You cannot kill him, boy,” Gyomei tells Yoriichi. “He has multitudes of tricks up his sleeve. He will not like being defeated so easily. What could a measly, low-ranked demon slayer like you do to the Demon King?”

Yoriichi does not reply. He was right, after all— what was Yoriichi’s plan after abandoning Michikatsu to chase after that familiar feeling, as the entire world becomes smaller before exploding into bright fissures of light once he finds the figure of Yushirou? What will happen to him when he catches him alone, rather than with all those people?

Michikatsu looks at him. Don’t start running without me. He knows what that look means.

He supposes he had been in over his head when that entire thing had transpired. He had no plans, he was going in guns blazing, and when that happened… someone paid the price for it.

“Look,” Genya says, taking a deep breath to calm down. He gives Yoriichi a level look. “You must have a reason for being a demon slayer and traveling with your brother, who is a demon. He doesn’t seem to have lost his memories of being your brother, and he retains specific human traits.”

“I became a demon slayer to find a cure for my brother,” Yoriichi says. He was not sugarcoating it— that was his main motivation to join the corps, after all, in hopes they have some sort of cure. “I hoped that the Corps could find a cure for me, or I encounter a demon who knows something that could help my brother.” Genya laughs, bitterly. Yoriichi narrows his eyes. “Is there something funny with my motivation?” He asks the demon judgmentally, and Gyomei elbows Genya so he could cease laughing at him.

He stops laughing after a minute, fixing Yoriichi with an embittered sneer. “You really think those pompous fucking bastards in the Corps are interested in turning your brother to a human? They’d fucking kill him before you say a damn thing! They assume first before asking questions! That’s what I hate about them, especially the Pillars, the so-called heroes of humanity!”

“That’s not true,” Yoriichi rebukes, thinking of Hakuji, Senjurou, and Shinjurou. “The one who found me and my brother was a Pillar. The one who trained me was the Flame Pillar and his retired father.”

Genya does raise a brow at this statement. “The Rengokus taking the side of a demon, huh? Never thought I’d see the day.” He buries himself in his musings, symbolizing Rui to start over once more.

“I don’t believe we introduced ourselves properly to you,” he admits, sitting down next to Gyomei and Genya. “As I have said, I am Rui Ayaki, a demon doctor that specializes in medical herbs that can help humans recuperate from any kinds of illnesses. When I receive my payment, I use it to supply our coffers with blood packets from other sources.”

Ah, so that’s the other smell and feeling he picked up on from Rui and the other demons. They must have — with the exception of Gyomei — resorted to eating humans before, but after a while became domesticated enough to only live off of blood.

Rui must have noticed his expression, as he clarifies, “While that may seem distasteful, let me reassure you we take blood packets from hospitals and pay them handsomely. We seldom even ask for such supplements anymore as I continue experimenting with modifications on our body, and Gyomei needs them less.”

“You broke the connection with Yushirou,” Yoriichi infers.

Rui nods. “And I assume your brother did as well. He doesn’t seem to be interested in consuming flesh.”

Michikatsu shrugs. I try to control it.

“The two of us have been disconnected from that bastard for four hundred years,” Genya explains further, before pointing at Gyomei's direction. “This guy, however, has never been connected to him. We were the ones who turned him into a demon.”

Yoriichi’s eyes grow wide upon hearing this. “Only Yushirou can make demons.”

Rui nods. “Yes, it’s an achievement on its own. But don’t worry, we aren’t here so we could make more demons. In fact, we are doing the opposite: find demons that unwillingly became one and help them overcome their nature of devouring human flesh until their needs only consist of a few drops of blood.”

“Have your experiments been successful?”

“Very,” Genya says with pride. “Unlike those assholes in the Corps, we don’t kill these new, fledgling demons right away. They’re confused and dazed and can’t remember who they were. Hell, I’ve been through that awkward phase myself.” The nostalgic expression darkens.

“How do you do it?” Yoriichi asks.

Gyomei winces. “We lock them in the basement, and only feed them a few drops of blood.”

Yoriichi’s lips curl, but it is Michikatsu who responds, signing, So you starve them?

At the trio’s confused expressions, Yoriichi interprets for them.

Rui looks solemn. “We have no choice. It’s either they continue to be volatile or their hunger for humans increases, or we starve them until they are sated, ready for the second stage and their assimilation to humanity.”

Well, it’s not like they have any other choice. He remembered what Aniue had been like when he regained consciousness after becoming a demon before Yoriichi talked some sense into him. It seems that Michikatsu had been one of the lucky ones who did not need to be starved to get their humanity to resurge from the depths.

“So, you all are doctors, or at the very least, researching human and demon anatomy,” Yoriichi begins, the idea in his head. “Do you know of a cure that can turn a demon back into a human?”

Rui and Genya exchange glances. Rui shakes his head, looking quite regretful. The hope in Yoriichi’s heart plummets, and he feels Michikatsu tug at his sleeve again, as a symbol of his support for him.

“I apologize for getting your hopes up, but we have yet to find a cure,” Rui answers, his brows furrowed, tone apologetic. Somehow, it is even worse than someone laughing at him for such a ridiculous dream. “I believe that demons learning how to be human again is enough.”

Yoriichi shakes his head. “It’s not enough to me.”

Genya glares at him. “Watch your fucking mouth, kid. All of us have been alive for longer than you have. Do you think we haven’t tried to look for a cure? It’s a fat fucking chance, but roll with us here!”

Rui breathes. “What Genya is trying to say, is that we would love to begin a groundbreaking discovery for a cure-all. However…” He stands, smoothing over his clothes. “May we discuss our terms and conditions first over a cup of tea? I believe you two are starving.”

***

Aoi is irritated. It had been a dream come true that her Master had trusted her enough to summon her for a mission— not only that, he promised to make them Lower Moons once they had gotten powerful enough! It is everything Aoi could ask for! She tries not to let her excitement show, but from the way her butterflies are fluttering all around her, it is difficult to notice if she is excited or not.

Once this mission is over and she has gained the pleasure of her master, she’ll ask Kyogai to let her visit her sister! She will tell her about how she had gained the favor of their Master, and her sister will praise her and give her more of the butterflies!

It is a dream come true…

Opium smoke fills the air, combating Aoi’s natural scent of butterflies, medicine, and oil. Her mood immediately sours when she remembers who she’s with.

“Rokuro, will it quit you to stop filling the entire room with the scent of opium?” She questions, finding the demon she’d been partnered up with distasteful. She could’ve preferred Makomo, however, she was off trying to find that Doctor Pillar Master so badly wants. Or maybe Zenitsu, another one of Yushirou’s favorites, but he was also on Doctor searching duty. She fans the smoke away, as it kills more of her butterflies, much to her annoyance.

“Relax, Blue Butterfly,” she bristles at the nickname, Rokuro grinning coyly at her. She blanches, hating the way his eyes are all over her body. Asswipe. She’ll get her sister to kill him— no, she can do it herself. She does not need her older sisters to do it for her. “I’m using my opium to scent the boy with hanafuda earrings.”

“Would it kill you not to spread it around us?” She snarls. “My butterflies are better at tracking that miscreant down!”

Rokuro rolls his eyes. “Just trust me on this, little lady.”

Aoi scoffs, crossing her arms as she and Rokuro walk through desolate street after desolate street. Neither are interested in talking to each other, so the two of them walk silently through the streets. The only sound is Rokuro’s rather lackadaisical humming, puffing through opium as if it wasn’t the most addicting drug at the time. Had he been an addict in his past life? Surely that must be the case— Aoi lived through the era of the Opium Wars, after all, and she developed a distaste for it.

Rokuro, for some reason, stops suddenly in front of a dead end. He looks at it quizzically.

Aoi huffs. “Admit it, you got us lost, and you didn’t have that boy’s lead after all.”

Rokuro growls, emitting more smoke that is humanely possible. “I found the boy— he is beyond this dead end.”

Aoi rolls her eyes. “There’s a reason why it’s called a dead end, Rokuro. Either he climbed over the wall, or you’re bluffing.”

“No, but can’t you tell? There’s something off about this wall,” Rokuro says, raising his head to the air, beginning to sniff around them. He smirks. “Ah, I knew it. This is the work of a Blood Demon Art.”

Aoi frowns. “That can’t be it— what are they doing housing a demon slayer with them?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know and I don’t care— as long as I become a Twelve Kizuki member.”

Well, she can’t quite argue with that— she can’t wait to see the proud looks she knows her sisters will make when they see that she has now become one of them. She’s disappointed them so many times, especially when their brother, who was younger than she is, has become part of the Lower Moons before she did.

Rokuro places a hand on the wall, and the two of them watch with bated breath as it paces through, like there was nothing between them and the boy they were looking for.

Aoi breathes. “It is a Blood Demon Art.”

“C’mon now,” he beckons her, as he slips inside. “I don’t want to do this all day.”

She rolls her eyes, but follows him. “Yes, you’re right. I don’t care.”

***

The five of them transfer to the lounge on the first floor, to accommodate easier to Rui’s cravings for tea. Genya jokes about how, since they have modified their bodies enough to taste some human delicacies, Rui spends most of his time ordering Gyomei to make him a special brew of tea. Yoriichi and Michikatsu sit by a couch draped with floral patterns, as Gyomei offers them some snacks and a cup of tea. Unsurprisingly, Michikatsu distances himself from the tea, as Yoriichi, for politeness’s sake, takes a sip.

It was… oddly sweet, in a charming, heartwarming way.

“Creating a cure to turn demons back to humans is unheard of, but with the sources I have, are not impossible,” Rui says with conviction. “I believe we are able to help you.”

Yoriichi’s eyes grow wide, about to give his thanks, but Michikatsu stops him by signing, What’s the catch?

Rui bites his lip as Yoriichi translates. “The first condition is simple enough— I would need a sample of your blood, Michikatsu. We are not sure why it took you so long to resist human flesh without beginning to starve, and you seem to be holding off well.”

Michikatsu blinks, but nods slowly, giving them the okay. Genya motions Gyomei to get the syringe from one of Rui’s drawers, which he obeys.

“But my second request is a lot more dangerous, and I would be asking you to risk your life,” Rui says in an apologetic tone.

Yoriichi shakes his head. “It’s fine. What is this second request?”

Rui and Genya exchange glances. Rui clears his throat, “You must extract samples of blood from any of the Twelve Kizuki.”

Michikatsu stiffens, but he still extends his arm so that Gyomei can prick it with the syringe, drawing a vial of blood from the demon.

Yoriichi raises a brow. “The Twelve Kizuki? I heard from my mentor that these demons are the twelve most powerful serving directly under Yushirou.”

“I know it is a lot to ask of you, but they have the highest consecration of Yushirou’s blood. If anything, getting the amount of blood can help us find a way to reverse-engineer it and get rid of the curse Yushirou had implanted on them.”

Yoriichi tilts his head. “Are you not able to find any of the Kizuki?”

“Hey, don’t try and call us cowards,” Genya says, scoffing. “We’re wanted in the entire demon world for turning coat on Yushirou. They’re hunting us down as we speak— and keeping a low profile is how we survived for centuries. They can level cities, second to Yushirou’s power. They will be relentless.”

Michikatsu signs, And you think my newly-made swordsman of a brother has better time finding them for you?

Genya whirls to glare at Michikatsu, teeth bared. “Oi, this is a condition. It depends on whether your brother is smart enough to deny it—”

Gyomei puts a hand on Genya’s shoulder, and like a disciplined child, he stands down. He looks towards Yoriichi. “Will you take the mission, Yoriichi? We will not have any qualms if you deny.”

Yoriichi nods, understanding. It is the only way for him to find a lead to take the cure. “I accept this mission, Rui. But how would I know what these Twelve Kizuki members look like?”

Genya raises a brow. “You said that your mentor gave you a crash course about demons. Surely you know the difference between your average demon and a Kizuki?”

“To be fair, you’re all not average demons…”

Genya laughs, looking fond and happy for the first time since he had come here. “Okay, that’s fair. We all have our fair share of having encountered with those twelve bastards, mostly because we’re being hunted by them…”

Rui veers the topic back before Genya returns to his reminiscing. “You can always identify whether or not they are a member of the Moons through looking at their eyes. If they are a Waning Moon, they only have their numerical ranking on any part of their eye. Besides, they look weak, anyways.”

Yoriichi is uncertain if he should trust Rui over who he says is weak or not.

“The Waxing Moons is who you should be wary of the most,” Genya explains further. “Those guys are Yushirou’s strongest, and their blood levels are even more consecrated than the Lower Moons. The higher you go, the higher their blood levels. You’ll know they’re a Waxing Moon because of their terrifying power and aura, able to level cities in one fell swoop, and the fact they have their ranking on both eyes.”

“You seem to speak from experience,” Yoriichi observes, welcoming Michikatsu back by scooting over the seat.

Genya scoffs, sounding rather sad. “How can I fucking not? I’m the younger brother of Waxing Moon Two. They’ve been trying to find me and Rui ever since the two of us defected.”

His eyes grow wide. “Waxing Moon Two?”

“Yeah, don’t fucking ask.”

Yoriichi shuts his mouth, nodding. He can see a sore subject from a mile away.

“Now that you’ve accepted what you need to do in order to turn your twin back into a human, I was hoping I can ask you some questions,” Rui says after finishing his cup of tea, placing it on the top of a drawer.

“Of course, I have nothing to hide from you.”

Yoriichi looks away as he sees a blue butterfly peeking from the corner. Strange, he’s never seen that butterfly around here before. He doubts that this house is even perceptive to bugs.

“Those hanafuda earrings,” Rui points to them, “do you know the story behind those?”

Yoriichi frowns. His hanafuda earrings have become the subject of many conversations before— from Shinjurou, to Yushirou paying more attention to the trinkets, to Genya noticing it about his appearance, and now Rui. What do these earrings hold? Do they provide some mystical powers, as it even enchants the demons?

He shakes his head. Butterflies are flapping around the place. He wonders if he should tell them about the overwhelming sight of these butterflies, since they are swarming. He could not stop focusing on them. Do they know they are being accosted by butterflies? They seem unaware.

Rui hums, disappointed. “Well, there had once been a swordsman with the same—”

“Do you have a greenhouse nearby?” Yoriichi interrupts, his eyes on the butterflies. His dominant hand goes for his sword immediately. Whatever these things are, they're not real butterflies. In fact, they feel… wrong. Almost like Yushirou’s suffocating presence, but weaker and more spread out.

Genya looks bereaved by the question, and Gyomei tilts his head at the suddenness of the shift in conversation. Rui shakes his head, confused. “No?”

“So these butterflies aren’t any of yours?” Yoriichi asks, standing.

This gets Rui’s attention, and he realizes that they are surrounded by these azure butterflies. Genya gasps, eyes wide open with recognition.

“Fuck, I know who these butterflies come from. They're—”

Before he could finish that sentence, a large swarm of butterflies floating around them descend upon him, causing Genya to let out cusses and insults as blood covers the wings of the butterflies. Yoriichi watches in horror as Genya drops to the floor, headless. His body twitches, signifying he is alive, and his head is starting to regenerate, albeit slowly.

“We’ve been found by demons!” Rui declares, as if it wasn’t obvious.

In an instant, Yoriichi transitions to a defensive posture, as he unsheathed his katana from its scabbard to hold his own against the trespassers.

Turns out, he did not need to go outside at all; for the butterflies, largely ignoring the rest of them after the horrific display of literally eating one’s skin alive, gets to work destroying a portion of the house’s wall, exposing the demon — or demons, seeing there is two of them — standing right behind their door, smirking.

“Well, well, well,” says the male demon, puffing out smoke from a pipe. Yoriichi watches as the smoke wafts into the air, its vicinity growing wide and never fading. “If it isn’t the boy with the hanafuda earrings.” Suddenly, Rui places a handkerchief on Yoriichi’s nose, looking extra cautious.

“This demon emits opium smoke from his pipe!” Rui says, “Do not inhale it!”

Rokuro only sneers at them. “What’s wrong with having a little fun?”

Aoi smugly moves a finger, and the butterflies return to swarm them all.

Chapter Text

The instant that these loathsome butterflies descended upon them, Michikatsu shields Yoriichi from the worst of it— Yoriichi watches in horror as lacerations begin appearing throughout his brother’s arm, with Michikatsu’s face scrunched in pain. If he did not have the muzzle stuck in his mouth, he would be grunting due to discomfort right now. His expression forces Yoriichi to stabilize himself, reminding him that not only was his life at stake but also these demons that had promised to help him find a cure for his brother. Yoriichi feels the fabric of the handkerchief on his hand and immediately ties it around his nose as tight as possible.

“Hold on, aren’t you a demon?” Asks the demon holding the pipe, still puffing up opium throughout the house. Not even the handkerchief Yoriichi has steadily tied to his nose in order to avoid inhaling the poppy scent can hold up to the utterly thick aroma that the substance has. Is this the work of a Blood Demon Art? “Why’re you protecting him?”

Aoi continues to summon butterflies to assault Michikatsu, but Yoriichi slashes them all, accessing the transparent world. No use— since these butterflies were created from Blood Demon Art, they do not appear in his extraordinary vision of the world around him. Only the demons around the room, but how could he focus on chopping off their heads when one is purposefully trying to get his inhibitions to lessen, while another is sending predatory butterflies along his way.

Suddenly, spiderwebs descend upon Rokuro, forcefully knocking the pipe from his grasp, sending it to the ground. A startled Rokuro moves to get it, but a thread of spider silk takes it away from his reach, to the expectant palms of Rui.

“You’re not going to materialize more opium without this,” he says smugly, before he breaks it.

Rokuro growls, and the opium cloud above them darkens. “You think that my powers rely on that measly pipe? Well, think again!”

The opium cloud swirls above them, as if it was acting more like a thunder cloud rather than a cloud of ecstasy and debauchery, before moving— towards Yoriichi, specifically. Yoriichi holds tight to the handkerchief around his nose, but he mistakenly leaves his eyes open as the cloud bypasses him.

Suddenly, the entire world becomes increasingly vibrant and colorful, along with many wavy lines and shapes dancing in the corners of his eyes.

Oh no.

He had accidentally ingested opium.

“Gyomei,” Rui calls for Gyomei, who’d been evading butterflies the best he can. He doesn’t seem all that worried about the predatory butterflies— when they nick at his skin, it regenerates as quickly as they can. “Get the vial that cures people of antidotes from psychedelic Blood Demon Art!”

Gyomei nods, clearing away any butterfly surrounding him, squashing them.

Aoi lets out a shriek of terror and anger. “You– you killed my butterflies! I am having your head for this!”

“‘Your’ butterflies?” Rui scoffs, from where he’s currently helping up a slowly regenerating Genya. His bottom jaw has successfully been regenerated, but there is still a long way to go. “As far as I know, these are someone else’s Blood Demon Art. You’re just a cheap copy.”

Aoi’s face becomes murderous. “I am not!” She growls, summoning more of these butterflies towards Rui’s general direction. “I have another Blood Demon Art outside of my sister’s butterflies!”

Yoriichi staggers, holding firm. Seeing that his normal eyesight is useless, he sees if he could still access the transparent world despite his addled state in order to get a read on what the situation is without his unreliable mind.

To his relief, the transparent world is untampered with what had happened in real life, as if having been blown by a cloud of opium did not hinder one of his main trump cars. While not being able to see the carnivorous butterflies was a caveat he hopes he could get around, he sees Aoi moving towards Rui.

In a flash, he takes off, pinpointing her location through the transparent world. He ignores the nicks of the butterflies, knowing he could heal those later.

With his sword ready, he aims it right towards Aoi’s neck.

Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire!

Unsurprisingly, she dodges his blow immediately, causing him to stumble slightly before regaining his footing, looking around for Aoi. he feels the swarm of those winged, dreaded insects all around them, but he cannot find Aoi anywhere.

Rui gasps behind him. “Yoriichi, above—”

It is the only warning Yoriichi gets before he senses someone plummet down. He dashes away, avoiding Aoi lunging at him just in time.

The transparent world flickers back into that disoriented, mind breaking state that he’d been avoiding once more, causing Yoriichi to groan and stumble once more.

He could feel the blood rushing to his ears, his heart thumping fast being felt through the bones of his chest, and the telltale, cold feeling of those carnivorous insect trying to rip him apart. He can feel blood trickling down his bones already, and he grits his teeth in order to ignore the pain happening to him.

Yoriichi Breathes.

“I’m surprised you can still move in this state,” Rokuro says from behind him— however, due to getting distracted by the sudden rush of noise to his ear, he fails to process the fist colliding with his chest, knocking him back towards the wall, letting out an exhale.

He groans in pain, tethering on the edge of unconsciousness.

Michikatsu lets out a distressed noise, while Rui gets over his shock at seeing Yoriichi flung like that, summons his spiderwebs, covering Rokuro’s hands with silk.

He sneers, breaking them apart with his claws. “You think that’s going to stop me, boy?”

“No,” he replies confidently before he himself spills out his blood. “But I can do the same thing you can.”

The room is plunged with the smell of calm, relaxing odor, intermixing with the addictive smell of opium.

Aoi choked, eyes watering, as Rokuro growled at the tide of battle turning against their favor.

“I may be a boy, but I’ve been living longer than you all have.” Without any preamble, Rui shoots another web toward Rokuro, effectively restraining him.

“Two can play this damn game!” He roars petulantly, opium smoke coming out of his mouth as the opium cloud becomes bigger. He was not lying about not requiring to use his pipe so he could produce more opium-induced smoke.

The opium cloud approaches the swarm of butterflies, and they both coalesce into a perfectly mixed Blood Demon Art.

Meanwhile, Genya has been placed in the operating table in the basement, as Gyomei fumbles around to find the aforementioned antidote for Yoriichi. It was hard enough with his limited vision (formally relying on the transparent world to continue moving), but when the house is under attack due to a severe miscalculation of his Blood Demon Art not being able to conceal enough, this is all on him to try and pick up the pieces. His art is more defensive and disorienting— he is not used to combat, as they have done their damndest to avoid any and all threats to their peace and help of humans. Gyomei himself had been trained in harnessing his magic in defense and help, not the destructive countenance of Genya’s Blood Demon Art.

(“It’s a holdover from my past as a horrible man,” he told him a long time ago, when Gyomei had been a simple priest who was saved from demons by demons themselves, even if they were not immune to wisteria.)

Genya’s regeneration, although slow, a drawback of their centuries of body modifications, lets him have the roof of his mouth back, now able to articulate what had happened. “What the fuck just happened?!”

“We were ambushed by Yushirou’s goons,” Gyomei says, still searching for the counter with the vial for the cure. Why can’t he fucking hurry? “Michikatsu and Rui are currently holding them off.”

“And what about the demon slayer?”

“Disoriented because of the opium, and unconscious.”

He hears Genya sigh, before swearing. “Fuck. I’ll find the vial. You get the fuck back out there. Rui’s strong but one of them… she’s Seina’s sister.”

“That explains the butterflies.”

“She’s a fucking sister of a huntress demon.”

“I can tell,” Gyomei says dryly, but with the problem of looking for the vial underway, he returns to the fray to see that he has arrived in record time.

Michikatsu, while he is strong, is holding off rather poorly against Rokuro, who, despite his shorter physique and lean body type, is currently overpowering the six-eyed demon. Michikatsu glares through his muzzle, completely unaffected by the addictive smell of opium.

“You’re strong for a new demon,” Rokuro says mockingly, as he leans forward, much to Michikatsu’s disgust. He really wants to get out of this asshole’s grip, and immediately come to the aid of Yoriichi. Aside from being knocked unconscious, along with the stench of blood filling the air, he doesn’t seem to be meddled with. Though, he doubts that Yoriichi is able to get up after literally being thrown across the room.

Mchikatsu growls in response— he wishes that he was strong enough to develop his Blood Demon Art outside of relying on his newly reimbursed physique. However, gaining the same powers as a normal demon means that he would begin eating people, something Genya made clear as to the reason why they had Blood Demon Art in the first place. He kicks him on the knees as strong as he can, sending him outside— a much deserved fate after what he’d done to his brother.

Thinking this could keep him at the ropes, he returns his focus to Yoriichi, who was groaning, but not at all budging. Michikatsu accesses the transparent world— ever since he’s become a demon, his vision would unconsciously changed from the real world to whatever see-through world he had ended up in. It was rather useful when it comes to fighting.

Yoriichi is… fine. If he is looking over the perspective that he is still alive and did not to be resuscitated. But in terms of his injuries, he is sure that he has a minor head injury and a few broken ribs due to sudden impact to the wall. They need to get this treated immediately.

Swatting away a few butterflies (much to an indignant Aoi’s squawking, who was currently fighting against Rui— he’s uncertain who’s winning due to their abilities almost being the same) he kneels next to Yoriichi, making contact with his skin.

Yoriichi was hot.

Like the burning sun.

Wake up, Yoriichi, he thinks to himself, his brows furrowing. These guys aren't going to die by themselves.

He gets distracted by a couple of butterflies blocking his view, eager to get a taste out of him. Cautiously, he dodges out of the way, narrowing a set of his eyes towards Aoi, who was smugly laughing as she continues her fight against Rui, dodging most of the threads he'd summoned.

“You can't really use your full power when there are other people in the room, can't you?” She assumes, and Rui's shoulders stiffens, meaning she's hit it right in the shoulder.

“You're right,” Rui admits, before he makes eye contact with Michikatsu. “Michikatsu, deal with her! I'll take care of Rokuro!”

Before Aoi could even say anything, he immediately jumps out the hole which Rokuro had created. Before Aoi could follow him, she is accosted by Michikatsu, who immediately holds her wrists, tackling her to the ground, causing a loud thump to echo through the rickety floorboards.

Yoriichi groans, trying to regain his consciousness. However, all he could smell was that addictive, fresh aroma of opium, blood, and bile. He doesn't know where the last one came from. He tries to sit up, but finds out he couldn't, slumping back down.

Everything still looks like some sort of caricature except they're blooming with offensive doodles. An abstraction of real life, things like that.

He feels a weight next to him, and a shadow above his eyes. Except of alertness and panic, he feels safe. He knows better than to open his eyes, knowing that the influence of the opium will cloud his vision greatly.

“Apologies for taking so long to get the cure,” Gyomei’s deep rumble tells him, sounding vehemently guilty for letting him experience this fleeting feeling all on his own. It's like his world was fake, but the sensations he currently feels from the ringing of his ears, to the liquid streaming down his face, to the fact that he feels like he tasted iron in his tongue, well, are authentic. There's no sign he could tell.

He could distantly feel a prick on his arm, but he doesn't flinch. That small flash of pain was gone in no time, as if it hasn't happened at all.

But then…

Yoriichi gives it five, no, ten minutes. Gyomei did not wait for him to heal, heading immediately to aid his brother.

Finally, after a while, his senses start to clear again. It comes to a point where, when he opens his eyes, he isn't in some form of abstracted land or whatnot. He was in the real world, and, with the butterflies swarming around Michikatsu and Gyomei only, he has ample time to land a sneak attack on the demon girl. Once he finally feels like he is alright to stand, with staggering feet, taking a deep breath thanks to the fractured limbs, he brandishes his sword and dashes to his opponent.

Flame Breathing, Fifth Form: Flame Tiger!

Aoi gasps at the sudden contact the cold, nichirin steel has on her skin, before regaining her composure and turning her skin elastic, almost like a roll of bandages being unfurled. Michikatsu recovers quickly from the sudden physique change, retracting his hand before an army of butterflies eat his eyes out, dashing away as swiftly as he could.

“You help Rui with the other demon!” He tells Gyomei, “Michikatsu and I can handle her.”

Gyomei nods obediently, as he runs from this battlefield and onto the one outside. Yoriichi wonders how Rui’d been holding up before Gyomei came to the fray.

Yoriichi unfurls his own sword from the faux skin— he doesn’t give Aoi any time to regain her senses as he once again returns to a proper Breathing stance. He wants to get this over with. He knows that Yushirou has summoned the two of them in order to kill him— he could infer this much.

Flame Breathing, Seventh Form: Stirring Embers!

Aoi gets caught by surprise at the attack, shielding herself with her butterflies as she tries to wrangle her hands back to solid form once more. It must be the side effects of using something unrelated to insects like those.

Successfully, Yoriichi makes her bleed. Unsuccessfully, it does not cut her head off— more like, it made her pissed.

“Agh, stupid boy!” She screams, snarling at him, fangs bared. Suddenly, her arm extends, and Yoriichi has no time to stop this onslaught as she begins to strangle him with no care or remorse. “I’ll fucking take your head to my Master! That way, he can display your head for everyone to see that you are better off dead!”

Yoriichi chokes, his sword clattering onto the floors as he tries to get Aoi to stop. He remembers how Father had done this to him in his childhood— he did not know what he did to make him so damn angry, but he still did and he paid the price for it.

Seeing Yoriichi manhandled so carelessly, reminiscent of their father’s harsh treatment of him no less, fills Michikatsu with so much anger and fear that he lets go of his inhibitions, his need to protect his younger brother from the dangers of the world more important than controlling himself, to keep himself from being demonic is overtaking his senses.

With an enraged snarl, he passes through the swarm of butterflies dividing Aoi from the rest of the demons, not caring about the countless slices, lacerations, and even dismembered parts of his body. He cuts off Aoi’s arms with… he is not sure if it had been his claws that did the cutting, as he felt his skin begin to bubble into something more… practical. Something that could be of better use rather than using his arms all the time to fight something.

Whatever it was, it did the job perfectly— it sliced through Aoi’s arms as if it were just jelly, falling to the ground. Aoi screams, stumbling at the loss of her arms.

She turns to glare at him. “You—!”

He doesn’t let her finish, as he kicks her to the wall, similar to how Rokuro had done to Yoriichi.

He doesn’t let her get up, kicking her again.

And again.

A choked scream comes out of Aoi’s mouth, but then it was silenced by a swift kick from Michikatsu.

Again and again.

It’s almost as if Michikatsu was… enjoying it. How he had managed to cut off her arms matters not— what matters more is the fact that he is brutalizing his fight with Aoi unnecessarily.

It makes Yoriichi afraid— he’s never found affinity through violence. Neither does Michikatsu but had no choice in doing what he does in order to protect his brother from the vices of others.

So, Yoriichi makes his decision. He sheathes his sword and approaches Michikatsu. He seems to have grown larger in size, but he still keeps the bamboo muzzle in his mouth.

“Aniue.” He beckons, his voice as soft as ever— contradictory of what he wants to do, yes, but he decides shouting is not going to help the two of them in the long run.

Michikatsu, instinctively, stops as if Yoriichi’s world means the world to him.

(It does.)

Michikatsu looks at Yoriichi with an expression Yoriichi could tell means an apology. He would’ve reassured his brother, telling him he did what he must, however, they are interrupted by an enraged Aoi’s scream and butterflies coming to nip and bite at Yoriichi’s skin. Michikatsu, while also being bitten at, did not really get hurt much due to his regenerative abilities. Aoi glares at them indignantly, despite the fact that both her arms are still regenerating, and her eyes are biting back tears from whatever pain Michikatsu had inflicted on her.

“You guys think you’re going to win this and behead me?!” She screams, and a swarm of butterflies converges around her. “You sure as hell won’t! I’m not letting you! I was only here to scout you out!”

Yoriichi narrows his eyes. “Whatever power you have, I will make sure to counter it.”

Aoi sneers. “You would, wouldn’t you? Very well then. Blood Demon Art: Azure Giant!” As she says this, the butterflies all group together, but not like they’re a swarm. Instead, they conjoin together, becoming larger, and larger, until Yoriichi and Michikatsu learn that they are about to be fighting some larger-than-life butterfly. Yoriichi, after getting over his initial shock, tries to continue aiming for Aoi’s head.

She smiles at him. “You have a lot of nerve trying to get to my head when there’s a perfectly good monster for you to swing it by.”

“I am going to chop your head off in order to dispel this Demon Art,” he says, before dashing towards her with the ungodly amount of speed that he has been praised for.

Aoi’s eyes grow wide slightly.

Flame Breathing, Third Form: Blazing Universe.

She did not judge in time for Yoriichi to make a laceration on her face, causing blood to spill out. Aoi stumbles backwards, but before Yoriichi could get a hit in, the incessant flapping of a butterfly’s wings grabs his attention— before he could process what is happening, the wind around them picks up, and without knowing it, he is now outside. He could spot Aoi watching him and his brother fall onto the lawn before she disappears, leaving her Blood Demon Art behind.

“No use dragging this fight out for too long,” Aoi murmurs to herself as her arms finish regenerating, looking at the fight on the lawn. Rokuro managed to disorient Gyomei with his opium tricks, causing the butterfly to focus on him, while Rui got himself tied up in his own threads, perhaps due to the opium. She laughs to herself. “And I have no use using my full power for a simple observation mission.” Knowing that the Blood Demon Art will wear off in time or the others manage to defeat it, she dashes out of the house, and out of the lawn without gaining the attention of the others.

Yoriichi lunges towards the butterfly— the wind is annoyingly keeping him from getting close, but he tries to go faster, faster than what Breath of Flame allows him to do.

He lets his sword get ready, and explodes into a dance— he envisions the heat of the sun, closing his eyes as his nichirin blade makes contact with what he hopes is the weakest spot of the butterfly.

Suddenly, the butterfly lets out a high screech, before the wind becomes less wild, and when Yoriichi opens his eyes, the butterflies are no longer there.

Yoriichi lets out a relieved exhale, before letting out hacking coughs. Michikatsu rubs his back soothingly.

“Do not worry about me,” he reassures him. “It’s the broken ribs.”

Michikatsu looks at him, before signing, You didn’t do a Flame Breathing move there.

Yoriichi blinks. “What?”

His brother stares before he shakes his head. Rui’s in trouble. Let’s help him.

Yoriichi immediately stands back, alert, ignoring how his ribs are currently protesting the sudden movements. “All right, let’s help him.”

Somehow, Rokuro’s opium Blood Demon Art had grown stronger when he was outside— the cloud still hangs overhead, and somehow, Rokuro has procured a pipe from nowhere despite the fact Rui had broken his pipe a few minutes ago. He smirks at Rui, who was struggling at the bonds Rokuro had summoned by turning the opium cloud into solid form before binding Rui up, catching him offguard with his delusions.

“You’ve gotta tell me what you are seeing in your delusion-filled world,” he calls out to him, but Rui ignores him, muttering to himself.

Yoriichi and Michikatsu exchange a look. All of a sudden, Michikatsu lunges towards Rokuro, which surprises the other demon a little, but he flicks a finger. The opium cloud parts with something that resembles a ball being thrown, before making impact with Michikatsu’s leg, sending him sprawling down.

Yoriichi throws his head back at the bleeding mess that is his older brother’s leg and his prone form. “Aniue!”

“He can’t regenerate quickly, can’t he?” Rokuro snickers as if what he’d done was just child’s play and not something Yoriichi finds unforgivable.

Michikatsu signs not to worry about him— that Yoriichi should defeat this demon so he could help the rest of them.

Yoriichi nods, glaring at Rokuro. “You did not have to do that to my brother.”

“My Blood Demon Art is something you are unable to avoid,” Rokuro says, as a cloud of opium passes by Yoriichi’s face once more, letting him stumble back from surprise. He did not expect that.

He closes his eyes when the cloud passes him, and he fears opening them again and being met by a world that confused and scared him rather than the real world where he believes that things make more sense.

But when he opens his eyes, he was not met with such a world. In fact, it seems that his senses have remained, much to his relief. The cure which Gyomei had administered to him must have turned him immune to the rest of the onslaught of opium.

Thank goodness. He doesn’t think he can handle more of that overload of senses.

“Your demon art will not work on me any longer,” Yoriichi says as he runs towards Rokuro, who seems to be slightly surprised that the opium cloud did not make the slayer disoriented.

“That's fine, I have other tricks up my sleeve,” Rokuro says, waving his arms around. The opium cloud begins to move, forming different kinds of shapes. “Blood Demon Art: Opium Storm.”

And Yoriichi thought that the opium cloud was dense enough. This one began expanding through the lawn, clouding the night sky with the sense of ecstasy and relief, only illusions for what ugliness it hides beneath such attempts of lofty dreams. The opium cloud moves in order to float through him again, perhaps giving him a stronger dose of the pipe drug, however, he readies himself to the onslaught, before beginning to rapidly dodge any and all impacts that the smoke makes.

For Yoriichi, he was only dodging, underappreciating his speed and blaming himself for getting injured and disoriented during the entire fight. He feels guilt when he sees Rui and Gyomei— though the former seems to be removing himself from the effects of the drug. However, for Rokuro and Michikatsu, the two being the only ones to see how fast Yoriichi is going, saw his evades, dodges and dashes as confusing torrents of colors, with Michikatsu the only one perceiving him— barely.

(He was like a prism, a rainbow that creates light from rain and light.)

Before Rokuro could even process what is happening, Yoriichi’s determined face appears right before him.

“Flame Breathing, Fourth Form: Blooming Flame Undulation!” He exclaims, slashing Rokuro through different parts of his body before finally claiming his head. Yoriichi lands on the ground, his hair that was as wavy as the sea of sun swishing left-and-right as he does so. He was like a graceful swan stepping out of the pond.

Rokuro’s head falls to the ground, as he looks up at Yoriichi who, despite all the things he’s done in this hideous, monstrous life he calls his, stares at him with pity.

With tears in Rokuro’s eyes, he closes them, letting himself disintegrate as he remembers the sins he’d committed decades ago.

The opium cloud dissipates.

Chapter Text

Once Yoriichi had beheaded Rokuro, he falls back, with Michikatsu catching him before he could collide with the ground. He starts panting— his body feels like he is burning, blazing through the rest of his innards as if he has come in contact with the sun that nurtures them all. He could even feel drops of sweat forming on his head, glistening with it as he looks at his brother’s worried eyes. He opens his mouth so he could speak and reassure his brother that he is fine, but all that comes out is a tortured groan.

Michikatsu simply holds him, and Yoriichi finds himself melting upon the touch. He misses this— his older brother being tender, acting as his shield against the world that is so cruel to bereave them of happiness. He wonders what he’d done in his past life to deserve having such a hard life right now.

He feels Michikatsu’s claws shift through his hair, and he lets him, still panting. He cannot concentrate on his Breathing, too high on the rapidly depleting adrenaline that had continued to guide him through this mission, and his sword must have fallen out of his hand a while ago, since when he clenches his fist, he touches nothing but the fabric of his haori.

He hears commotion behind him, but Michikatsu did not move, meaning that it was safe to continue acting like the world has continued to spin another day.

He hears Genya hiss, but the sound was muffled— his hearing is getting a lot worse when he is in a recovery stage. He’s never faced exhaustion as terrible as this. He never thought there’d be the day he would overextend in his injuries.

“Damn, and I thought that getting my head eaten by butterflies was overkill,” Genya comments, before asking Michikatsu if he could carry Yoriichi to the table. “I’m just going to apply some bandages on him. Gods know he’d fucking need it, with those fucked up ribs of his.”

Said fucked up ribs throb with immense discomfort as he attempts to apply pressure on them to breathe properly. Not even doing Total Concentration was forcing him to lose focus and slip into unconsciousness, forcing him to see stars.

Something is offered near his lips. He scrunches in disgust, not wanting to eat whatever they’re offering him. His eyes are bleary and he can only look up, the ceiling being his only friend. Someone taps him. He identifies it as Michikatsu, when he hears the sound of his older brother humming from above him. He did not sound scared, so Yoriichi should not be scared at all either.

“These are painkillers,” Genya explains, offering it to his palm instead, seeing that he is not going to accept anything that is just forced into his mouth. “Pop ‘em in there. Maybe you’ll feel less like shit.”

Yoriichi obeys, placing the pill into his mouth. Michikatsu offers him a glass of water, which Yoriichi readily accepts. It has been a while since he hydrated himself, as he gulps down the liquid as if it were nothing. He does not feel refreshed, but he does feel like his bones were no longer burning and there was not a fever running through his body. Although, his ribs are still opposing even the slightest movement, as he flinches or become surprise whenever he shifts in his place to drink properly.

“That injury’s going to be a bitch to heal,” Genya mutters, and Michikatsu nods. “You should take a damn break until you’re finished healing.”

Yoriichi opens his mouth, and yet, he still could not speak, to his consternation. The times he wanted to speak, his body prohibits him from doing so.

“So, you’re a Breath of Flame User, huh?” Genya asks with a bitter smirk, crossing his arms. Yoriichi nods. “Your mentor is one of the Rengokus, I take it?” Another nod. Genya laughs— it sounded like he was mocking Yoriichi’s choice in masters, but it dissolves into a bitter laugh in the end, with a sad inflection in his eyes. “The Rengokus are a fucking nightmare to reason with. I’m surprised they didn’t kill your brother on the spot.”

“They are kind.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Rui calls for Genya, and he dismisses himself from their presence. When the door closes, and Yoriichi feels like he could sit up without grunting in pain, he faces his older brother with a tilted head. “Aniue, are you alright?” The image of his brother’s severed leg still hangs onto his mind, almost causing him to vomit out the morsels he had for lunch.

Michikatsu nods. You should be taking care of yourself.

“I was just very worried for you.”

A furrow on his brother’s brows. You don’t have to. I should be the one worrying. You’re only human.

Yoriichi cannot refute with that— but something prevents him from caring too much about his own welfare. The main priority is the heir of the Tsugikuni clan. Once he returns to being a human, Yoriichi’s job is done and he can leave.

(But did Michikatsu want him to leave?)

“I’ll—” He coughs, and Michikatsu rubs his back. “I’ll be fine.”

Michikatsu narrows his eyes, unconvinced.

“We’ll be fine, Aniue. This was a lesson for both of us.”

Must you turn these into lessons to be learned?

Yoriichi shrugs.

How’s your ribs? I see three fractures.

Yoriichi blinks. He looks at his brother. “How do you know I have three fractured ribs?” He felt the fractures, but he couldn’t see them through the transparent world since he did not have a mirror. However, Michikatsu had told him specifically how many fractures he has. How did he know?

Michikatsu stares, and he shakes his head. Yoriichi knows he’s going to deflect the subject, so he might as well ignore why he knows.

To change the subject, he asks, “Are you injured?”

Michikatsu stares at him as if he was one of his so-called friends during parties. You do know I can heal quickly, right?

Yoriichi sighs, before laying back down. Michikatsu hovers above him, completely content with being near his twin to see if he was doing all right.

Yoriichi can appreciate that. He wishes he could help the rest of the demons, but they seem to be doing well without his help. They must be used to things happening like this.

***

Once Rui is healed enough, he checks on Yoriichi to make sure he does not have any lasting or fatal injuries, or a concussion, after Rokuro had pushed him towards the wall. Luckily, he only suffered a hairline fracture and was only in need of some bandages to help him move forward.

“You need a few weeks worth of bedrest for this to heal completely without any lasting damages,” he mutters.

Yoriichi makes a face. “Aka told me I have a mission to take care of after this prior to following you here.”

Rui sighs. “Well, tell your crow that you should recuperate for a few days, if they are going to be impatient.”

“I’ll try, but I doubt she would listen to me,” he replies exasperatedly, as he and Michikatsu end up alone together once more.

Yoriichi falls asleep to the feeling of Michikatsu threading fingers in his hair.

Tonight had been a long night, so, he supposes, sleep was an excellent idea for someone like him.

Aka manages to find the house with no fanfare involved— he is sure that, if Genya was not still recuperating from having his head bitten off (and missing out on the entire fight) he would’ve fought tooth and nail for his crow to be removed from the premises. He has made his stance on Demon Slayers clear. Luckily enough, Yoriichi was on the cusp of waking, having been carried off from dreamless sleep at the feeling of Michikatsu’s fingers shifting through his hair slowly, as if he too is starting to feel the lull of sleep.

His crow looks at him expectantly, and he knows that look— he has a new mission.

As gently as he could, he rubs his eyes and props himself up, ignoring the dull ache reverberating through his body, mostly his chest, when he does so. It is going to be difficult to fight in these conditions, but if he has already been assigned a mission, then he is obligated to enact it no matter what. He has no choice and no say in this matter at all.

Michikatsu stirs from his fraughtful attempts of bereaving himself from sleep, frowning when he sees his younger brother up and about.

“I am fine,” he reassures his brother, who only huffs doubtfully in response. Yoriichi finds his sword tucked in his scabbard on the bedside, and the box seated on the desk. He is confident that he could move fast enough to evade a demon’s attacks. If not, he hopes that Senjurou or Hakuji will carry on the will to continue his wish of turning his brother back into a human, rules be damned. He looks at Michikatsu, who stares at him expectantly. “Let’s exit quietly.”

Michikatsu frowns at him. What is he upset about this time?

He replaces the sword and scabbard back onto his side, its familiar weight soothing him. He lets out a relieved exhale, slightly coughing a little. He spies a glass of water near some painkillers— he pops one into his mouth before drinking it, feeling the nausea dive down a bit. The pain was mildly irritating, but nothing he can’t handle on a good day.

He nods at Michikatsu, who steadily follows him as Yoriichi’s footsteps make the floorboards creak, making a beeline to the exit that was just right in front of them.

“You are leaving?” Rui asks from the top of the staircase, causing Yoriichi to halt in his tracks. Ah, he’s forgotten that, to be a polite and hospitable guest, he must announce when he will be leaving to the hosts who, not only healed him from his injuries, also gave him a bed to recover in while his ribs are trying to heal from whatever damage the demons had done to him. His improper politeness knows no bounds.

“I have another mission,” he replies, wondering if he should apologize for the hastiness of his exit. Hours prior, he had, after all, been subjected to the most grievous of injuries. It doesn’t seem that his crow particularly cares, forcing him into another mission he is uncertain he could survive in these conditions.

Michikatsu rolls all six of his eyes. It seems that he too, is very displeased by his disregard for manners and conduct. Yoriichi wishes that he could have the same grace and propriety as Michikatsu did when he’d been heir to the clan. He seems to be wishing that Yoriichi has some tact now.

Rui rolls his eyes. “Those slayers never quite know when to stop assigning their employees more missions than they’ve bargained for.” His eyes move to Michikatsu. “You’re going to bring him with you?”

He blinks, while his older brother narrows his eyes. “I— yes. We do missions together.”

“I can tell,” he replies dryly. “But I have one last offer to make, Yoriichi, especially about what happened last night.”

Yoriichi tilts his head, expectant.

“I think it is better if your twin will come with us.”

Yoriichi stares. And then he stares some more. “Excuse me?” It must have sounded rude rather than confused, as he is right now, but Rui recoils guiltily.

“Look, Yoriichi,” he tries softening his approach like Yoriichi is some sort of delicate child who'll crumble at the slightest criticism. “It's much safer if Michikatsu tags along with us as we travel to our next hiding place. There, we can help him assimilate to humanity in a setting that isn’t always life and death.” Seeing the unconvinced expressions on both twins (with Michikatsu looking more indignant and displeased by this offer), he clears his throat, glancing away. “But it is your choice.”

Yoriichi couldn’t deny that, since Michikatsu accompanied him on his journey, he has to prioritize not only the civilian, but also the welfare of his brother. He isn't complaining, of course, but he wonders when there'll be a time when it becomes a liability.

But it isn't his choice to make. Not at all.

Michikatsu’s hand gently grabs Yoriichi’s hand, and it tells him everything he needs to know. He doesn’t need to worry about separating. He doesn’t need to worry about anything at all, really.

Because in the end, Michikatsu chooses him to be with, and that's all that matters.

Rui stares, and he shrugs. “Looks like the two of you made your own choices. I'm not going to stop you.”

“Will we ever see you three again?” Yoriichi asks.

Rui smiles at the two of them. “Hopefully we will meet again— though we don’t know if it is soon or later. I will be sending the cat after you once you completed in killing a Kizuki member.”

He bows to him. “Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“Thank you for being the most understanding slayer we have the honor of hosting a feast to in a while.”

“You three seem to hate demon slayers,” Yoriichi notes, wondering if he could ask them what the idea of this animosity was. “Outside of the fact that you are demons and they are employed to, well, behead you at a moment’s notice.”

He sighs furtively, his gaze staring at the hanafuda earrings with sadness. “You truly do not know where those earrings come from?”

He blinks. “Should I?”

“... The history behind these earrings will come to you in due time, I am sure.” Rui says wistfully. “Though I can give you one of the reasons why I believe that I could never work with demon slayers, outside of their unwillingness to hear a different side to the story.” He leans in with a dark look in his eyes, as if everything he’s ever done has been set in stone and laid bare. “They are the catalyst as to why Yushirou created the Twelve Kizuki— not only to showcase that he is more powerful than the rest of us, but because the demon slayer corps gave up one of their own to make it happen.”

The absolute hatred and disgust Rui has within his voice was palpable, that even Yoriichi shivers. Michikatsu watches the exchange with a suspicious glint in his eyes, feeling as if he knows what Rui means.

The dream he had months prior, about how his father told him not to trust men with swords… it’s as if it’s coming true.

“As for you, Michikatsu…” Rui begins, causing him to look up in curiosity. “I have an inkling that slicing off Aoi’s arms? It was not a coincidence. You are awakening your Blood Demon Art, Michikatsu, which is a milestone for us. We thought it’d be impossible for demons to gain magic without eating humans. This is interesting and in need for more research, indeed.”

“It seems that sleeping more than three hours a night is a good thing,” Yoriichi comments drily, and Michikatsu responds in the form of a huff, as he glares lightheartedly towards his brother. Although, he does feel somewhat prideful about being the first demon who did not consume any sort of blood to gain a Blood Demon Art. Yoriichi looks back at Rui with a grateful look. “Thank you so much for healing me, but we have a new mission. Until next time, then.”

Rui nods, looking strangely nostalgic. “Until next time.”

Yoriichi agrees, waving as he and Michikatsu walk away from the house. The sun has yet to rise despite the rather long night, so he supposes Michikatsu can stay beside him for a few more moments before he returns to the box. After all, he has missed being next to his brother instead of carrying him around in the box.

***

“Didja have to let Michikatsu go?” Genya asks when he awakens from his healing induced nap. He was groggy from the sleep deprivation and the ample pain still pounding around his body. Not even the vials they've brewed and collected is enough to let him heal properly and gently.

“It was Michikatsu's choice,” Rui says, looking out at the window, before closing the blinds as he continues his work of packing up the medical supplies around his office. “I can't force Yoriichi to part with his brother. That would be cruel.”

“He's going to be parted from him soon once the Pillars catch wind of his twin brother.” Genya points out, deciding that he has had enough of being stuck here, not moving and just recuperating, by helping Gyomei around.

“Let's just hope it doesn't end like that disastrous trial centuries ago.”

Genya huffs, looking out at the window with a wistful look. “I still hate them for killing him and causing his older brother to turn evil. To necome convinced by my damn brother who shouldn’t be meddling.”

Rui looks at him with sympathy. “I do too, but that isn't going to bring him back. Both of them back.”

Genya sighs in a tired manner. “I know. But the two of them… they remind me so much of…”

Teal colored eyes, glimmering with admiration and love. One he had lost due to prejudice and injustice a long time ago.

“I know.” Rui tries to comfort him, but there is no comforting his friend when he gets like this. They lost so much that night.

***

Well, that covert ops mission was a failure.

At least Aoi didn't die, which was good news on her part. There is no love lost between her and Rokuro, so she really didn't give much of a shit when he died.

Besides, she has enough information to give to her master, who, while she had been fighting with the boy with hanafuda earrings, has personally requested her company in the Asakusa Police Department. It was a rather odd choice for talking about what information she had gained over the threat and plans of how to neutralize a threat to Yushirou’s reign as the eternal king of the night, but she quells her doubts. Surely, the Great One has a reason why he wants her presence in humans. It has been a long time since she interacted with humans without killing them and eating their corpses, but she looks human enough. She simply has to get rid of her catlike pupils and her claws for a few moments.

She reaches her destination, the Asakusa Police Department, in the dead of the night. She slows down when she sees the Great One talking to a tall woman with black hair. As Aoi approaches, Yushirou and the woman, having sensed her presence, turns. When she makes eye contact with the woman, her pink eyes glinting with appreciation, she hurriedly runs towards the pair and bows to Yushirou, before embracing her sister.

“Seina,” she breathes, a smile curling around her lips as she breaks away. “What are you doing here?”

“Accompanying the Great One, of course,” she says, gesturing to the Demon Progenitor with a pleasant smile. Then, her pupils return to being catlike, as a malicious smile spreads across her face. “Were going to report a harrowing incident that had been cold for seven months without any leads. You're going to be the witness.”

Aoi nods, as she follows the pair into the building. She's had her fair share of covert missions and acting more human than she should be. “What case?”

“A case with no supposed leads that still baffles townsfolk from that certain part of the province and enraged the families of the victims to this day,” Yushirou replies, before turning to look at her. “The Tsugikuni household massacre, and Yoriichi Tsugikuni is our main suspect.”

***

Once the sun has risen, Yoriichi instinctively let Michikatsu back into his box, knowing that he'll succumb to the throes of sleep as soon as he shuts the lid closed. Since Yoriichi was abysmal at directions, it is the burden of his crow to keep him on a straight path and making sure he does not veer from the path Aka had found for him. Although, he still does get distracted along the way due to the many sights around lands he's never once visited, and the oddly detrimental feeling that if his family had never gotten killed, he never would've explored this.

No use thinking of that now. He has a mission to take care of, and he shouldn’t get distracted by people living their best lives.

As Yoriichi follows his crow around the countryside, admiring the plains around him whilst keeping a lookout on any sights of demon activity, he hears something from far away. A commotion, of sorts. And from his hearing, he infers that he could not avoid said commotion, thus he must prepare himself for what he is about to witness. Fights or scandals are something he isn't best suited at handling. Michikatsu, maybe, but he finds public fights distasteful.

Yoriichi wants to get this mission over with and ask Aka where the nearest wisteria house is so he could recuperate. It seems operating with enormous fatigue in his system, a few cracked ribs despite Rui's best healing abilities, and shaky legs, he might not return from this mission unscathed. And after having too much things to do, he feels overwhelmed— he wishes to lie down.

He hears voices coming from the road, and after entering a fork in the pathway, comes across a sight that causes his hand to move to the hilt of his sword hidden under his haori. Ahead of him are a group of men huddled around a girl of Yoriichi's age, who seems to be rejecting their unwanted advances— however, instead of the men taking a hint, they continue harassing the poor girl despite her attempts at deflecting them from her.

Yoriichi's face scrunched in confusion. What's going on over there?

Chapter Text

*

“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”

― Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

*

A puzzled Yoriichi continues to look confusedly at the males encircling the young girl, feeling a sense of realization curling in his gut. Without waiting to see if they're going to make the wrong move (they were already making the wrong move) he walks towards the circle of men, who are still attempting to overwhelm the girl, holds the arm of one, which forces the man to jerk his attention to him.

“The hell do you want?” The man asks crudely, about to shake him off. However, Yoriichi holds his arm tightly. Even the man is surprised by his strength, eyes widening when he realizes he won't get out of his hold easily.

“What are you doing?” He asks curtly. He may not know the intricacies of common society, but he could tell from her body language and the way her voice had risen to a notable timbre when he had appeared that she didn't want anything to do with these men. “She is distressed. Please move away from her.”

The man whom he's holding onto slaps his hand off, scoffing. “She wants a good time but ain't putting out.”

Yoriichi's frown deepens.

“I–I don't want to follow you guys to your houses! I'm not interested in what you want from me!” A rather familiar voice says— the voice that had been bridled with paranoia, anxiety, and high-strung energy back at the Final Selection, someone whom he thought he'd never see again. And if he did, he would try avoiding it. She looked less ashen and injured, but she'd gotten more sleep-deprived the last time they saw each other, seeing her with dark circles under her eyes. “I was on my way to a job when you guys came surrounding me!”

“Baby, you don't need a job when you can have us,” the lead man leers at her, leaning forward, much to her discomfort as her lips curl. “We can support you just fine—”

“Look, I really didn't want to do this, ‘cause I thought I could solve this peacefully,” Haruhime says, looking at the man through the bangs of her hair. “But you guys are real jerks and deserve what you get.” Before any of the men could visibly perceive her next move, Haruhime immediately moves to action— her hand connects with the neck of the man closest to her, and he falls to the ground immediately. None of the men ever recover from the sight of a slight girl taking them down easily, thus they could not process the fact she has knocked out every single one of them before they can even move.

Yoriichi, following her lead, replicates the same move she used on the man he'd been holding on to.

Once the two of them are alone with each other, standing above the prone bodies of men who tried to take advantage of a girl, the female demon slayer looks at him. “I'm not interested in—” However, when she makes eye contact with Yoriichi, she shrieks, surprised. She stumbles, and Yoriichi moves to catch her, his hand catching her wrist before she spirals into the ground. She uses this as a way to stand once again, taking her hand away from Yoriichi as if she'd been burned. Yoriichi, for his sake, tries not to look hurt at the stunt. “It's you! The guy from the Final Selection!”

He nods. He didn't want to meet her again, especially since she made her opinion about him known, however, he cannot stop fate. “My name is Yoriichi Tsugikuni, if you've forgotten.”

“I don't forget people's names,” Haruhime says, making herself distant from him as she brushes off dirt clinging to her uniform. Teal eyes look at him again. “Especially someone who broke the arm of a girl in the Final Selection.”

His face immediately morphs into regret. Perhaps he's gone too far with breaking her friend's arm. Did it heal well? He is uncertain of it, either. “Can you tell her I apologize for resorting to such extreme measures?”

Haruhime blinks, and inches away from him. He finds this act confusing. “I mean, you can tell that to her yourself. I'm not a kasugai crow. Even my sparrow isn't a kasugai crow. It's just a regular sparrow.” Her sparrow, seemingly hearing what Haruhime had just said, begins to peck at her face, filling the air with indignant chirps. “Ah! Hey, what's gotten into you? Don't peck at me, my skin is already filled with scars!”

Yoriichi stares at the scene with exhaustion in his veins. He could feel his still healing bones and tired muscles beginning to give out from under him. “I believe your sparrow is offended you'd think so low of him.”

“Well, can you please say that I'm sorry?” Haruhime asks, still fighting her sparrow and, somehow, losing.

“I don't speak sparrow.”

Haruhime whines, huffing a little as she tries to swat her sparrow. The sparrow, perhaps, got tired of constantly harassing his assigned slayer while the bird chirps annoyedly, thus he returns to perch on her shoulder. She huffs. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you. You almost ruined my hair.”

Yoriichi tilts his head. “I didn't take you for someone who cares about hair.”

“Well, you barely know me, so it's to be expected.” At the awkward silence, Haruhime’s face looks away guiltily. “Sorry, um, I don't even want to be here right now. With these weirdos. They just caught me… off guard, if you could tell.”

“I'm surprised they caught you at a wrong time. You're an amazing demon slayer, you'd hear them coming.”

“Being a female demon slayer and being a normal girl is different, okay?” Haruhime raises her voice, sounding quite angry. Yoriichi flinches at the sudden loud volume, something he can hear amidst the buzzing of his ears. Seeing his wince, Haruhime curls in on herself, looking remorseful. “Um, sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted… look, they just sauntered up to me minutes ago without warning. And well… you get the gist.” She refers to the bodies around them.

The awkwardness around them resumes. Yoriichi looks at the tense figure of Haruhime— he peers inside the transparent world, finding that she is severely sleep-deprived and not used to such nocturnal schedules. While he was also new to such a routine, he had yet to feel the fatigue of being a demon slayer until last night's mission. So, deciding to cut her some slack, as Hakuji says, he looks at her but does not touch her. “You're here for a mission, are you not?”

She looks at him up and down, shifting in her place. “Uh, yeah. I followed my sparrow all the way here. Actually, I have, like, a keen sense of hearing. My ears can pick up on sounds that other humans can’t. For example, I can hear dripping water from… all the way over there.” She points to a small house far from the rice paddies. She looks at him. “And… I can hear the sounds of breathing in that box.”

Yoriichi stills.

Of course, she has a unique, keen sense of hearing. Now she knows about his brother. He doesn’t know what else to expect.

“Huh, that’s weird. How come your box has the sounds of breathing? Do you have a pet inside it?” Oblivious to Yoriichi’s panic, Haruhime continues to reach for it, before her hand is forcibly stopped by Yoriichi’s own, to her surprise. “Don’t touch that,” he says as firmly as possible, but as softly as possible too— a soft request, a hard plead.

Haruhime balks at his sudden hostility, before snaking her hand away from his as if he had burnt her.

They stare at each other.

Yoriichi looks away, quite ashamed. “I apologize for that stunt. You were just about to touch something I treasure greatly.” You were going to find out about Michikatsu, and I am unsure if you will be receptive to my decision to journey with my brother.

Haruhime stares at him, before going red in the face, becoming bashful. “Oh my god, I’m really sorry if I tried to violate your boundaries! I didn’t mean to! I just, well, I genuinely thought it’d be okay to get a closer look, which is a stupid assumption. So I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Internally letting out a sigh of relief, Yoriichi now tries to reassure her. “It’s… alright. I should not have touched you without any warnings. I was just looking out for the being in my box.”

The two of them begin to walk to the direction of the location to their next mission together. Yoriichi finds himself at ease with this girl. Despite their rocky reunion, followed by a close call with Michikatsu, she was a rather pleasant company. Despite her sputtering and anxious claims about not wanting to go to this mission, and jumping at the slightest things, she was nice and friendly. However, while he finds her endearing, he cannot help but feel distressed whenever her paranoid rambling and anxious vision of their environment becomes too much on him. Her dominant hand is always near her sword, never quite resting but never quite pulling it from its sheath. It was like she is ready to attack, but also ready to give up and run in the other direction. Needless to say, it’s like she is not suited for this job.

The job being a demon slayer seems to be taxing on her health, too.

“Haruhime, pardon me for commenting about it… but you do not seem to like this profession,” Yoriichi says as she jumps at the sight of a rabbit jumping from the bushes for the umpteenth time since the very beginning of their walk. “Why did you become a demon slayer, anyway?”

Haruhime looks up at Yoriichi nervously, before deflating slightly. “Oh, so you guessed the fact that I… I’m kind of jumpy, huh?”

“It isn’t very subtle.”

“I’m trying my best here!” When she sees Yoriichi staring at her, she clears her throat, still looking as bashful as ever. “Um, sorry. What I mean is… yeah, I don’t want to become a demon slayer. But I have to, to repay the kindness the Mist Pillar has given me.”

Oh, he’s heard about the Mist Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps before. Aizetsu Wakisaka, is what Senjurou calls his comrades. Hakuji calls him ‘annoying’ and ‘paranoid.’ Somehow, the student and her master have the same kind of demeanor.

Haruhime continues, “I don’t like talking about my past, so long story short I came from a very rich noble family, but then I may or may not have told them that a demon killed my mom, but they don’t believe me, they tried to get me married to some sketchy doctor, but then the caravan that was carrying me to my doom got ambushed by a bunch of demons, and my mentor saved me.” There were stars in her eyes as she says the last sentence, but unfortunately, the rest was lost on Yoriichi. She is not very good at telling stories, that much is for sure.

“So you are a demon slayer so you can make it up to your mentor?” Yoriichi assumes as they walk up a hill.

She nods. “Yeah, that’s the main thing. Um, what about you?”

He stills, halting his walk. “Me?”

“Um, yeah, you said you were a Tsugikuni, right? You were Michikatsu’s twin brother.” Her voice becomes hushed and sad when she mentions his older brother’s name, but there is this… devastation in her eyes that Yoriichi could not parse. He has never been included in any playdates with noble children, and Michikatsu was not very privy to talk about them unless he complains about them. And, because Yoriichi was a rather forgetful person, he forgets to tell Michikatsu about what had transpired in the Final Selection, with two people who knows who his brother is.

“Yes, I am.”

She tilts her head. “Don’t you mean was?”

He looks at her.

She averts her gaze. “Oh, Oh no. Sorry, that was very insensitive. Forget what I said.”

Right, she thinks he’s dead. Well, he better roll with that assumption, then.

“Well… I’m searching for the demon who killed my family.” He did find him already, however, he did not, or rather, could not kill him so early in his journey. He was lucky enough to gain the attention of three demons who did not support Yushirou Imakurusu, however, so it was a win and lose situation.

“Did you find it?”

His breath hitches. He exhales. “... No.”

He does not like lying, but he assumes she’d look at him like he was crazy that he had gotten a glimpse of the Progenitor of Demons.

“Well, I’m going to cheer you on,” she says, with a slight hopeful smile on her face. “Behead the demon that killed your family, so you can avenge your twin.”

Yoriichi nods, choosing to ignore how Haruhime sighs longingly at the mention of Michikatsu. He should’ve asked Michikatsu what his relationship was with Haruhime Toyonaga before setting out.

Finding a way to steer the conversation away from his supposedly deceased brother, he peers into the Transparent World again. Finding a way to change the subject had been easy. “Are you hungry, Haruhime?”

She blinks, and then she turns red. “Oh, you must’ve heard me. That’s embarrassing.” Technically, he saw her being hungry, but yes, perhaps he could say he did hear her. “Um, yeah, I am.”

He digs into the pockets of his haori to procure a single ball of onigiri. It was, at least, thankfully still edible, and his only real source of food left. He’d eaten most of them during his stay in Asakusa. “Here.” He offers it to Haruhime, who takes it from his hand gingerly. She studies it for a moment, before taking a bite out of it.

He breathes a sigh of relief when she does not bring up his brother again.

“Are you… hungry?” Haruhime asks as they walk, careful not to drop the onigiri Yoriichi gave her, even when some of the things here startles her.

“Well, yes.” He thinks that lying about his appetite and how parched he is will not go well with someone who can hear things by a mile.

She looks at him with a worried expression. “Then why don’t you eat?”

“Oh, that’s my last one.” As if it wasn’t a big deal. As if he did not just give her his last piece of food.

She stares, and then stares some more. She gulps down the portion she took a bite off, before breaking the onigiri in half, keeping the one that has been bitten to herself while lending the one not yet bitten by her back to Yoriichi. “You shouldn’t have given me your food if this was your last one.”

Yoriichi takes the portion, eating it unabashedly. “But is it not common courtesy to lend your food towards someone who is hungry?”

Haruhime resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah, but… not when you need for yourself. Honestly, it’s like you give your food to others a lot more than you receive it.”

He looks at her. “Well… I do.”

Haruhime lets out a noise that is between a whine and a sigh.

They eat in silence, not having any more words to say with one another. Aside from the occasional muttering about how Haruhime is going to meet a fate close to death, the walk has been filled with serene silence. Yoriichi admires how his skin seems to bask in the glow of the sun, while also taking note of his surroundings. There was also the casual wilderness of the small rural village he was about to do this mission in. It was a welcome experience, especially when he had just come from Asakusa. He finds himself missing this tranquility. No sound except for the chirping of birds anywhere.

“Is it true?”

Yoriichi looks at her with raised brows. “Is… what true?”

“That it only took you six months. To train for the Final Selection, I mean.”

He tilts his head. “Yes…? Why would I lie about that?” Yoriichi has always found lying to be distasteful, especially to a question that is so straightforward that he doesn’t know how else to answer it except for a direct reply.

Haruhime looks at him, before sighing. She really seems to like doing that. “Well, I've been a student of the Mist Pillar for three years already. And do you know how many Breath of Mist forms I've managed to master over the course of it?”

Yoriichi does not know, but he doesn't answer as she lets out a wail, throwing her hands up. “Three forms! The first, the third, and the fifth! I don't know what to do if I ever run into a demon that needs more than those three forms. I might probably die!”

“You won't,” Yoriichi tries to comfort her, but he doubts he could say anything that can combat her rather neurotic state. “I saw you take on that gigantic demon in the Final Selection with ease, despite your sprained leg. I think you're going to do well.”

“You're going to protect me from the demons, right?” Haruhime asks, looking at him with tearful eyes.

Yoriichi stops. “What.”

“You're going to protect me from demons until I get married, right?”

Yoriichi’s face scrunches up. “You can protect yourself just fine.” Besides, he's seen her in action, and she was amazing. Her speed is appropriate for her title as a Breath of Mist User. He could barely see her if he wasn’t having access to the Transparent World.

“No I can't!” Haruhime exclaims, unnecessarily loud once more, and Yoriichi makes a face. Immediately, she shuts up, looking quite ashamed of her outburst. “Um, sorry. I really shouldn't be so loud in such a quiet environment.”

“You shouldn't.” It was meant to sound agreeable, but it ends up sounding brusque to Haruhime. She flinches at this admission, looking away with embarrassment.

“But if what you said is true, having only six months of training… then you should be stronger than me right now. So… you'll accept it, right? Protecting me?”

Sighing, Yoriichi decides to tell her the main problem when it comes to her request. “Haruhime… my last mission was in Asakusa, and the demons I got entangled with were not very hesitant in leaving me with a few broken bones. Three of my ribs are broken, and my legs are growing tired.”

The girl stares at him. He averts his gaze, feeling rather uncomfortable. Then, she exclaims, “Are you kidding me?! You're injured? Why are– why the heck are you in this mission? You should be in a wisteria house by now! How are you going to complete this mission when you don't feel one hundred percent?!”

Yoriichi shrugs. “I suppose I can still manage.”

Haruhime gives him a sideways glance, skeptical. “Well, if you say so. But please don't expect me to carry you to a wisteria house once this mission is done because you couldn't handle the tax of this mission.”

“I will be fine. You need not worry about me.”

She sighs. It still seems she is dubious, but he cannot say anything about it. “Okay. I'll take your word for it.”

He nods, “Thank you.”

The two of them climb a hill. Haruhime’s pace was fast, unrelenting; she climbed every step with ease, only stopping or hesitating when she thought she heard something amidst the thick woods. Her long, black hair moved side-to-side, and Yoriichi trailed behind her simply because his legs were not cooperating with him, and breathing with these injured ribs was a chore. Perhaps he should've taken more lessons in Total Concentration Breathing, instead of just leaving the Rengoku household. He misses them— he has yet to tell them about what had just happened in Asakusa.

Aka and Haruhime’s sparrow (whose name is some Western language Yoriichi doesn't understand well) circle above, guiding them to their next mission. Aka caws directions, the sparrow chirps in assent, and that is enough to get Yoriichi to continue moving forward. Haruhime is still a few steps ahead of him, and she sneaks glances to him every now and then.

Finally, they reached their destination; a mansion on the top of the hill, covered with shrubbery and trees, giving it an almost unused, peculiar feeling, as if it was a house of the yokai around this forest.

But Yoriichi could sense that there was a demon inside this house. Well, not just one, but more like…

“Three.” Haruhime finishes his train of thought, looking at the balcony of the house, clutching her head with her hand. She bites her lip, anxious. “Three demons in one house.” Her breathing picks up. “Oh goodness.”

“We can kill these demons,” he reassures her before she begins her spiel of not being strong enough to kill these demons, even if evidence suggests otherwise. She was amazing if he says so himself— if only she could believe in herself, the way Yoriichi believed in her. “I kill the first demon, you kill the second, and the both of us can kill the third.”

Haruhime inhales shakily, her chest rising and falling. She is trying her damndest not to freak out— well, props to her, then. At least she knows when someone can reassure her, even if she does not have much faith in herself. She looks at the balcony, which is giving off quite an ominous aura. Yoriichi glares at it as if that would halt its intimidating disposition for Haruhime’s sake. “Okay. Okay, I’ll try and be more optimistic.”

Of course, a rustling from beyond the bushes ruins that for the two of them.

She lets out a startled shriek, pushing Yoriichi forward as she hides behind him. “What was that?! A day walking demon? Some predator from beyond the woods?! Oh gods, it’s probably that one old woman I didn’t give the accurate change to, coming to haunt me from the dead!” She buries her face on his side, as the box is currently still strapped on his back. Yoriichi finds this extremely displeasing, but he can’t extract her head from his face as he does so.

He cranes his neck to look at where the noise has originated, only to find himself greeted with two heads poking out of an overgrown bush.

Yoriichi breaks apart from Haruhime without any warning, sending her careening into the ground, as he ignores her protests of it being ‘ungentlemanly’ of him to leave her undefended from a potential demon. Instead, he walks up to the two children, a boy and a girl now that he can see them clearly, who cower in fear and suspicion when he approaches them. As he looms closer, the boy embraces the girl protectively.

“It’s okay, I will not hurt you,” Yoriichi says, raising his hands to placate them. He turns to Haruhime, who is following him, although at a much slower pace. “Haruhime, these are children, not… not what you just said earlier.”

“Okay, okay, I see them now!” She relents, as she walks beside him. She looks at them, her eyes lighting up. “Okay, they’re… they’re kids. Kids who have no parents with them. Kids who are… who are near the demon house oh my gosh what are they doing here—”

“Haruhime,” Yoriichi stops her before she goes on another anxiety-ridden rant once more. “You’re scaring the children further.”

Case in point, them shrinking away from the duo, most particularly Haruhime. She deflates at the sight.

“They’re scared,” Yoriichi faces Haruhime.

“It’s kinda obvious. They’re shaking.”

“I don’t know how I am supposed to talk to scared children. I’m not the best… conversation starter, especially with children who has seen something that could help us with our search for the demon.”

Haruhime huffs. “Yeah, I noticed you’re not good at talking. Neither am I… but which one of us have experience with children?”

“Not me. I spent my childhood inside a small tatami room.”

“You spent your— okay, whatever. I’m going to try and get them to talk. The rest will be on you.” She takes another deep breath, brushing away her tears as she smoothens her hair, throwing it over her back. With a soft smile on her face, she approaches the children, kneeling in front of them. In a warm, sunny voice, she says, “What brings you children here? You shouldn’t be near this house— it’s dangerous for you two.”

“We can’t leave,” the girl says, much to the boy trying to persuade her not to say anything.

Haruhime crinkles her brow. “How come?”

The girl points to the house. “Because this house is the home of a monster.”

Chapter Text

Once the little girl says that, Haruhime swears she can hear the sounds of water splashing across the rooms of this strange, unseemly house. Taking a deep breath in, trying to keep her sensitive hearing under control (trying to mute the chirping, rustling, and breathing of other humans in her vicinity) she focuses on the young child she needs to extract information from. It was something she knew she could do well, because she had been an attendant in the Emotion Estate, handling sick patients and whatnot as part of her training. She tries not to tremble when she hears another particularly harrowing, eerie sound, like a stream of water. She knows there is no such thing on this hill.

“Why do you say that?” She asks, even if she knows why she said that. While children do not know the proper terminology to call a demon, the word ‘monster’ is a rather appropriate term. She tries not to flinch when she hears the sound of a koto’s string being plucked. What a strange, out-of-place tune.

“Because…” The girl’s eyes well with tears, and so does the boy’s. Oh no, she was not well-equipped for this. Neither is the other demon slayer behind her, who, because he thinks Haruhime has child safety protocol under control — which she doesn’t — thinks he could saunter back to the front of the house, with his hand on the ground. “Because a monster took my brother!”

Haruhime bites her lower lip. Well, she suspected as much. They wouldn’t be here in the first place if they had not followed said monster all the way over here.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

She tries to conceal a shudder.

“The demon took your brother?” Yoriichi speaks up from behind them, and Haruhime has to bite back a scream in surprise as she remembers she is not alone in completing this mission. “Strange. Shouldn’t it also have taken you?”

The children, to no one’s surprise, scream in fright at what Yoriichi had just said. “I didn’t want the monster to take me!”

Haruhime glares at him— but he is not there to react, as he returns to looking at the house, for some odd reason.

Way to make my job worse, she thinks to herself. Instead of telling Yoriichi that, however, she focuses on the children.

“What he means to say is that… did the demon not see you when he kidnapped your brother?”

The boy answers this time. “We were walking home when a demon came out from the shadows and took my older brother— carried him on his back, even! He didn’t even notice that we were there, so we followed him to this house.”

The sound of water increases.

Haruhime, once again, takes a deep breath. She is going to burden everyone with her anxiety if this continues, after all. Might as well keep herself calm and collected next to these children. “Oh wow, so… you followed him all the way here? But isn’t that too tiring for your short legs? I mean, my companion and I are pretty much tired after hiking all the way up this hill. How did you even find this place?”

The boy frowns up at her. “We aren’t short.”

She scrunches her nose. “Yes, you are. Tiny, even.”

The boy loses his patience even further. “Look, are you guys going to help us find our brother or not?”

Haruhime nods, “Um, yeah! That’s what we’re here for! We kill demons for a living, and the thing that took your brother is a demon. I don’t know what he wants from your brother, and why he ignored you, but I have my suspicions.”

“What kind of suspicions?” Yoriichi asks, still overlooking the structure. Jeez, way to be weirder than the Clay Pillar whenever he makes eye contact with Master. It’s not going to disappear when he glances away, that’s for sure. Neither are the sounds of koto strings being plucked, it seems.

Enough hearing things, Haruhime, focus.

“Your brother…” She looks back at the children again, mentally remembering that they have not exchanged names. Come on, how is she forgetting basic formality?!

“Kiyoshi,” the boy says, “I’m Shoichi, this is Teruko.”

“Kiyoshi may be a marechi,” she supplies.

“What’s that?” Yoriichi asks.

“You’re a demon slayer who trained under a Pillar and you don’t know what—” Haruhime inhales, eye twitching. “Nevermind. It’s basically someone who has a rare kind of blood that makes them more enticing to… be consumed by demons.” Ha! She managed to go through that information without stuttering or checking her memory to see if she was missing any sort of other things! Those memory cards and notes Zohakuten lent her were a good idea!

Shoichi, suddenly, looks quite worried for his brother. “Do you think that he’s…”

Probably, Haruhime answers in her mind but shakes off that skeptical dread that’s been her Thing since becoming a Demon Slayer, perhaps even prior to that.

“Uh, no. Hopefully he’s still alive when we enter this mansion, you know? It’d suck badly if he died already.”

Teruko whines, eyes welling with tears again.

Haruhime swears internally. She scrambles to comfort the girl, feeling immense guilt for making her cry. “Oh, that was– I said that out loud didn’t I? I didn’t mean that! It was– it was a joke!”

“It wasn’t a very funny joke,” Shoichi reprimands her, and she feels slightly embarrassed at that. Yeah, it wasn’t funny at all.

Then, the koto strings that are being plucked begin to reverberate louder.

Haruhime stiffens, turning to look at the house where she’d heard that noise. Yoriichi, it seems heard it too, as he brandishes his sword, furrowing his brows as he looks up.

The twang of the strings becomes louder, its melody growing faster, even. It makes Haruhime’s ears ring.

She bites her lower lip, anxiously standing, acting as some last line of defense against the children if demons who walk in the sun truly exist.

Blood rushes through her ears— it sounds a lot like the stream of water.

Then, the stream of water becomes a rumbling sea— crashing into the cliffside, as the plucking of a koto string continues to descend upon her ears maddeningly. She almost wants to run away, but that would mean leaving these children behind; the same way she left her siblings behind to pursue this stupid career that’ll get her killed anyway.

(That wasn’t even her fault, but. Well, it’s not like her father cares about what is her fault and what isn’t.)

She trembles as she can hear the sound of sea cascading through a beach, as the plucking of strings are about to draw to a close, a curtain performance, if she must.

Then, the string ends, but something else pops out of the house—

A man in a dull gray kimono, falling from the balcony.

Haruhime opens her mouth, silently screaming, whilst Yoriichi moves—

He saves him, catches him in his arms.

But is it enough to save his life?

“Oh gods!” Haruhime shrieks, and she hears the sounds of crying behind her. Fuck, the kids are still here! She looks at them— Teruko is crying, eyes closed, while Shoichi could not help but look at the scene in horror. “Shield your eyes, you two! You shouldn’t– you shouldn’t see this. This is a bad sight.” When she sees that the two are obeying her orders, she comes to Yoriichi’s aid. “Is he– is he…?”

Yoriichi looks at her with his usual expression, however, something in her subconscious knows he is desolate about this, devastated. Haruhime’s heart plummets as he lowers the man’s body to the ground. His eyes were a lifeless, dull gray, just like his kimono. Blood trickles from his mouth, and he has a fatal wound on his side, almost like he’d been in the midst of being devoured before escaping.

Haruhime stares emptily at the corpse. Because that’s what it is— they let a person die on their watch, and let two children see the failure of their actions.

Master is going to have some choice words for her later.

“He was going to die anyway,” Yoriichi says in order to lift the silence, but Haruhime doesn’t know if she appreciates it. “I could feel it. I could see it.”

I heard his heartbeat stop, but ignored it. Haruhime thinks, But I don’t say it out loud.

She’s starting to dislike Yoriichi Tsugikuni.

Well, that was a lie— she doesn’t know what to make of him. He's not a horrible person, but he lacks an awful lack of tact, often becoming insensitive. His unchanging facial expressions do not help him either with his sociability, thus Haruhime is left to deal with the comfort of these children. At least he and Michikatsu share the same kind of quietness and ability to get the job done.

Not to mention that the sound inside the box continues to grow louder.

Then, she remembers the children talking about their older brother. Making sure that she was blocking their sight from this man, she looks at them with bated breath. “Um, I know this is not the time, but is this your—?”

“No, he isn't,” Shoichi interrupts. “Kiyoshi has an orange kimono. This guy wears a gray one.”

Haruhime lets out a sigh of relief, while Yoriichi puts down the dead man gently. He closes his eyelids, before kneeling in prayer.

“That means your brother may still be alive,” he says, “we must get going and find their brother.”

She blinks. “Wait, we're going inside? Right now? In a demon infested home? Unprepared?”

Yoriichi frowns. “I do not understand what the point of preparation is in the face of a demon attack. We are already slayers, so what's the point? We're wasting sunlight, valuable time and resources, alongside wasting the valuable lives of different people. We have to get going, Haruhime. It will be better if we kill the problem as soon as possible.”

She sighs in a resigned manner, standing on shaking knees. “Ugh, I hate it when you're right.”

Yoriichi nods. Before he goes inside, however, he removes the box strapped to his back and places it underneath the shade of a tree. Haruhime hears confused sounds from the box, coupled with some scratching that, definitely, sounds human but… not quite.

Shoichi and Teruko look at it, confused.

“In the meantime, you can watch over my box,” Yoriichi tells them, his eyes never leaving the box. “It can watch over you and protect you from any incoming danger. That box holds something more important than my life, so please keep it safe.”

Shoichi and Teruko stare at the box, before giving their — albeit hesitant — affirmations to Yoriichi. Haruhime tilts her head, staring at the box with trepidation. Yoriichi is hiding something in that box; and with intentions and purposes, she feels something malicious coming out of it, and wonders what could possibly be important inside. However, she knows asking about it will continue making him look and act quite shifty and suspicious. In fact, she doubts she'll get clear answers.

More important than my life.

The words Yoriichi had said to the kids echo in Haruhime’s brain, making her conflicted. If her suspicions are true, and he is breaking a very important rule in the Demon Slayer Corps, she would report him to the higher ups in order to get him put on a trial.

And yet…

She is snapped out of her thoughts when Yoriichi offers a hand to her, looking expectant.

Assuming he means wanting food, she sighs, putting his hand away. “Uh, I don't have any food. You know that.”

“You feel scared,” he says, tilting his head. “At least hold onto my hand so we won't be separated, and you can keep yourself calm.”

Her face grows red, “That's so improper, Yoriichi!”

Michikatsu never even touched her when she was in her paranoid ramblings, but at least he makes it known that he is comforting her in the long distance. It was honestly devastating, how both the twins are similar when it comes to their approach of trying to make her feel better.

“I don't understand these conventional things, Haruhime. Let me find a way to make you feel better.”

She averts her gaze. “How about I stick close to you? That way, we'll be able to spot the demons together and then kill them as fast as we can. Then, you won't exhaust yourself and your ribs for the matter.”

“It sounds alright to me.”

Haruhime rethinks her examination of Yoriichi— he seems more socially awkward than asocial. She wonders if he has ever gone outside his home, as he screams sheltered child. Despite all this, and the box containing a demon, whom he unwittingly let near kids, his heart was kind. The sound she hears resonating through his heart was pure, shining kindness. Like the sun beating down on them.

He was kind.

Haruhime will not comment about the box, as long as he tells her what was in it once the mission is over.

As the two of them step inside, Yoriichi waves to the children, entering the darkness.

Haruhime swallows, the hallway blocking out any sort of light that the afternoon sunlight emits. It was like she is in a different scenery entirely. As she walks, she could hear the sounds of dripping water amongst the walls and floors— she even steps on wet hallways, letting out a wet squelch in particular. She shrieks at the suddenness of the noise, and Yoriichi looks at her.

“Sorry, this place is… weird,” she's said it so many times before, but she'll continue to say it again. She fidgets with her fingers as she looks around with a cautious, afraid look. “It's wet. It's like it's been submerged with water. You notice too, right?”

He nods, staring at the ceiling, dripping incessantly with water. “The demon must have a water-based Blood Demon Art.”

“Okay, that's fine, I'm not freaking out.” She's freaking out. How are they supposed to find the one-third of the demon hiding in this house, while making sure he was not going to drown them with fervor?

Otherwise, they might end up like the guy outside!

“You're freaking out,” Yoriichi observes, and Haruhime cries.

“Who wouldn't in a situation like this?!”

“It'll be fine, Haruhime.” He extends a hand to touch her but recedes such contact before she could flinch back. “We'll find the demon and see ourselves out of this once we kill it.”

“Them.” She could not help but correct, trying not to reach to cover her ears as she heard the sound of water dripping, louder this time.

Then, she hears the sound of the dripping tatami being stepped on, and she let's out another shriek of surprise, clinging onto Yoriichi. Yes, she was breaking the cultural norm, but what if a demon ambushes her from behind? Ugh, this is going to be such a hassle for her! She doesn't want to die yet.

She feels the feeling of someone tugging on her haori, causing her to shriek in surprise and terror to amplify. When she dares to turn, she is met with a tuft of short hair, clinging to her haori like she was a lifeline. When she identifies them being the children that Yoriichi has told to stay put outside the home, however, she balks in surprise and worry. “HAH? What are you two doing here? Didn’t I tell you guys that it’s off-limits?!”

“The box Mr. Yoriichi lent us was making weird noises!” Teruko says, an overwhelmed look in her eyes. “We wanted to tell him!”

“You left the box all alone?” Yoriichi asks— there was a certain edge to his voice which Haruhime didn’t like.

“He– hey! Don’t blame them! They were told to guard your box since it’s more important than your life, but we don’t even know what is in it! Of course they’d be confused and would be scared if a box suddenly begins to live!”

“I am not blaming them, I just wish they’d trust me on this.”

Haruhime tries to hide her outrage. “Trust you on this? Who do you think you are?! You’re– you’re just some– some– ugh I want to insult you so bad but I can’t when you look at me like that.”

He blinks, as he clings onto Teruko, who has found a home within his haori. Well, he is extremely tall, after all, taller than any other person Haruhime has ever met. “Why do you want to insult me?”

“Because I know what’s in the box!” At her admission, Yoriichi stiffens, the sound of his heart (the warmth, the breeze, the chirping) slowing to a stop. He stares at her, his eyes boring into the backs of her skull. Strangely, it was rather terrifying, to see a usually kind boy looking like someone has figured him out. Well, had they not?

“What do you know?” He asks, looking at her with a suddenly guarded expression. Even his heart begins to beat fast, faster than she’s ever heard it.

“Well, I know that you’re breaking Corps rules! What if I tell you to the—”

“Don’t.” He cuts in immediately, narrowing his eyes at her. Honestly, does he think he can intimidate her. “Please. Don’t say anything. I swear I will explain this once this mission is over.”

Haruhime considers it. It was hard to confront people who are strangers, especially someone who came out of nowhere, having had a tether to her past life in a way that was painful for her. She thought that she could move on from her past life before demon slaying, but ever since the Final Selection, they seem to be returning to her like birds migrating back to the country during spring. While her feelings on Yoriichi may be mixed, ambivalent with pros and cons and how ‘weird’ he is, he is genuinely a good person, from what she can hear from his heart.

After all, would a cruel boy save her from death, carry her all the way to the end of the finish line, and assist her with those guys from earlier? He was also quite supportive of her, even if she doesn’t think that she is the greatest.

After all, who would want a girl who worries over everything?

“Fine,” she says, turning away. Shoichi follows her reluctantly. “We’ll– we’ll bring these kids back outside and we’ll kill the demon, okay?”

He nods.

Haruhime lets out a sigh as both she and Shoichi take the step forward to where she thinks the exit doors are.

Droplets of water drip from the ceiling, landing on her haori. She cringes— this better not be riddled with Blood Demon Art, she swears to the gods—!

“Haruhime?”

“Yeah, Yoriichi?”

“You stepped inside a different room.”

Yoriichi was right— Haruhime had stepped inside another wasutshi, completely about to be divided by the thin fusuma that separates it from the main hallway. Coloring in embarrassment, and, hiding her internal screaming inside, she stares at the ceiling with a shaky, resigned expression. “Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

She hears Shoichi mutter, “How did you manage to make a misstep?”

“Hey, I heard that!”

Before she could return to the hallway, she hears the sound of a koto string being plucked.

Twang.

Suddenly, Haruhime and Shoichi are no longer anywhere near the hallway. The hallway they were about to step into had been replaced by a solid, wooden wall.

Haruhime stares, her mouth gapes at the sudden transition of the room, knowing that she will never be the same.

“What the—” She begins to push against the wall, ignorant of how wet and smelling of drenched wood it is. “The hallway— it– it was just right here! Huh?!”

It must be the work of the demon that had taken away this boy’s brother!

Speaking of which…

“Ms. Haruhime, what do we do?” Shoichi asks, looking around the room for any potential escape routes— there was only the wall and the fusuma door leading to the hallway outside, but she doubts that any of these choices will not lead to certain DEATH!!!

Gods, why did she step inside that room in the first place? Had she been so distracted she forgot that she was currently inside a mansion of monsters?!

This is all her fault!

She screws up everything!

Haruhime lets her breath hitch, but she tries to calm herself down. Her teal eyes look at Shoichi’s nervous form, and she sighs to herself.

He needs consolation more than ever. She should act professional, even if she, too, wishes to cry and curl into a ball.

“Shoichi,” she says, her voice shaky, but she’s trying to stay strong. He looks at her, a worried look in his eyes. “We’re getting out of here. I promise you.”

She extends her hands, expecting him to take it.

He does.

***

“Where did they go?!” Teruko cries out, drowning out the dripping and water pouring around the mansion. “They were just here!”

“It must be the demon we are hunting,” Yoriichi says with a look of trepidation, scanning the surroundings, and finding some sort of sign of demon activity. Surprisingly, nothing. After sensing something amiss, before Haruhime and Shoichi vanished, he felt the presence of a demon. It has, once again, faded, but not into obscurity. He knows it is active, and he knows it knows they are here. “Stay close to me, Teruko. We’re going to get out of here.”

Teruko nods, holding onto his haori. “I’m sorry about leaving your box unattended. It was… it was just so scary.”

Yoriichi takes a deep breath. A long time ago, he was this same confused, overwhelmed eight-year-old child. He has to take it easy— if Aniue finds out he’d almost lost it within this location with a child, he will never hear the end of it. Trying to make his voice sound exquisitely comforting and relaxed, he says, “I apologize for scaring you. That box is just extremely important to me, and to see it being left alone, well, I got scared. But that should not be a reason to be so cruel to you.”

“You weren’t cruel. You were just worried.”

Yoriichi blinks. “Yes… I suppose I was.”

The two of them lapse into amiable silence, with Teruko’s sniffling being the only thing that overlaps with the sounds of water coursing through the mansion like a waterfall. It was, honestly, hard to find a conversation topic that the two of them can relate to, thus, he opts to lead the two of them silently around the mansion which was… bigger than the two of them expected.

All the more room for trouble.

“I’ll find the exit so I can drop you off before searching for Haruhime and your brother,” he tells her, and Teruko nods.

However, when they reach the end of the hallway, said door was not in sight.

It was like the exit has disappeared.

Yoriichi’s lips curl, as he feels a trembling form press into his body for some semblance of comfort. He wishes he was good at comforting people— the last time he did, that civilian had rudely abashed him for his insensitivity, which, perhaps, was deserved.

“Let’s find a different way out,” Yoriichi says. He wants to kill the demon immediately, but he worries for this girl. He must prioritize this child more than anything else. She nods, and the two of them walk around the hallways, navigating fruitlessly for some semblance of an exit.

He opens a fusuma, expecting to see the exit. Instead, all he sees is empty rooms amongst the sound of water rushing through the entire mansion. It was getting rather overwhelming and annoying.

The demon should just appear for him to kill it, although that would mean endangering Teruko.

The two of them enter a dry room— drier than any other room or hallway, because at least Yoriichi does not feel something dripping down on him every once in a while. He is starting to get worried if Teruko will get sick or not.

Well, the mansion is humid at best— not frosty cold like Yoriichi’s room always is during the rainy days, as the temperature drops into frigidity.

“You’re not cold, are you?” He asks her.

She shakes her head.

“That’s good.”

Teruko gasps, looking around. “Do you hear that?”

Yoriichi frowns. “Hear what?”

The sound of a koto string being plucked.

TWANG!

Suddenly, he could feel a demonic presence surrounding him— the aura was more menacing than the bog demon, but less intimidating than Yushirou. One thing’s for sure, he is quite a powerful demon, and killing him will be difficult.

In a fraction of a second, Yoriichi shields Teruko from the demon, brandishing his sword as he looks skeptically at the silhouette of the demon against the door.

From the silhouette alone, it seems that, in his past life, he was a slight man— his hair was moving like the coursing water of streams and rivers, and he could hear him snarl. From the way he is positioned, he is also holding an instrument— it must be the koto that had caused them to be moved around each room like a fiddle.

“You must be the demon that owns this mansion,” Yoriichi observes, trying to decide which Breath of Flame style suits best to deal with this demon. From his abilities, he must have some thematic water and koto-based Blood Demon Art, but outside of room teleporting, he has yet to see it in action. “Where have you detained Kiyoshi?”

“Of course a demon slayer found my home,” the demon mumbles, grinding his teeth together. His fingers hover over the koto he holds. “Now they’re about to take my meal! The meal that will make me great again! That will return the favor the Great One has once held for me! I must find that meal! I must!”

“Are you talking about Kiyoshi, the marechi?” He asks, narrowing his eyes. So he does not have the child with him now— better yet, he has not been devoured as of yet.

Either he is hiding, or he has been taken by a fellow demon that resides in this mansion.

He hopes it is the latter.

“You’re not taking him!” The demon bellows, about to pluck a string. “I won’t let you take him when he is mine to devour!”

That is all Yoriichi needs to hear; with a foot forward, he lunges towards the demon— Mizu, with determined conviction.

Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire!

He fails to hear Mizu pluck a string, two strings actually, but he sees it, instead.

Suddenly, he hears the sound of water rushing through the room, and Teruko lets out a shriek of surprise.

He does not need to turn— suddenly, he can feel water surging through the room, dampening his sandals and the socks within them.

Turning, he could see Teruko stumbling, not able to handle the absolute depth and strength of the water that currently floods the room. Somehow, the room has gotten bigger, as water pours from the windows like they were replicating waterfalls. He scoops her up in his arms, swearing internally as, when he does that, his sword slips from his grip, landing onto the ground with a soft, wet plop.

Damn it, how is he supposed to go after the demon when the water is knee deep, his sword is currently swimming away from him, and he has a child to take care of?

It must be the demon’s Blood Demon Art— earlier, in order to separate the two demon slayers together, he felt a string being plucked. When the water begins to flood, Mizu plucked the strings of the koto twice.

So he has a pattern. However, he is curious if Mizu has other things up his sleeve. After all, he feels like an extremely powerful demon, from the grumbling he had said about wanting to return to the favor of his Great One.

Before he could try and figure out the rest of his patterns, he should find a safe place for Teruko to seek shelter in. she’s going to be in more danger if she continues to follow him into this mission. Looking around this large room, the water continuing to rise and his sword nowhere to be seen, he finds a desk that was just as tall as Yoriichi is, and, after wading through the water (it was slowing him down, which was annoying) he places Teruko on it.

“Stay there as I try and kill the demon,” he tells her, his arms now lighter than ever. Teruko nods, telling him to be careful.

He is thankful that his clothes were all waterproof, thus not letting the fabric soak up the water that continues to pour.

He looks for his sword— he doesn’t have to look any further, as he finds his sword up ahead. He picks it up, turning his head to find out if Mizu was still around. He was, clutching his head, growling slightly.

Yoriichi takes a Breath, willing himself to use Total Concentration Breathing, ignoring the soft straining his ribs currently have.

Then, he runs.

Flame Breathing, First Form: Unknowing Fire!

The demon simply lets out a derisive scoff, and Yoriichi watches as he plucks the strings of his koto, once, twice, thrice.

Suddenly, the water stops rushing through the ceiling. Before Yoriichi could suspend his relief, he felt his feet grow hot. Boiling hot, even.

The water has become as hot as a spring, hotter than that.

Yoriichi hisses at the sudden temperature change, taking a deep breath. He looks around— Teruko is, safely, still sitting in that desk, however, she was staring at the now steaming pool of water gathering around the room. Somehow, none of this has yet to spill outside, where the demon lurks.

So three plucks of the string will make the water burn hot. Like the same kind of water his father had tried to pour over him for his disobedience.

He takes a deep Breath. Breathing properly will help mitigate the discomfort he feels, even if he feels beads of sweat lining above his brow.

He addresses Teruko, “Teruko, do not jump in the water. It is boiling hot.”

She nods, “What about you?”

“I will be fine,” he says through gritted teeth, wading through the water to reach Mizu once more. Everything below his knees are starting to hurt, even if the uniform is fireproof. He’s sure he can get this treated, but he has to kill this demon. Let him kill it so they all can escape. “Stay there.”

Teruko’s lip trembles, but she says nothing else, as Yoriichi brandishes his sword, readying to strike Mizu.

***

A door opens, only to find it leading to another empty room.

Nope.

Haruhime walks towards another fusuma, sliding it open, only to find, drum roll please, nothing at all!

No!

She grinds her teeth together, frustration and paranoia beginning to eat her alive. This was all her fault! What had possessed her to find herself in a different room that was not the norm?! Now she’s got a kid to protect, but no one to protect her! A demon might be prowling the area, and they might try and attack them! Unlike Yoriichi, she has absolutely no faith whatsoever in her skills! Everything she does is simply an inferior version of what her friends do, even if they try to tell her otherwise.

Uta told her to stop being so pessimistic about herself, but when she’s been considered inferior and not good for anything, does she have any heart to believe her?

Now she’s stuck here, finding the exit rather than finding the demon! She’s not sure if she can do both at the same time— fight the demon and protect Shoichi! She doubts!

“Ms. Haruhime?” Shoichi asks from behind her, causing her to shriek in fright, jumping away from the boy. When she realizes that it is just the boy she’s been trying to escort back to the exit, she tries to calm herself down.

She grips her shoulders. “Hey, hey! Don’t speak without any warning! You scared the sh– I mean, heck out of me! I was going to have a heart attack! Do you want me to die because you were being unintentionally scary?!”

Shoichi stares at her. “Out of all the girls I met, you’re the most fearful one of them all. Even Teruko can face off a yokai without screaming.”

Haruhime lets out an offended gasp. “Hey, that was so hurtful! Don’t say that to the girl who’ll get you out of this place! This is slander! Literal slander!”

The boy gives her a deadpan expression. “Is it, though?”

“Yes! Let’s just get out of here. I’ll dump you outside and I’ll find Yoriichi and your sister. How’s that sound?”

Shoichi huffs, crossing his arms. “Okay.”

“Great, I’m glad we’re on the same page!” She turns around so that the two of them can find another way out of here. She did not want to stay here any longer— but she did promise to find Yoriichi and Teruko once the two of them make it out of this damned house alive. As the two of them resume walking, she tries to get in tune with her hearing. However, she continues to be befuddled and distracted by the onslaught of water pouring through the house. Geez, does this mansion not run out of damn water?

She feels a tug on her haori, and she jumps. She whirls around to lecture Shoichi again. “Stop tugging on my haori without warning, kid! I’m doing the best I can!”

He does not seem to be very convinced. “But whenever I try to warn you, you immediately freak out because you think I’m a demon, when we’re the only ones here.”

She sputters, offended. “I’m jumpy because we are in a house filled with demons! I can’t have people surprising me! What if I had my sword with me, huh? I could’ve killed you by slashing you to bits!”

“I doubt you even know how to use a sword.”

“Hey, I’m a demon slayer! I can use a sword!”

Shoichi, once more, does not seem to be very convinced.

“Stop looking at me like that!”

Haruhime lets out a frustrated groan, curling her lips together. “Just wait, we’ll find the exit!”

“Why can’t you just kill the demon?”

“Because I’m useless, okay? I can’t– I don’t– I suck at swords!”

“You said you know how to use a sword.”

“I can know how to use a sword while also being bad at it!”

Internally, Shoichi wonders why he did not end up with the cooler demon slayer, and instead, the lamer one of the two.

“Let’s just find the exit so we can leave! Then you’ll never have to see me being pathetic ever again!”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he deadpans, much to Haruhime’s mutterings of how much of a coldhearted boy he is. He simply rolls his eyes over her dramatics.

Haruhime hears the sound of shuffling and the metal clanking of some weapon on the walls, between all the dripping. She gets her hopes up, assuming that whoever is currently making that noise is Yoriichi— even if the sound of his heart is far away from her, a distance that she never dares to cross carelessly.

She locates the room where she hears such noise, sliding the fusuma open.

Unfortunately for her, it was not Yoriichi Tsugikuni on the other side.

Instead, it was a slightly familiar person with messy black hair that looks like snakes turning to face her, exposing that they were wearing an oni mask from beneath that black mane of theirs, making them indiscernible.

When she sees that this person has crimson red eyes, almost like a demon’s, she shrieks, about to brandish her sword in order to protect her and Shoichi, but this guy is much faster than she is.

In the blink of an eye, they exit the room that has kept them prisoner, black haori patterned with spider lilies flowing across the wind. She didn’t chase after them, not only because they were fast, but because Haruhime spots the familiar outline of the Corps uniform below his haori, which conceals his uniform.

That doesn’t mean she controlled her surprised, high-pitched shriek when they disappear around the corner.

Shoichi looks at her, and when Haruhime sees the expression on his face, a look of disbelief and disappointment coalescing into one expression, she gasps in horror.

“Hey, cut me some slack! That guy came out from nowhere!”

This is going to be a long day, Shoichi thinks.

Chapter Text

Muzan takes a long, deep Breath from beneath his mask. He can’t believe that he saw her again after trying to avoid her and her gaggle of teenagers during the Final Selection— although he could not help but make a snide comment about the performance he saw when she exits the walls of wisteria being carried by the doppelganger of his old friend. After all these years, she still needs the help of other people. Unlike Muzan, who’s learned to be completely independent!

(Rei would like to object.)

He shakes his head, brandishing the yari he brings, nicking himself on the finger to release a drop of blood from his skin. It’d make his Breathing technique a lot stronger, and more brutal towards demons.

He’s going to find the demon who trapped him here for three days.

He grits his teeth. Three damn days! He’s got to be kidding! He wasted most of his resources inside this hell house!

That’s fine. At least he got out.

All he needs to do is kill the demon and then find the damn exit.

***

Yoriichi could feel the water steaming. He realizes how much he loathes the idea of being submerged in hot water. Or perhaps, he would’ve appreciated hot, boiling water more if it was not, say, used in a life or death situation and more in recreational purposes, such as in onsen.

But he was not in an onsen, so he should stop dreaming of such things.

He tries to find a way to reach the demon— he seems to sense his advances and attacks despite not blinking an eye, nor turning his head to look at him directly.

So, he better start trying to inch out his Blood Demon Art in order to find out its greatest weakness and get the demon to confront him properly.

“Just stay there,” Yoriichi tells the young girl, as if she has anywhere to go when the water is steaming, to the point that the warmth emanates throughout the room. “And if you hear the sound of a string plucking, please hang tight there.”

“Annoying insects…” The demon continues to growl, grinding his teeth together, creating a noise that startles Teruko, almost making her fall into the water if it were not for her quick reflexes. “Not letting me have a bite of my meal!”

He plucks the strings, this time four times.

Suddenly, Yoriichi feels the floor from underneath him shift.

The room seems to be spinning.

He hears Teruko scream. Willing Yoriichi’s legs to move, he runs towards Teruko and catches her, with the disadvantage of almost falling down himself. When the room stops spinning, the side of the room that is supposed to be the walls are now the floor, soaked with hot water, while the floor they’ve been standing in is now the walls.

So plucking the strings four times in a row tilts this room to the left.

This is a whole lot more difficult than Yoriichi could imagine.

What else will the demon do to make things more complicated for him?

“Unwanted little insects in my property,” Mizu growls, baring his teeth as he prepares another attack.

Yoriichi clutches the girl, looking defiantly at the demon, his sword still raised to meet him on his head.

“I will not stop until you are dead,” he vows, and he is not lying. He does not lie, not when he wishes to serve justice.

Mizu plucks their strings, five times.

He feels it before he could see it— he jumps as soon as the water becomes freezing, and when he makes impact with the ground, he slips and accidentally lets Teruko fall from his arms. She lands on her bottom— thankfully, she does not seem to be injured at all.

That doesn’t mean that this new ability wasn’t harmless.

The entire room (well, the one covered with water, anyway) is covered with ice. As if, in no time, the water has become solid and freezing.

His Blood Demon Art truly is troublesome. It would’ve been better if Yoriichi had been split up with Haruhime, rather than a child who will only get herself in danger.

He looks at the child, who tries standing, but manages to keep slipping. Even Yoriichi is having trouble getting up— the only experience he had with solid rivers and lakes was the pond in the Tsugikuni household wherein Michikatsu invites him to play with him for some fun.

Still, he shouldn’t give up— Senjurou told him that a demon will have weaknesses, even if it is not prevalent in the way they display their prowess.

“Even the Upper Moons have weaknesses,” Senjurou told him when he gave him a brief lesson over what the Kizuki are. “Unlike the other Pillars, who’ve lost hope in attempting to defeat all of them, us Rengokus still try, even if we have the most casualties with Waxing Moon One. If they have weaknesses, you can sense the weaknesses of lower ranking demons as well.”

It’s a mantra which Yoriichi continues to hold on to, even if it seems like it is futile.

But according to Senjurou, everything’s possible, whatever it takes.

So, with his head held high, he looks at the silhouette of the demon, still brandishing his sword. He gives Teruko a look that tells her to stay put, as he lunges towards the demon at a brisk pace.

The demon plucks the strings of his koto, six times, and he could feel the air change. He dodges out of the way— he breathes a sigh of relief when his gut instincts had been right. The center of the room, where he’d been in was now covered with a large claw mark that could have shredded him into pieces. He decides to not think about the possible death that he almost could potentially have, as he levels the demon with a look that could, potentially, rival the gaze of a thousand suns.

“You are difficult to get rid of.” The demon grumbles, as he plucks the koto thrice.

He feels the ice he has been struggling not to slip on liquefy, as the water becomes boiling hot again.

Ah, Yoriichi gets the demon’s Blood Demon Art now.

One string: they teleport to a different room, or the demon will be teleported into another room.

Two strings: the demon will pour water into the room he specifically chooses, hence the sound of scattered dripping everywhere.

Three strings: the water will become boiling hot.

Four strings: the room will tilt to the right.

Five strings: the temperature of the water will drop into a frigid state, causing ice to form.

Six strings: claws will materialize in order to mutilate the opponent the demon is facing off with. Yoriichi concludes he uses this last move to kill its victims.

The koto, from what he remembers when Aniue brought home a couple of instruments from one of his classes, has thirteen strings to be played in total. Since he has only heard six strings being played, he prepares himself for any other incoming attack to happen. It is better to be prepared than die unexpectedly.

Learning about this ability does motivate him to continue fighting.

Raising his sword, he tries to cross over the gap between him and the demon he is supposed to kill, using the air around him as a way to catapult him further into the great divide.

First Form! He mentally thinks, but the demon plucks four strings, the room tilting once more to the right.

He has expected this, but, remembering that the water is still hot, calls for Teruko to cling onto the desk she’s been in tightly, before he barrels into her before she could fall from the suddenness of such a tilt.

… He is not going to get any closer to the demon while protecting someone, is he not?

He supposes he should’ve expected this from the get go, however, simply admitting it pains him greatly. Could he save people while also killing the demon? Or will he fail to do what matters most in the end?

“We should get out of here,” he decides, looking at Teruko. He has to save her first, before trying to kill the demon. He must find the exit and dump her somewhere away from this house. He should’ve been prioritizing her safety, but he wanted to get over this quickly. But was he not the one preaching to himself about the value of others’ lives?

She nods, humming softly.

Before the two of them could move another step, a sound that is suspiciously like metal scratching across the wooden walls brings them to a halt. Yoriichi wonders if the demon finally has the courage to face him head on— however, such expectations were thwarted when an unknown figure bursts in by breaking the thin shoji doors from the side of the room.

The new figure was wearing an oni mask, making them look extremely intimidating to the eyes of a child— a child like Teruko, who decides that the safest thing in the world is currently Yoriichi’s uniform. Yoriichi tries to bat down the memories of him doing the same thing with his mother, especially when there is a storm, or he has suddenly gained the ire of his father without any warning.

He glances warily at the newcomer, who was staring with an aura of fermented disgust, as they lift their feet up from where it was drenched in the water.

“You have got to be kidding me…” They mutter. They have the Corps uniform on them, however, it was hidden with his kimono, which seems to also be soaking up in the water. “Of all the demons, it had to be one with a water-based Blood Demon Art…” They let out a sigh of frustration, before recovering from it quickly. They were rather familiar, especially the very low tone that sounds like a growl, with that egotistical, prideful tilt of his head when he looks at the demon.

The demon growls, incredibly frustrated over the overflowing of demon slayers in what is supposed to be a demon infested home.

“You pests,” he snarls, “I want you out of my sight! I need to find that marechi immediately in order to kill you all!”

Yoriichi opens his mouth, about to suggest they work together to kill the demon as fast as they could, but the slayer begins to dash towards the demon in record speed. So, Yoriichi decides to shift his dialogue towards warning the slayer about its powers. “Hey, be careful. If he uses his koto—”

“I know what his koto does,” the boy cuts him off curtly, “I’ve been stuck here for three days. I know these halls better than you, so you better not steal my damn kill.”

What?

“Are you seriously prioritizing competing with me to kill the demon?” Yoriichi asks, wondering where this boy had gotten the audacity.

“If you want to compete with me, then fine. I know that I’ll win against you, anyways.”

“Killing demons is not a game.”

“Who said it was?”

The demon seems to have gotten irritated with their bickering, as they growl once more. “I’m going to feed on your bones once I finally eat the marechi! You will be examples to the other demon slayers who dare come in here!”

He plucks seven strings— a new number. Yoriichi feels the room tilt to the left this time. To his disbelief, Teruko slips from his grip, as she lands on the floor with a pained grunt. Yoriichi moves to intercept her before the water splashes onto her, but the other slayer is faster— at stepping on Teruko’s body. Yoriichi hears her shriek in surprise and discomfort, hoping to the gods she was not in pain at the bodily harm this slayer inflicted on her. Yoriichi feels white hot rage steaming inside of him, and disregarding the water he wades in, he runs towards the slayer before pushing him off the girl's body.

“At least pretend that you care about this girl,” Yoriichi says with a grunt, looking at the slayer with anger as he carries Teruko into his arms protectively.

“Well, who brought her into a demon infested house? Certainly not me.” Their inflection was mocking, and so were those red eyes staring into his soul. There was a glimmer of recognition in them, and they look away from Yoriichi as if they were burnt by the force of twin suns. He sees him mutter something under his breath, but, well, Yoriichi could not hear what he said. “I’ll kill the demon. You keep that child safe, since that’s apparently all you’re good for.”

Yoriichi wants to argue, but from the way Teruko is clinging to him, well, he could not help but comply with them. He will address this boy’s incapability to teamwork (as if Yoriichi has ever worked with slayers other than that time with Haruhime, and then Michikatsu, who is more or less a slayer with his skills at the sword) later, when they finished this demon off. Now that he thinks about it, this demon may be the most powerful one out of all the three in this house, so, by logic, if they kill him, the rest may be easier to kill off.

Before the two of them can put their plan into motion, the demon simply growls.

“All of you are so damn noisy!” He bellows, like the sounds of a terrible, howling storm. The water seems to rush harder. “All of you should drown!”

They pluck the string. However, Yoriichi could not process how many strings he has strung as the floor below them (that is actually a sliding door), opens. He hears Teruko scream into his ear, and when he looks beside him, he finds the slayer he’d been bickering with foolishly while the demon is right in front of them having intercepted a different room, whilst Yoriichi continues to fall with the girl.

Then, they stop falling— they land in a room with a SPLASH!

That is the least of their problems.

To his panic, the water begins rising inside of this room, and the door which had led to this room in the first place now slams shut, effectively making them swim in the dark.

They’re going to drown if the water kept rising.

Yoriichi takes a Breath. He will not let someone as young as her die.

“Do you know how to swim?” He asks her, afraid of letting her go. He was glad that the swimming lessons Michikatsu gave him when they sneak out of the house to go wade in a nearby lake had been effective. Otherwise, he would’ve drowned, as he never particularly enjoyed such lessons in the first place.

She nods. “Yeah, my brothers taught me.”

“That’s good. Why don’t you keep your head above water while I search for a way out of here? It must be below the water. Can you do that for me?”

She nods cautiously, afraid. “Okay.”

Commending her bravery, Yoriichi takes another deep Breath, one that could prolong his lung capacity when he is drowning, before diving in.

Indeed, the entire room is dark. He must make haste in order to find a door that’ll lead to, preferably, an egress away from this room before they both drown.

He would try and tap into the transparent world, however, he’s already quite exhausted and he believes exerting his abilities would lead to him drowning effectively.

So, he tries to feel around, swimming as fast as he can towards the surfaces, his hands trying to find some way to pry open the doors.

Finally, he finds a gap. He brandishes his sword, and pries the door open, causing the water to begin being sucked away from the room itself. He widens the gap, before he is being pulled in as well. All he could hear is the gushing of water, and the absolute push of the force out of the room and into the hallway that awaits him.

He lets himself be sucked out of the room, hoping that Teruko is safe and alive when he did that desperate act.

He lands on the hallway unceremoniously in all fours, wet, miserable, and cold. He coughs out the water in his lungs, burning his insides bit by bit. He feels water drip from his skin, trying to recover the strength has been slowly sapped away. He feels so tired, but there is still so much work to do.

He hears the sounds of a girl screaming, and he immediately gets on his feet, despite the protests of his chest.

The last rivulets of the water stream out of the room, and so does Teruko, who was caught in the confusion of it all. Yoriichi carries her, despite her being as wet as he currently is. She must be cold, too.

If only Breath of Flame could simply warm them up.

“Sorry about springing this upon you,” he says, as the girl’s heavy breathing turns into simple hics and sobs. “I should be more careful.”

“Are we– are we out of the house?” She asks, opening one of her eyes. When she sees the cold walls of the mansion, and not the open hill she had been in, she simply turns back to Yoriichi’s chest, clinging to it.

“We must keep moving,” he tries to assure her. “We’ll get you warm set of clothes once we get out of here.”

Now, he doesn’t know where he will find clothes for a young girl, but he hopes to find dry ones for her; it is the least he could do after subjecting her to whatever horrors have happened today.

It’s the least he could do.

The two of them walk around the halls for a dizzying amount of time— there was no sign of the hostile slayer, or Haruhime and Shoichi, and Yoriichi dreads to believe that they were killed by the demon.

Haruhime is stronger than that— he has seen it himself.

So, they continue walking, until Yoriichi feels his senses acting up once they come across a well-lit room.

Yoriichi opens the door, peeking in to find any survivors in this mansion, only for Teruko to lift her head from his collar, before letting out a gasp of surprise.

There was a boy with an orange kimono, who looked a bit like Shoichi, although a couple years older— he was holding a koto, perhaps the same one as the demon, but he does not look demonic at all. He was a human, through and through.

Shoichi did say that his brother wears an orange kimono.

Kiyoshi gasps at the intrusion, raising his hand to the strings of the koto in order to strum it.

Chapter Text

This entire mansion is giving Haruhime the worst case of the shivers. Ever since she entered this maze of a house, all she could feel is her hackles raising. She does not like why it does that, and why she could still hear the sounds of three demons, and humans running around.

When she hears the sound of an explosion of water, she shrieks at how loud it is, causing Shoichi himself to look over at her with trepidation.

“Sorry, I just heard something loud,” she explains when she gathers her composure once again. It was so embarrassing having a child bear witness to her outbursts. She should keep herself in control, only so she won’t humiliate a child any further and cause a horrible reputation towards demon slayers. At least, that’s what Aizetsu’s brother always tells her when he catches her off guard.

“You should stop acting scared, Ms. Haruhime,” he advises her.

“As if it was that easy!” Haruhime takes a deep breath, trying not to let out a whine in the meantime. She hated this damn place, and she wants to get out of this stupid mansion all together. But to do that, she has to find the exit.

Their search continues to be fruitless, after what seems to be hours upon hours of searching.

“Miss Haruhime?” Shoichi asks, wanting to tug on her haori to get her attention, before realizing how bad the idea was when he tried it a while ago.

At least his voice was soft enough to get her attention without her becoming neurotic or anxious over the sound of it.

She turns to him, eyes tired and droopy. She signed up to become a demon slayer, but she didn't know that this would be the consequence of choosing such a life threatening profession.

(“You're going to train her?” Her master's brother questions indignantly, looking towards the small silhouette of a girl who'd been twelve at the time. Not used to people looking at her directly, she simply looks the other way, thoroughly nervous. “She's shaking like a damn leaf! You really think that she's worth training? Bring her back to her family, Aizetsu! She’ll be an even worse pupil than Enmu!”)

“Yeah?” She asks, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. She is refusing to believe that she is going to die here and she's going to lead the boy to his death, since Yoriichi believes in her prowess as a demon slayer.

Too bad they got separated, but the kid has pretty much paid the price of not heeding Yoriichi’s orders.

Shoichi looks scared, perhaps sad, even. His eyes, amber in the low light of the hallways, expressed the worry of never getting out of this accursed house. “Will we ever find the exit at this rate?”

Haruhime feels a twinge of fear at the loss of hope in Shoichi’s statement. It was like he will never leave this place. She's inclined to join him if she wasn’t so focused on avoiding thinking about the worst-case scenario that Shoichi obliquely brought up. She didn’t want to overwhelm her senses again, and being in a demon-infested territory would not help her nerves. It will cost them their lives if she was to be distracted. She just needs to continue the breathing exercises Aizetsu offered her.

It was difficult to do so trapped in a house filled with homicidal monsters, however. So, she tries to keep herself and Shoichi quiet as the two of them walk through the hallways which look eerily the same to the two of them.

“Ms. Haruhime?” Shoichi’s voice cuts through her scattered thoughts once again, and she realizes that she has never answered his question.

She nods firmly. There’s no need in making a child upset over her shortcomings as a demon slayer. She wanted this job, she wanted to be trained, and no matter how harsh her training had been, she still managed to complete the Final Selection despite her limited knowledge on the forms, one of her greatest failures to this date. She hates the fact that she could not perform all of them well.

“We will,” she says, through her jitters and trembling, even when she highly doubts this statement and its authenticity. “I promise you, we will, Shoichi. So don’t be so worried about our fates! I’ll try and keep us alive!”

Shoichi’s face crumbles at the promise— Haruhime picks up on it.

“W–wait, you doubt that I can keep us both alive?!” She exclaims, holding him by the shoulders, completely disregarding her aversion to touch in order to question the boy.

Shoichi looks rather guilty, at the very least. “Well, you tremble too much, you stammer a lot between words, and you jump at the slightest sounds, Miss Haruhime. It’s making me feel quite antsy myself.”

Haruhime gives him a woeful look, tears in her eyes. “Oh no, I’m sorry! I–I try my best to be quiet and let myself be subject to my– my… um, my paranoia! I didn’t mean to rope you into it too! It’s just that we need to be quiet, that’s all! That way, we can avoid any demons roaming around this house and then we can finally see the sweet sun again!”

She hears something coming beneath the house’s stand, although she thinks nothing of it. Shoichi’s eyes, which had been looking at her, look behind her, before his face morphs into fear.

“Miss Haruhime?” He timidly says, tugging on her haori to get her to stop talking about her promises of letting him see outside.

“Huh, what is it, Shoichi—” Whatever she is about to say is immediately forgotten when she sees what had just crawled out from underneath the canopy of the house.

A demon.

And an ugly one at that, crawling on all fours, having four eyes instead of the usual two, and a tongue that is slobbering with appetite. It smiles at them hungrily, its eyes crazed and parched.

Haruhime, wordlessly, and while holding Shoichi, makes a run for it.

“Aren’t you supposed to kill it?” Shoichi asks as the two of them run away from the demon, who was gaining on them.

Haruhime mentally smacks herself. “My fight or flight situation kicked in, and my body chose flight for me!”

“Well, you should kill it now! It’s a perfect opportunity!”

“I’m getting there, Shoichi! Just give me room to Breathe and find a perfect safe place for you!”

“Miss Haruhime, I’m not leaving you to that demon!” He tells her, to her surprise.

“You’re such a nice boy, Shoichi, but now’s not the time!”

The two of them manage to enter a small room, which was, thankfully, not as wet as the others within this mansion. Haruhime will relish in this small victory, if she was not still being chased by the demon. She immediately pushes Shoichi in, her reflex wishing to save any potential civilians with her, before she attempts to save herself.

Something latches on her wrist before she enters.

Something wet and slobbering.

Haruhime fears looking at what is sticking to her wrist, as she compulsorily brandishes her sword before cutting it off, turning around to face the demon. It seems to be in shock that she could even fight against it, but Haruhime was an anxious-ridden girl. She knows how to fight, she simply does not know how to fight well is the problem with her.

She grits her teeth, willing her strength to return to her.

Mist Breathing, Fifth Form: Sea of Clouds and Haze!

The girl disorients the demon by flying in a zigzag motion towards it, before cutting off its head while it is confused in which way the girl was going.

Its head lands onto the ground with a small squelch, its eyes going dull due to lifelessness.

Haruhime takes a quick Breath, letting herself calm down. She refuses to look at the demon, believing that, despite her having killed a few demons, seeing their corpses will never not be grueling and disgusting to see.

She looks at Shoichi to see if he was okay. He was staring at the corpse of the demon, and then back at Haruhime with wide eyes of wonder.

(Her sisters used to look at her like that, before the incident with their mother.)

“Wow,” he says, awestruck, regaining some of that childish whimsy he must have lost when his brother got abducted by a demon. “That was awesome! You were so fast, and you didn’t even give him the time to breathe before killing him! You are definitely good with swords, Miss Haruhime.”

She still doesn’t believe that.

However, seeing him smile at her brightly, with someone believing her skills even when she could not see it for herself, could not see the appeal, well… it warms her heart. It makes her feel, at the very least, important and filled with purpose.

“I’m just doing my job,” she says, the tips of her ears turning red as she moves to scratch her head… before remembering that the demon had slobbered all around her wrist. She winces away from it in disgust, before wiping it on her light blue haori, utterly disgusted she let it soak in her skin for so long. What if it had demon rabies?!

“Come on, let’s get out of here before we get even more lost!” She says, after she — meticulously, she hopes — gets rid of the saliva. She holds out her hand towards Shoichi.

He beams at her. “Okay, lead the way, Miss Haruhime!”

The two of them resume their search for the exit once again, with Haruhime brandishing her sword.

This time, their search is a whole lot more hopeful.

***

Footsteps pound across the tatami floors, whilst the one running was panting, their eyes, filled with anger and irritation, was breathing heavily and angrily. They were dripping, wet from head-to-toe due to the demon’s Blood Demon Art, thorougly frustrated at how heavy his clothes are and how he must use his Breathing to continue with his work. His hair flows past him, like snakes coiling against the wind, as he stares straight ahead.

He grits his teeth, trying not to shiver at the wetness. I lost him again.

He remembers the boy with red eyes, whose hair has tips like the Embers of the sun.

It was all that bastard's fault; if he wasn't spouting bullshit about morality and stepping on a girl (that had been an accident, and she was fine) he would've beheaded the demon sooner.

“Why is he even wearing Michikatsu’s face? He's so much more uptight and awkward than he'd been,” Muzan muses to himself, as he rounds up a corner to find the demon, going as fast as he could despite still being wet.

Ugh, he needs to dry his clothes once he gets out of here. He could feel himself freezing.

He senses a demon up ahead, and out exits one from the darkest depths oit.f the corners.

He scoffs, taking out his yari from the restraints planted across his back, glaring at him. He does not stop moving.

Fine, if this stupid demon so badly wants to be in my way…

He runs faster, not caring about the demon currently blocking his way.  In fact, he will relish on getting to kill a demon after failing to when he had the chance within that room. He brandishes his yari, feeling the thrill of vanquishing a demon, even if this one is not the demon he'd been looking for. It was fine— as long as he can be rid of demons for taking away Rei, he will be fine with settling for something not as good or not what he expected.

He turns his yari so that its points are all targeted onto the demon, as blood begins to rush through him.

It's been so long since he's got to kill a demon. He might be going crazy, being stuck in this damn place for so long.

He leaps, lunging towards the demon with the air breezing past him.

Blood rushes through his veins, like a stream coursing through the forest, as he faces off against this demon. It was humongous, but he can manage it with one or two forms. He was Muzan Kibutsuji, after all, a man who recovered from the sickness that had once plagued his body, forcing him into less than desirable circumstances.

Blood Breathing, First Form: Mosquito, Puncture.

Like a mosquito drawing blood from its prey, and suckling it until it is full, he punctures the demon in its stomach, stunning it. The demon grunts in pain, much to Muzan’s enjoyment. At least he was enjoying its pain, while the demon was definitely not having a great time. It’s what it deserves, anyway, as he dashes away from its arms about to crush him, clearly mad about the puncture in his stomach. Muzan bites his lips as he removes his spear from the puncture wound, before immediately going for its head, puncturing it through its neck, prying it off in one fell swoop.

It is exhilarating, to be free to do whatever you want without anyone telling you to return to your cot, afraid of your sickness returning to your body when the doctors have sworn up and down that he is finally cured of the illness that has been plaguing him for so long.

He is not tired. Not yet, anyway. He tries to pretend that he is not, for the sake of finding the demon and then looking for an exit.

He hates how his Breathing grows labored as he runs, the throes of a long recovered sickness rearing its ugly head.

Too bad Rei is no longer here to help him.

Muzan shakes off the sweet memories he has vowed never to think of again until he kills the one who is responsible for killing her. For causing a bereavement on the only source of his happiness in this insipid, cruel world, all demons must pay.

***

Annoying.

He feels the irritation travel into his veins like a buzzing fly, insolently floating through the crevices of the walls in order to annoy those within the room the fly has entered. it disturbs the work of an artist.

That is how the demon slayers and the demons hiding inside of the Mansion he had considered to be his abode, his gateway to seclusion for decades, as he continues to bait humans into entering this place by luring them in with his music, his skills with the koto unmatched and unwavering. He played all of the humans like a fiddle, as he cuts them open, relishing in their bloody screams as he carves his markings along their skin, his teeth reflecting the carmine liquid of his prey.

He had been like a king, lounging on a throne of corpses, as he gorged himself upon dozens of humans everyday, their cacophonous screams a delight to hear as he continued his onslaught of devouring every human he has seen.

One day, he had caught the eye of the Great One, the Progenitor, the one who has enlightened him with this form of never being satisfied with the food he has been supplied with, using his koto to bring himself more food.

He was given a ranking many demons covet, one he once held onto with pride, with the ambition that one day, he will rise above Waning Moon Six.

However, that day did not come.

For he finds out that demons do have limits when it comes to their appetite for humans.

He simply met the limit, one of the demons who was, in their Great One's eyes, an anomaly amongst those who were never satisfied with the carnage they have bled through humanity.

No matter how much humans he fed upon, deceived and lured into his home only to have them brutally slaughtered and be made into his meal, he often undergoes the process of regurgitation, wherein his body begins to simply vomit out the human flesh he had fed himself in order to gain energy and strengthen his powers.

The first time it happened, he had reassured himself, thinking that perhaps the human he'd picked has a horrible taste.

However, after the multiple times it has happened, standing upon vomited corpses of humans he's killed, looking at them with disgruntlement and disgust, he feels as if he is being contested with his position, his euphoria at being a part of the strongest group of demons being temporary. He knows what will happen to him if he does not defend his position.

When his King notices he has not eaten in the last few months, he, understandably, visits him to check upon his progress, concerned and equally cautious to find out what has caused this condition. Of course, he always told him that it is fine, he will return to his regular metabolism in no time, but overtime, he is less convinced.

Then… he came, in the dead of the night, five years ago, with his haunting, sapphire eyes filled with the desire to be stronger, his affinity with water never seen with him before. His hair was dark, darker than the night sky, and just as mysterious as he is.

He took his position in one fell swoop, as his King watches with begrudging disappointment.

When his opponent, the winner, whose eyes were brimming with victory and the haunting idea that he did not care about this position, and is in fact dissatisfied by the outcome, as if he wanted more, is declared as the winner, he felt searing pain in the eye that had once housed his proud ranking of Waning Moon Six.

“Disappointing.” The King mutters to himself as he stands right above him, quite peeved at how one of his soldiers failed what he believes some of the only good thing they are supposed to do. “I cannot believe you have failed to be a demon I expected you to be. You are a disgrace to demonkind, and a terrible example to the morale of demons. A change in diet and anatomy is abhorrent for a demon such as your liking, and thus, you must be eliminated from my ranks.”

Before Murata could plead, glaring at the demon who had won against him, someone much stronger than he could ever bargain for, the demon controlling the castle beats on the drum, returning him to the abode that had held concerts for dozens about to get killed all in one night.

Murata remembers how disappointed his king had been at him, as he feels his claws being released, sharpened to near perfection at the sight of it.

He will find that marechi and devour him, before he devours the demon slayers.

Then, he will contest the current holder of the Waning Six spot and return to the Great One's favor.

Nothing can stop him.

He strums the strings of the koto.

***

The boy with the koto looks at Yoriichi with trepidation, his hands traveling to the koto that looks similar to the one the demon is currently strumming. Before he could strum it impulsively, as if it was a reflex he gained escaping the claws of the demon that had been out to hunt him down, Yoriichi hears a small gasp of relief and eagerness behind him, as Teruko untangles herself from his grip before running towards the boy, who gingerly puts down the koto he'd been strumming in order to receive the girl's tackle hug.

“Teruko?” He exclaims as he wraps his arms around his sister protectively, looking simultaneously alarmed at the sight of his sister in a house infested with demons, whilst also being relieved to see a familiar face amidst the accumulating danger within this house. He must have been all alone, strumming that koto string as if it was a lifeline. “Oh my gods, Teruko, I thought I would never see you and Shoichi ever again!”

Teruko, who had begun crying into her older brother’s kimono, affirms her statement as well, expressing that she, too, had been rather distressed and worried over the idea of never being able to find him, finding it a rather harrowing experience. She details her misgivings of journeying within this house, as Yoriichi studies the koto that Kiyoshi was about to strum before realizing that he is with non hostile humans rather than predatory demons.

“Mister Yoriichi kept me safe throughout everything!” Teruko mentions Yoriichi’s name, and suddenly, he is brought to a conversation he is not acclimated to or used to as the two siblings look at him. Kiyoshi has an expectant, but pleased look on his face, while Teruko beams at him as if he was a hero. “He’s trying to kill the mean monster that trapped you here!”

“This is the same koto that the demon owning this mansion used,” Yoriichi points out, gesturing to the instrument laying on the floor. “It feels like a demon’s belonging.”

Kiyoshi glances at the koto cautiously. “Well, yeah. When the demon abducted me, he imprisoned me in this house. But before he could eat me, some demons came to ambush him, wanting to have me as their feast instead. In the middle of their arguments, the demon’s koto was dropped onto my hands, and I immediately used it to escape from them.”

Yoriichi acknowledges internally over how smart the boy is, raising his brows before nodding. “I see. How commendable of you to do that, thinking of your survival as you escape those demons. So you know how to change rooms, correct?”

He nods. “It took some trial and error, but I got the hang of it.”

“Do you mind telling me why the demon seems determined to capture you, however?”

Kiyoshi’s eyes turn down. “Unfortunately, no. But it seems to be so hellbent on eating me… something about my blood?”

“That's probably because you're a marechi!” Yoriichi’s crow, Aka, caws out of nowhere, surprising all three of them. Yoriichi jumps, and the children shriek in surprise at the talking crow, but they school it in anyway. Yoriichi inquires him of what a marechi is, and it tells him that a marechi is a person who has rare blood, making them, consequently, rather appetizing for demons. A marechi is equal to fifty or a hundred people, depending on how rare their blood is. Kiyoshi looks quite horrified at the idea of being used as some sort of food capsule for the demon that kidnapped him, while Teruko is overwhelmed at the information and her wet clothes still clinging to her every move.

“Is there any way to repel demons from taking him?” He asks his crow.

“There is! A pouch filled with wisteria. I'm sure Mister Aizetsu’s student has something in her bag— you can ask her later.”

Yoriichi nods in affirmation before he turns to Kiyoshi, a plan forming in his mind when he is made aware of Kiyoshi having a “Kiyoshi, you take care of your little sister. It is dangerous to go with me, as I am going to kill the demon that kept you captive once and for all.” He could not possibly bring them with him, lest they all encounter mortal danger once again. He needs focus to kill the demon, and Kiyoshi having one of the demon's koto has given him an opportune opening. They look very hesitant at letting him leave— they must be afraid. Yoriichi knows what it's like to be afraid; he finds himself jumping when a handis raised, or he hears a loud noise.

What does Michikatsu do when he tries to calm Yoriichi down?

He kneels in order to be at eye level with the boy. “Keep strumming the koto to catch the demon off guard. Once I kill the demon, I will look for you.”

Kiyoshi nods, gaining confidence at being told to do a daring task. “Okay.”

With a nod to Kiyoshi, he jumps away from the room using a window that used to be a door. Kiyoshi strums the koto up to the seventh string, feeling the ground give out as he begins falling from room to room. At least the senses of the demon have gotten stronger. It means he is near.

Biting back a pained hiss as he accidentally applies pressure on his chest as he falls, he grips the hilt of his katana tightly. Finally, he sees the silhouette of the demon he is going to kill, holding the koto with clawed hands. The fingers were ready to strum the string of the koto, and Yoriichi lands on the pool of water surrounding him, trying to ignore the awful strain in his legs as he shifts himself to an immediate upright position. He brandishes his katana at him, not one to give up.

The demon growls, and thus, begins their fight.

The demon begins, strumming the koto strings and turning the room upside down, the water, and then Yoriichi, following the direction.

(Somewhere, in another part of the house, Haruhime and Shoichi were running in circles trying to find the exit. All their attempts on searching for it were getting nowhere; luckily, they did not have to run into a couple more demons. She thinks she cannot take it.

Then, the room suddenly changes directions, the floor disappearing from below her. Unsurprisingly, she shrieks whilst she falls down the doors, each opening for her until she and Shoichi fall outside.)

Yoriichi tries to keep himself away from the water, leaping around the most shallow parts of the room. He has a plan, but he doesn’t know how long he can continue with feeling like his clothes are beginning to drag him down. He winces as he accidentally applies pressure in his sprained leg, and doubles over when he breathes in too much. He resorts to taking shallow Breaths. He shifts his balance to his unsprained leg, glaring at the demon. It's up to his hearing (which is his weakest sense) to help him dodge or avoid the incoming attacks.

The demon begins playing the koto, a melody that must have come out of a composition, and yet, it was deadly as well. As the demon plays, the water either becomes cold, hot, dry, or the room begins to tilt in varying angles. Claws seem to emerge from out of nowhere, scratching the air where Yoriichi had been, had it not been for his extremely fast reflexes. The demon growls as he meets an unharmed Yoriichi, who was stricken with sweat and some mild discomfort.

Said mild discomfort was simply him trying not to think too much of the pain that is erupting all around him right now.

How is he supposed to fight the demon when he is ailing? He feels like his bones are brittle, his skin feels too hot, his wet clothes are quite bothersome, and the sword on his hand feels foreign to the blisters around the hilt.

Rui was a great medic, and Gyomei tried his best to be gentle with applying bandages over his body, but it seems that he needs prompt and proper medical attention. Ever since this morning, walking through the fields and farmlands with Haruhime, he’s been bearing the unbearable. Regardless of the warning he gave her when he told her about the extent of his injuries earlier in the afternoon, he tried not to give away his weakness too much. He might end up making the poor girl with the heightened senses panic some more, something he doesn’t want her to do.

So, he tried to put on a brave face, the way Michikatsu does, even when there is a visible bruise on his face from where his father struck him, or how he lets out a small frown when he exerts some weight onto his injured leg.

Weakness must be punished, according to his father. And Yoriichi, from birth, had been weak.

It was something that was well-established as he grew older. He doesn’t know what Michikatsu saw in him, to keep protecting him from his father even when their mother has been cremated and their father became more withdrawn and adamant in giving him up to the priests. He does not understand why Hakuji was so impressed by the bold thing he did when all he wants is to help his brother the way he helped him. And he doesn’t know why Senjurou and Shinjurou appreciated being around him, when they are strong, stronger than Yoriichi ever will be.

He can’t kill this demon, for he is weak.

His lip trembles.

The only reason he has lived this long, why he wishes to live some more, is to cure his brother. That is his only purpose in life as the second son. He cannot handle this much pain because his mother coddled him, being her little sun. she was always very vigilant if he ever comes to her with injuries, and she would coo and summon a servant to give him medicine. Michikatsu, meanwhile, works and studies even when he is sick. He could never handle the pain his brother is always in. he could never handle the state that he is in right now due to his weakness.

He looks at the demon warily, wondering how he is going to kill it when it always deflects or distracts him by using the surroundings of the room.

Suddenly, an image of Senjurou enters his mind, and with him brings forth the memories of his training with the greenhorn Flame Pillar and the properties of Flame Breathing.

“Flame Breathing is drawn to the inner strength of the user,” the specter of Senjurou explains, giving Yoriichi a kind and patient smile, almost mirroring his mother, if he thinks about it. “Fire has always been drawn to strength— some may use it for destruction, such as razing and pillaging villages, but others may use it for the betterment of humanity, using it as a method to cook food or bring light to a place. Fire keeps us warm during cold days, and the constituents of flame is found everywhere. You just have to cause enough friction and… you can keep yourself warm. Fire is one of the fastest elements in the world for a reason— if you left it untended, it will cause harm or innovation.”

Yoriichi looks at the demon, who is readying his next move, watching him startle and pause.

Fire is one of the fastest elements, and consequently so is the Breathing style.

Yoriichi will simply have to move faster than both Flame and Thunder— even if he has yet to see Thunder Breathing in action.

Take smaller Breaths, he reminds himself as he poises himself to move and attack the being in front of him. He is not going to falter. He is not going to disappoint Senjurou, Shinjurou, Hakuji and Michikatsu by giving up for being a weakling. He will prevail. If he fails this, he may not find a cure for his brother.

He has to bear the pain. It is a show of strength and showmanship.

He moves faster than the demon anticipated; as it strums its koto, and the world turns, Yoriichi enhances his vision, entering the transparent world once again.

He could feel himself growing warm— not warm enough to exaggeratedly warm his clothes, but enough that he could feel himself not being affected by a freezing temperature any longer. He ignores the growls of the demon, feeling himself floating, imagining a Clear Blue Sky right in front of him.

He spins and twists his body in a circular motion, delivering a successful slash on the neck— in an instant, the Blood Demon Art that encourages water to drip from varying places of the house vanishes instantaneously, and Yoriichi lands — on his good leg — on the tatami floors in order to inspect his accomplishment. He had successfully killed the demon, who was angrily swearing at him up and down, his wounded eye clearly reading the letters Waning Moon Six. However, it seems like he was a former Kizuki, judging from the scarred flesh that resembles an X around it.

Ah, no wonder why he wanted to eat Kiyoshi. He wanted to be reinstated into the Kizuki.

“What’s your name?” He asks, deciding to offer the demon some serenity.

The demon looks so taken aback it forgets why it was angry in the first place. Then, he settles for one word. “... Murata.”

“Murata,” he repeats, and then, with a tilt of his head, he says, “Your Blood Demon Art was incredible.”

The demon’s eyes grow wide. He must have never gotten any compliments in his life until now.

Yoriichi watches with a sympathetic furrow of his brows as the demon disintegrates into thin air.

I’m glad that this nightmare is over, he thinks to himself, letting out a deep sigh. He heads out of the door, finding the kids (who threw different variants of furniture before realizing that it had been Yoriichi who came knocking) before holding out his hands — Michikatsu did that for him all the time — surprised that they are taking it with so much enthusiasm.

Feeling a bit of warmth in his heart, that he suspects is from the aftereffects of Flame Breathing that is not Flame Breathing, he walks out of the mansion, hoping that nothing bad is happening outside.

He jinxed himself.

Chapter Text

By the time Yoriichi and the children find the exit, it was already sunset and nearing evening. However, that is the least of his concerns. Yoriichi could not believe what he was seeing when he finally found the exit, accompanied by shaken, but thankfully unscathed children clinging to his side.

Because what he expected was not the scene before him.

Shoichi is standing with a horrified expression on his face, thoroughly at a loss over what he should do. Even Teruko and Kiyoshi stiffen beside him at the look of utter distress over his face. Yoriichi tries to find out what Shoichi is looking at, and his entire state of being freezes when he sees why he looks so scared and unresponsive.

Haruhime was leaning over Yoriichi’s box, covering Michikatsu— the expression on her face was horrified but defiant, and she was quite roughed up. He doubts it had been from the demon inside the house, as it looks rather manmade and made in close contact.

He sees a shoe kick her side, sending her sprawling to the ground. However, her hold on the box remains steadfast.

Yoriichi feels his rage emerge from within him, a beast he usually releases when he is fighting against demons who do not deserve his kindness, not when they continuously mock the cycle of life and taint everything that is dear to him.

He looks at the perpetrator, to find them standing before Haruhime, completely confident, their aura malicious and annoyed. Their hair was styled in a messy mane, a wavy texture that makes it seem like snakes coiling whenever they move. They were wearing the standard Corps uniform, with a yari attached to their back without any problem. The haori they wear closes in on the blouse from what he can sea, and it was black with the pattern of gray red spider lilies. He could also see the outlines of a mask shaped like a mythical oni’s face blocking their identity.

They tsk at the sight of Haruhime hugging the box protectively. “It’s disappointing that we reunite and you’re still like this, Haruhime. I thought that becoming a demon slayer, trained by a Hashira, no less, would make you a lot more perceptive to things in life.”

Do they know each other? Yes, Yoriichi has felt familiarity with this slayer before, but unlike Haruhime, he did not have any personal history with them.

“You’re not going to take this box!” Haruhime exclaims, embracing the box even tighter. Yoriichi blinks when she said those words. Does she know that…? “This isn’t yours, and it isn’t mine either!”

The masked person simply scoffs. “Then let me kill the demon inside it, since this box does not belong to anyone. What if it was night time and the demon inside the box is let loose to feed upon these children?”

Yoriichi stiffens. Someone has figured out that he has a demon brother! He must find a way to retrieve the box and get out of there before he gets asked a dozen questions he doesn’t want to answer.

He should’ve brought his brother with him! He’d have thought he’d be safer outside, away from the stress of Yoriichi’s job after what had occurred last night. He seems to be awake too, when he accesses the Transparent World to check if the slayer — or Haruhime — has landed any form of strike against Michikatsu. Thankfully, he finds none.

Shoichi lets out a gasp of fright when they say this.

“You think I’m stupid? Of course I know there’s a demon inside, I’ve always known!” Haruhime exclaims, confirming Yoriichi’s greatest suspicions. Of course her keen sense of hearing will work to his disadvantage, thus revealing to her about the supposed ‘unwanted’ visitor in their travels together. “The sound of a demon and a human is different, so I clocked in immediately that there was something inhuman hiding in this box!”

“Then why didn’t you kill the demon inside?”

Haruhime looks up, glaring defiantly at the slayer. Despite her bruises, she still looks so majestic in the light of the dying sun. he knows many will covet the beauty which she has. “Because the person who owns this box has the kindest, most beautiful sound resonating in his chest. He was so kind to me, and even believed in my abilities, even when I was so scared and clueless over what to do. I want to repay his kindness by protecting something he considers more important than life. More important than anything else!”

Yoriichi feels his heart warm, his suspicions about Haruhime that had been hanged across his heart, a stark reminder not to get close with this girl, burning to ashes at this admission. He’s never… heard someone vouch for him, other than Michikatsu or their mother. But to see someone choose him over logic, over what they’ve been taught to do, and to trust him on his word alone, well…

Yoriichi lets himself smile briefly, before it fades from his face completely when he sees the slayer deliver another kick to Haruhime, this time on the chest.

He will have to thank Haruhime for trusting him once they get rid of this slayer who is adamant on trying to kill his brother.

“Hey.” He tries to call for the slayer’s attention, however, it doesn't seem to work as he's trying to pry Haruhime off the box this time, using a hands-on approach that has Haruhime talking about how they shouldn't pry women off something they are clearly clinging too. So, Yoriichi opts to do it the hard way, then.

Disentangling himself from Kiyoshi and Teruko, he grips the slayers shoulder with a very hard grip, causing them to stop fighting the girl, who seems to be on the verge of unconsciousness, no thanks to them.

Red eyes stare at him in bewilderment. “What the hell do you want?”

“The box is mine,” Yoriichi says, narrowing his eyes at him. “You have no right to what is inside.”

The slayer scoffs, shaking off his hand like that had come as easily as it did. “You do know there's a demon inside, right?”

“I'm not letting you kill the demon inside it. He's important to me.”

“Ooh, look at Mister Big Shot over here, telling me what I can and can't kill! What, do you honestly believe I will stand down because you claim ownership of this box. To top it off, you're also a demon slayer! You're breaking the damn rules by hoarding a demon!”

“I've heard that a lot of times since I came here,” he replies dryly, “and frankly, he is still quite important to me, and I will not let you ruin the chances I have of returning his humanity back to him.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Haruhime’s face flicker with doubt. It's fine— at least he knows what he's fighting for now.

The demon slayer in front of him laughs. He compares it to the sound of a fox laughing, creaky and breathy, as if he was ill and dying. “Oh gods– do you– do you really think that I'll let your precious demon go because of a horrendous, nonsensical dream like that? What do you take me for?”

Without warning and without preparation, he picks up the box from the ground, much to Yoriichi’s panic and consternation. Haruhime must have lost her grip, and he doesn't quite blame her for it with how badly she has been beaten.

So, Yoriichi does the most sensible thing: with the strongest force he could muster, he pushes the slayer, shoving them to the ground, and retrieving the box. He then places it in front of the children, who, reunited, are huddled together. Although, he doubts that they can stop the slayer from carving a bloody mountain, with the way they treated Teruko in the mansion when the both of them were trying to kill the demon. Still, it's better for the box and the kids to be out of his way as he continues this feud with the other slayer.

The slayer grunts, perhaps surprised with the impact, before he glares at Yoriichi with venom and vitriolic spite in his eyes. He growls, “You're going to pay for that.”

“I have no money left on me.”

That truthful statement seems to have an adverse effect on the slayer, and he lunges right at him, intent on making him bleed. With the way he moves, Yoriichi almost thinks he was a ravenous demon who wishes to tear his skin apart with his fangs. He was tall (just a bit shorter than Yoriichi) and quite lithe, his Physique skinny and gaunt. He could see some muscles around his arms and legs, but it does not deter the fact that he is very light. The slayer tackles him to the ground, pinning him down with his arms. Unfortunately, it seems that strength is not his strongest suit, as he fails to even convince Yoriichi that his prowess is equal or greater than his. With fluid movement, Yoriichi pushes the slayer away so he could get up, brushing the dust off his clothes.

“You're annoying,” The slayer growls out, glaring at Yoriichi from under his mask. “Are you sure you're a Tsugikuni? They're not normally this annoying.”

Yoriichi’s eyes grow wide. “How do you know my surname?”

He rolls his eyes. “I'm not sure if you either hit your head against a wall, or you aren't actually him, but you didn't forget about me, did you? About us?” He gestures to Haruhime, who was trying to get up despite her strained movements.

“I have never met you two until the Final Selection and now.”

The slayer scoffs, “So you aren't him. Glad I'm not acting delusional for once. It makes this fight a lot easier to digest.” He pulls out his spear from his back, before thrusting it onto Yoriichi’s chest. Haruhime shrieks from behind him, calling such duels taboo, as Yoriichi dodges his attempt at literal murder. The slayer hums, some form of morbid fascination in his eyes. “Huh, you are fast. Glad I wasn't exaggerating when I saw you dash at me at incomprehensible speeds when I mistakenly stepped on the girl.”

“Mistakenly? You didn't move your feet from her until I forced you off her.” He doesn’t bring out his sword, believing that this fight will be made even worse if he does so.

“I don't care for the technicalities. I just want to kill the demon before you stole the show. He was a former Waning Moon, didn’t you know?”

“Yes,” Yoriichi answers.

“He was supposed to be my kill.”

“Sounds like you forgot the part where you were thrown out of the room when the demon got annoyed.”

“He was my ticket to becoming stronger to be viable for the position of a Pillar!”

Yoriichi tilts his head. Huh, that was… quite the ambition. It's not like he was judging him for his physique.

“There are plenty of other high ranking demons out in the country. Why are you treating this as some sort of one time opportunity?”

“Because I know I can kill it without any help!”

Yoriichi doesn’t want to have a conversation with them any longer— all he wants to do is to run away with his brother’s box in his back and recover from his old wounds. “Well, there are still plenty of demons more powerful than this one. You can reconvene with whatever mission is given to you rather than focusing on killing the one in my box. He’s important to me.”

They scoff. “And if I tell everyone that you’re currently harboring a demon inside your box? What then? You will be hunted for sport for this.”

“I don’t care about the consequences.”

“Then you shouldn’t care about a spear being impaled across your face either!” They bellow, before thrusting the spear to his face once more.

Yoriichi leans back, staring at the tip of the yari with wide, wary eyes. From behind, Haruhime gasps in fright, as the children all shriek in unison at the near death experience.

Is everyone in the demon slayer corps fast?

Feeling frustration pooling into Yoriichi’s veins (he never thought he could feel that kind of emotion), he grips the bottom of the spear before pulling it away from its owner’s hold by using his legs to kcik the hand holding the spear.

The slayer stumbles backwards, hissing in shock at the swiftness of such kick. Yoriichi is afraid he may have hurt them, before he is encountered with great fury in their eyes.

“You’re going to regret doing that,” they say, standing upright, itching for a fight.

“How are you going to fight me without your spear?” Yoriichi asks, and for emphasis he tucks their designated weapon behind him.

“Hey, give that back!”

“I was not planning on keeping it. I have my own weapon to kill demons for.”

“Then give it back, you cheap, plastic, carbonized copy of Michikatsu!”

Yoriichi was so caught off guard by the mention of his brother’s name (was that supposed to be an insult?) that he does not see them barreling straight towards him at an undignified pace. The box falls when he does, but he catches it just in time. He hears the sounds of distressed scratching over the wood that Yoriichi taps against the wood to convince his older brother that he is fine. Although, he is not unharmed, and he is yet to leave the woods of severe discourse yet.

He feels the edge of the yari pointed at his neck again.

“You’re going to hand me that demon,” they growl beneath the mask. “So I can kill it. You will never have to see me again after this. I don’t want to see you again after this.”

“I don’t even know who you are?”

That seems to have offended them further, as they move to take the box by its straps, much to Yoriichi’s shock.

“No!” Yoriichi cries out, as he kicks the yari away from his neck, before headbutting them straight on the head.

Haruhime lets out a wince— she must’ve heard their skulls cracking together, creating a very unflattering sound.

“Oh gods, are you guys alright?!” She asks, finally having recovered from the beating as she walks towards them, a worried look in her eyes as her lips purse.

The slayer groans in response. Yoriichi thinks they’re fine.

Yoriichi locks eyes with her. “I’m alright, I think.” He sees through the Transparent World to check if Haruhime’s injuries are dire. They were not, outside of a couple of bruises he knows she can walk off.

Yoriichi takes the box, tapping on it once again to tell his brother that the threat has been neutralized. They will have time to unpack all this later. They have tons of business to attend to, first.

“You know, you headbutted them hard,” Haruhime says, clasping her hands together as she looks at Yoriichi and then back at the almost prone form of the person who’d been trying to kill his brother. “Aren’t you, like, concerned for them?”

“I am,” he confirms. “I did not headbutt them that hard.”

“I–I guess so.”

They hear a groan, and the two of them turn to see the slayer on their feet once more; their head is lowered, as if they are struggling to get their bearings.

Haruhime, immediately, slowly approaches them, soon forgetting why they were bruised in the first place. “Hey, hey! Don’t try moving! I swear, you guys are as stubborn as the patients in the Emotion Estate. And– ack, what did I say about not moving?!”

Finally, the slayer’s head snap up, and Yoriichi sees, from the now cracked Oni mask, which is about to split in half, absolute wild fury and hatred in Muzan’s eyes.

“You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

Haruhime looks at them, offended. “Are– are you talking about me? I’m trying to help you but you won’t let me! You’re always like this!”

“Not you, him!” When that statement comes out of their mouth, their oni mask finally splits in half, clattering to the floor.

Yoriichi is greeted to a very familiar face— the one he swears to never forget during the Final Selection. He should’ve expected that such a vitriolic person would be the same one as the person from the Final Selection. They were getting on Yoriichi’s nerves, and he never thought he’d get so angry at someone. And, apparently, he — and Haruhime — knows Michikatsu? How?

A pale, sallow, and hollow face sneers at him; his lion like hair frames his face, making them look more like a crazy woman than ever before. Yoriichi could not help but compare them to the myths of Kiyohime. The hair and the red eyes were a sealing deal of almost believing they were a yokai.

But that was not the most concerning part about them— it’s the fact that their forehead is bleeding, perhaps from that hard headbutt. Maybe he should’ve been gentler getting his point across.

“My name is Muzan Kibutsuji,” they say, despite their eyes flickering, with exhaustion and a probable concussion. “You will do well to remember it, for I will become a Pillar in the near future.”

“You are getting concussed over a headbutt— I believe that you are not going to be promoted into a Pillar in the near future.”

They grit their teeth. “Hey man, I’m getting really damn tired of your insults. How about we have a duel to—” Before he could finish his sentence, he drops to the ground, finally unconscious. They look more peaceful than they ever did before.

Haruhime shrieks, hands clawing at her hair. “Oh my gods you killed him!”

“I did not. He’s just concussed.”

“Concussions untreated can lead to severe brain injury!”

Yoriichi blanches. “Oh.”

Haruhime sighs, and Yoriichi finds he's grown familiar to her exacerbated noises, stressed about what this mission has come to. “I'll take care of Muzan. You… um, find the bodies of those who perished in the house.”

Yoriichi nods, even if the job he’d been assigned to was not one he takes a particular liking to. But, because Haruhime is such a jumpy girl, he suspects that if she ever finds a dead body, she will simply stare at it with a desolate expression on her face.

He feels someone tug on his haori. It was Teruko.

“We wanna help,” she says, and her older brothers nod.

Yoriichi feels absolute devastation when they say they want to help. “You’re too young for this.”

“Our family lives by a graveyard, we know how to bury the dead, even if it was rather informal,” Kiyoshi tells him, as if that reassures him.

Yoriichi, in the end, cannot resist the whims and requests of three young children who intend to do good after being helped immensely by the demon slayers.

***

Muzan smelled the scent of lavender perfume and cinnamon as the world melts into a brilliant red orange, exploding through the backs of his eyes as if he could see anything. As if he has no idea that this fragrance is something he will never smell again. He is dreaming once more, that he knows— for a reason he finds nebulous and oddly sentimental, since he became a demon slayer, with his new uniform to boot, he began having more profound, prolific, and peaceful dreams. The splash of death and the screams of the one he mistakenly damned had been replaced with the sweet memories of before, only they were more bittersweet. The smell of lavender perfume had once made him feel happiness, the profound feeling of being alive, something he thought he’d never feel.

In the midst of his days being forced to be confined to the likes of his futon as his parents waste time and money on medics that seems to assign him medicine that only make him feel worse, she had been the cream of the crop, the class above the rest. Rei wished for him to get better, and thus, after a year, he did. He was so grateful for her, he never forgot that lavender scent she carries.

Then, he would remember in the midst of his dreams, that nothing was real. Nothing ever was, even when he was currently being embraced by the very person who he wished to see again the most, but will not.

Because the person wearing it was dead, and now he is here to pick up the remains of his love for her.

Rei is dead.

And all that remains of the love they shared is tucked inside his tomesode.

He opens his eyes, to find that the dream was short-lived, much to his disappointment. He was not surprised he returned to the world of the living, with his agenda still in hot pursuit over the Kizuki.

He must kill at least one. Then maybe, he can find the one who killed her. His wife.

Muzan gets up immediately, his hair wildly all over the place, shrouding his eyes as he does so. He whirls around, looking for his mask, before finding it in the ground, cracked. He feels a twinge of panic seeing the crack, trying to calm down the anger. Perhaps he should not have provoked the other boy into a fight. Then, he forgets who he was, and being reasonable was not in his characterization.

He could still fix the mask— hopefully. It is one of his last tokens of love from Rei.

He hears voices from behind him, and he turns to look at the guy who knocked him out and gave him a concussion — it still hurts like a bitch, too — in a prayer stance in front of burial mounds. They must have buried the people who perished in that house.

Muzan groans, gaining the attention of the three brats that had been the only survivors of this terrible massacre. The young girl tugs on Haruhime’s— the girl slayer’s haori, and she jumps a little at the sudden tug, before making eye contact with Muzan. Her face was bruised, a black eye and a scrape on her face that has Muzan looking away from her, embellished with an awful feeling in his stomach. It was guilt, but he refuses to believe he would feel some form of compassion towards anyone else that wasn’t his old paramour.

He was just feeling nostalgic, when looking at her, is all. A fragment of the past he had forcefully buried deep within him, returning with a deadly vengeance when he looks at her. He could not believe that she managed to survive the world of demon slayers, when she acts like a lost girl in the woods.

“Oh, you–you’re awake!” He hates the fact that Haruhime immediately approaches him, albeit cautiously. At least she’s learnt to approach strangers with caution, even if it was because Muzan had beaten her up in order to reach the box, hiding a demon lurking beneath its wooden boundaries. “Does– does your head still hurt? I mean, I’m sure you have a concussion, ‘cuz Yoriichi here decided that the best way to shut you up is by headbutting you. Was his forehead quite hard?”

There she goes, talking. He knows she’s nervous. She can be quite the chatty one when she feels like she is about to explode from paranoia, but fuck, she needs to shut up sometimes.

He slaps her hand, that had been about to tend to his injuries, away. He looks away from her, not wanting to see the gobsmacked expression on her face. “I’m fine. Can you move away?”

“O–okay,” she stammers, as she steps back and he hears a low crack from where she’d been standing. She gasps, so Muzan swivels around to see that she is currently touching the Oni mask that had slipped off his face when fighting the one she called Yoriichi, a horrified, guilty expression on her face. “Oh, the mask is broken. Well, it had been broken when it was split in half due to the impact. But I broke it even further. I broke it twice more. Is it a squared exponent?”

“Stop blabbering,” Muzan orders with a sigh, taking the shards of his mask into his hands, looking at them with a woeful expression, before it shifts to an annoyed one. For some reason, he cannot explode on Haruhime. Gods know why. “I have a few more at my place. Don’t worry about breaking this one.” He can still fix it. He knows how to. Besides, Haruhime has already been overwhelmed today, with her being trapped in that godforsaken house before getting beaten up by a childhood friend. He’s not going to swamp her with anger that will force her to continue saying sorry all the time.

“But… you’re okay, right?” She asks.

Truthfully, Muzan doesn’t think he’s okay. He’s hungry, he’s thirsty, he feels sick, and he’s fucking freezing thanks to the cold water sopping up his energy. Not to mention the awful fucking headache thrumming through his veins like a drum currently being played by a thousand players. They beat in his head like they are preparing for war.

“I have a killer headache.” He plays it off. “I think I need to rest up in my place for a while.”

It was a mistake to tell someone like Haruhime Toyonaga that you’re staying someplace else. She looks up, her eyes wide and her face interested. “Your place? Where are you staying?”

He rolls his eyes. “None of your business.”

She pouts a little, but does not pry.

He feels a presence, looming and unasked for in front of him. He feels himself gritting his teeth.

“You’re awake,” he says in a monotone voice, not unlike Michikatsu’s, however, it irritates him because it sounds exactly like his if he removes the careful lilt in his voice. “I apologize for giving you a concussion. You were acting in a volatile manner, thus I have no choice but to use forceful measures.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t give a shit about your sorries.”

He hears Haruhime gasp, telling him not to use unflattering language in front of the children, although he ignores her. He stands, not caring if there may still be blood caked upon his face, but he is going to stare up at the guy wearing Katsu’s face haphazardly, and hoarding a demon, with everything he has.

To his irritation, the guy doesn’t so much as react, as if this is not bothering him in the slightest. He wants it to affect him, but it’s like nothing gets through his stupid thick skull. It’s like his head is empty. “Thanks to you, you broke something valuable of mine.”

To his indignation, the guy’s face contests into a look of sadness and regret. “I can fix it—”

“No,” Muzan bites back harshly, and he feels that ugly sense of satisfaction coiling around his veins when he sees the guy stiffen. “I don’t need your filthy, impostor hands to dirty everything my wife made.”

“Wife?” Haruhime repeats the penultimate word, tilting her head at him. “But– but Muzan, you’re only, like, sixteen! How come you got married at such a young age?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m seventeen now, Haruhime.” He hates how familiar her name rolls off on his tongue, albeit he tries not to hide the nostalgia he feels. He looks at the oni mask with an expression of congeniality and delicacy. “I was fourteen when we married. It was a good two years for the both of us.”

“Wait… was it you and Rei?” He stiffens hearing his wife’s name on another’s lips, as he is brought to the harsh realization that he was not the only one who remembers his wife, and now, if Haruhime puts the dots together, mourns her. Haruhime, of course, being the smart girl that she is, puts two and two together, before her excited gasp fades into grief and horror. “Oh… she’s… she’s dead? Like… like Katsu too, huh? I hate it when the people I want to reunite with have died.”

Muzan sees the guy stiffen when she mentions Katsu’s name. Huh, that’s interesting.

“Haruhime,” the guy calls to her, and she has the decency to be embarrassed.

“Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned your dead twin brother, huh? Oh, oh gods, that sounds terrible coming out of my mouth! I’m so sorry!”

Muzan furrows his brows. He looks at the guy. “Brother?”

“Yeah!” Haruhime intercepts the conversation. “He’s Yoriichi Tsugikuni, Michikatsu’s secret twin brother! Apparently his existence was kept secret. I was also surprised that Katsu has secrets, since he was so eager to tell me the things that happened in the household right away.”

Muzan looks at Yoriichi skeptically. Outside of the horribly vacant red eyes and the scorching, ugly birthmark on his forehead, he seems perfectly ordinary. Aside from the birthmark, that is. He scoffs. “Hm, no wonder why they kept him a secret— that birthmark is embarrassing to look at.”

Yoriichi tilts his head to look at him. Haruhime sighs to herself at the callousness of his words.

Today’s going to be a long night.

***

Apparently, the eldest boy, the one that got abducted in the first place, was a marechi, which is highly sought after by demons. Haruhime digs into her haori to procure a wisteria pouch for Kiyoshi, telling him to keep it with him at all times in order to prevent another demon from abducting him. After that, the three siblings bid the slayers farewell, with Haruhime waving at them enthusiastically, Muzan refusing to do so, because he sure as hell isn’t going to stoop so low as to wave goodbye to some children, and Yoriichi giving them a few waves.

“I’m going back to my place,” Muzan says once they had ensured the kids are safe.

Haruhime looks at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us to a wisteria house? You need proper medical attention.”

“And stay with the guy who gave me a concussion? Sorry, pretty girl, no thanks.”

Haruhime coughs at the acrimonious comment made for her. However, she still finds her voice, “He’s very sorry for that! Look, we can also get some supplies to help you repair the mask Rei gave to you, and then we can recuperate from our wounds! I won’t even let Yoriichi near you. How’s that sound?”

Muzan looks at her pleading face, knowing that her motivations behind forcing him to stay with the both of them is to catch up with what time they’ve lost. Muzan has not seen her for the past three years since she went missing, and she is clearly expecting that he has not changed in those past few years of not being in contact. All of them have changed— one is a demon slayer who needs to get a backbone, one is off seeking vengeance, no longer satisfied with the outcome of his fate, and one is, well, dead.

He didn’t expect Katsu to go out before the two of them. Muzan had always been the more sickly one compared to the three of them.

Muzan should stop grieving over people he will never see again. He has too much things on his plate now, after all.

He sighs, rolling his eyes. He can do this for Haruhime. He doesn’t know why, though. And besides… his eyes trail towards the box, a skeptical glint in his eyes. He wants to know what is in that box, and why the empty-headed freak is carrying it around like it has a prize in it, which he knows it does not. “Fine.”

Haruhime smiles at him, and it sucks that his first thought is that it looks so much like her smiles back when they were stupid kids who thought that the world was just as stupid as they are, only to be smacked in the face with consequences.

“Great! I’ll lead the way, and you two could try not to kill each other on the way to the wisteria house.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” Muzan bites back the words sardonically, as he hefts himself up to begin walking, following Haruhime’s paranoid shuffling as she looks from left and right. Seriously, why does she always do this? It’s making him paranoid, which is not a good thing when you spend your life, and plan to spend the rest of it alone.

It’s also a displeasure to end up walking side-by-side with someone you’re beginning to hate.

“I can’t believe you’re his twin brother,” he tells Yoriichi, who was watching the birds fly above the trees, almost stumbling because he’d rather watch the happenings of nature than watch where he is going.

“I can’t believe he was friends with you.”

Muzan feels that familiar hatred coiling deep in his stomach.

Chapter Text

In a different part of this story, in another location with the same kind of tale sprawling around man-eating beasts lurking in the shadows of night, a conundrum that has confounded and horrified all members of the Corps alike. A bloody conundrum that shakes the core of the Corps as kakushi and demon slayers, most especially Pillars, run to the scene.

However, they are too late; for whoever had rid the life of this village, and of its protector within the first hour, has vanished without a trace. Nothing left but the amount of blood and entrails spilled in the area, and the few survivors thought to hide in kitchen cupboards or in the well.

They all tell the slayers the same thing.

A white-haired man who is not a man with purple eyes. Wisteria looking eyes.

Hakuji, one of the few Pillars that were summoned by his crow for assistance (even if that point is moot now), simply carries some survivors towards the care of the kakushi, who were blathering on and on about the horrors they’ve seen, the gore that splattered on their face now making them question their sanity. They did not deserve it, was the phrase currently broiling in Hakuji’s gut, as he orders the kakushi who were not medically inclined to help him with the efforts of looking for more survivors in the debris.

A catastrophe. A replica of a typhoon with winds that were destructive and fast.

The power of a Waxing Moon.

If this were the power of one of the Twelve Moons, what does it say for Yushirou?

His blue eyes flit to Sekido, Aizetsu, and Karaku; they had come at the news that it had been their brother who was fighting the Waxing Moon. They were all currently convening. All of them were huddled around Urogi’s body, or what is left of it— his lower half was gone, while the upper half of the body was torn to shreds, with only his head being the one completely intact. Aizetsu solemnly closes Urogi’s eyes, which had been staring blankly into nothing and turns away, body shaking.

Hakuji remembers doing the same thing to Koyuki’s—

With a hiss, he looks away. He hated the fact that he could still remember the feeling of her hands growing colder every moment. It was like the deities above were mocking him for thinking he’d ever escape his grief.

He distracts himself by thinking about how it had come to this, by recalling the reports of the crows.

This village had been under Urogi’s district, therefore under the Pillar’s protection.

A demon whose abilities rival that of a god came and began the slaughter. Urogi fights him, but it is clear he is severely outmatched, and paid the price for thinking he could fight this demon head on.

He wants to offer solace to the Wakisaka brothers, especially poor Zohakuten, who had been left behind in the Emotion Estate when they all heard the news on who Urogi had been fighting.

Waxing Moon Two.

Hakuji shivers just thinking about that title. The third strongest demon in the world and he decided to come out of hiding in order to… what? To give the Wakisaka brothers more grief? And anger at the world for not letting their brother live?

Karaku looks… stricken, when Hakuji looks at him. Shell-shocked and only staring at his brother on the ground, even when the kakushi begin diligently carrying him away after burying his body in a white linen sheet. He doesn’t administer Sekido’s angry shouts and Aizetsu’s advice of telling him to calm down.

No wonder Hakuji was sent here— the Wakisaka brothers would not handle this travesty against their family well.

With a long inhale, he approaches their little family meeting, keeping his face solidly grim.

There were tears running down Aizetsu’s face. Of course he would— he just saw his brother’s corpse.

“It’s the same demon,” he hears Sekido say to his remaining brothers, while steadily keeping Zohakuten in the dark. His voice is stuck in a low growl, as if making his voice louder would force him to spill a few tears. “The same demon that killed our father. Purple eyes, white hair. He took another one of our family.”

Karaku does not respond. He and Sekido never get along, their relationship strained after Sekido blamed him for the death of their dad all those years ago, so not hearing a comeback laced with bitterness and glee was uncharacteristic.

Then again, his twin, his closest confidante is dead. Where were the twin instincts the two clam they have?

Sekido turns to look at Hakuji, crimson red eyes glaring at him like he was intruding on a family only matter. Come on, give him a break— he came as soon as he could, being on the other side of the country when he got the message. “Alert the Pillars and tell them we're going to schedule a funeral.” Sekido takes a deep breath, glaring at him. “I heard Senjurou has a student.”

“I guess the rumors spread like wildfire, huh?” Hakuji says, wondering where he's getting with this. It was probably Uta's fault that it spread. She always is one to tell everyone crazy stories. He hopes they don't know about the willing passenger he's carrying with him. It was troubling Hakuji that Yoriichi hadn't sent Senjurou a letter after a few days. He hopes he's still alive out there, somewhere.

But, he was a strong man. A strong boy who was direct with his words and never runs away from injustices. He can handle a few days without guidance.

“Damn it,” Sekido grits his teeth, clenching his hands to fists. “Fuck that damn demon. He should’ve immediately ran to us for help. He's so fucking stupid, even in death. Demons are a blight to our society, and all must perish.”

Hakuji says nothing, but his mind immediately thinks of Michikatsu and the potential danger both brothers found themselves in. He and Senjurou were planning to gently tell the Hashiras and Oyakata-sama of the rather unconstitutional harboring of a demon, but he supposes he could push it back. Not even Tamayo can help him when the entire Corps is grieving. He watches as Aizetsu crumbles first, collapsing into sobs; he ignores Sekido’s demands at getting it together, before huffing and stomping away from the scene so he can lambast all his anger and hatred towards the kakushi who moved his deceased brother's body. Hakuji sighs, approaching Karaku and touching him gingerly on the shoulder.

He realizes he is standing in the same spot Urogi would be if he was alive.

He tries to keep his emotions under control.

“Come on,” he says in a tight voice to Karaku and Aizetsu. “It's getting cold; let's go inside before we get sick.”

To his surprise, neither Karaku nor Aizetsu fight his advice off. They must be out of it— he remembered when his fiancée was killed, and he had also been very… ballistic after he discovered she and her father was killed. It makes Hakuji think— if he was killed by a demon, would he have been avenged, the reaction to his death violent and unjust? Would Senjurou, or perhaps Yoriichi take up the sword to avenge him?

He shouldn’t think about that. He did not want to end up like Kyoujurou.

The air around Karaku is oddly silent. Well, how could he crack jokes at a time like this? His twin is dead, and everything around him seems to deflate in color.

Urogi will never laugh again after this, it seems.

Urogi’s crow flies into the night, trying not to shed tears as he flies to contact other Pillar’s crows about the death of his master.

***

Yoriichi has been feeling overwhelmed these past few hours. From meeting Haruhime once more (disregarding the fact that he has met her through unflattering circumstances) to meeting the children, having to leave Michikatsu in that box all alone and vulnerable, to almost drowning so many times to the point he's lost count, and finally, killing a demon with broken ribs and a slight sprain in his leg.

He is definitely in need of a break, and his brother seems to sense his stress as well when he taps lightly on the box to get his attention. Yoriichi perks up at the intrusion of this noise from the stillness, looking towards Haruhime, who was walking slowly, never leaving the two of them to their own devices. He wonders if she was scared of them fighting again, wanting to tell her that they will not unless he wants to instigate, before realizing quickly he is immediately suggesting that Muzan was fond of fighting. And, seeing that the two of them (with the addition of Aniue) go way back, it does not seem to be a good option to provoke those who once knew his brother well.

“So,” Muzan saddles up next to him after excusing himself from Haruhime's side. It must feel nice to be near her, despite her nervous jitters and little jumps when a critter finds the three of them in this wilderness. He looks at him in order to tell him that he was listening to him. “Michikatsu's brother, huh? And his twin too. I almost killed you back at the Final Selection for looking too much like him.”

He doesn’t try to meet Muzan’s eyes. He was rather content on just following Haruhime and walking through the woods until they stumbled upon what shelter they were looking for. Perhaps he could even find some time to write a letter for Senjurou and Hakuji, telling them not to worry about him and that he has found evidence of good demons lurking amongst humanity, wanting to bring down Yushirou Imakurusu.

He feels a flare of impatience and frustration by his side, and, just a tad, he looks at Muzan, who was glaring at him. For what? It’s not like he was obligated to speak with him, when every time he opened his mouth in the last hour almost got him a sword in his throat. He can understand why Michikatsu decided to befriend him in the bygone days.

The older boy just rolls his eyes, before walking forward until he is beside Haruhime, who seems to appreciate his presence. “Not a talker, huh?” He must be pertaining to him.

Yoriichi remains silent, only walking with the two.

Haruhime tries to save him. “Um… he doesn’t talk much. If at all. I mean he talks, but not the same amount as we—”

“I get it,” Muzan cuts her off, before softening slightly. “... Sorry for beating the shit out of you. I just don’t get why you were protecting the demon in the box.”

She was, wasn’t she? Even when the two of them had reunited earlier that day, and Yoriichi was cagey over what was in the box and avoided any of her questions, she still protected it from Muzan, who she knew since childhood.

He ought to thank her for it… but he doesn’t know when would be the most appropriate time to do so.

“I didn’t know you could apologize,” Yoriichi says as a matter of observation.

Yet, when Muzan turns to look at him, a glare is etched across his face. “I can. I just won’t apologize to you.”

Yoriichi could live with that; he shrugs, acknowledging Muzan’s refusal to apologize to him, as they continue walking through the woods.

Haruhime looks at him, once the sun had fully set and it was nighttime already. They hear the sounds of crickets beginning their odd melody, drowning out the silence with their woes. “Your breathing is starting to get labored. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Yoriichi was slightly surprised that she notices how his breathing has changed since the walk has become rather long-winded for him. Whatever athletic talent he has is currently being nullified by not being used to fatigue and tiredness; these past few days are harrowing, to say the least, and he has not rested properly to bury the exhaustion with it. He had even begun walking with a slight limp once the strain on his sprained ankle was too much.

Muzan snorts, rolling his eyes. “He can complete training in just six months— I’m sure he can walk a few more kilometers towards our destination. It’s too late to turn back now.”

There is something acrid in Muzan’s tone when he talks about what Yoriichi had told that girl — Uta — after the Final Selection has chosen the six survivors worthy of becoming demon slayers. Yoriichi does not need to be in the Transparent World to see how terribly jealous Muzan was, or quite bitter of gifts that Yoriichi seem to have that the older boy does not.

Yoriichi tries not to feel like he is deeply affected by said bitterness; he thinks that there is too much darkness in the world to care about how one person is born.

He looks at Haruhime, whose teal eyes, from beyond the darkness still comprehensible, were darting towards Yoriichi, then back to Muzan.

“You can still walk well…?” She asks.

He could only nod, too exhausted to be doing anything else. Just keep walking.

“Are we… there yet?” He asks after a few more minutes of limping and almost tripping on a tree root.

“Nearly there,” Haruhime says, sounding a bit confident, if the steadiness of her voice doesn’t bring that out.

“Let’s hope you didn’t get us lost in a dark forest,” Muzan drawls boredly.

“I didn’t get us lost!” Haruhime’s loud voice disturbs a bunch of sleeping birds, who immediately fly away from their vicinity. “I know every single wisteria house! It’s like looking at the back of my hand! But they aren’t in the back of my hand, since…” Haruhime trails off, looking lost in thought as she tries to find another way to compare what she wants to say.

Muzan sighs. “Why does a wisteria house have to be located in the middle of the fucking woods?”

“It was the mansion that was located in the woods— we’re just returning to the outside world,” Haruhime affirms.

“Oh, very nice,” Muzan declares sarcastically.

Their descent from the hill is delayed or slowed down a bit thanks to Muzan and Yoriichi’s injuries, and Muzan’s complaints of said injuries along the way. He practically begs Yoriichi for compensation for giving him a concussion. Yoriichi ignores each and every one of his insults, not having the energy to dispel them. Haruhime, as always, tries to play middleman for both of them. It doesn’t work well, but she does persuade Muzan to shut up when he needs him to.

Finally, they return to humanity’s territory, and not the enigma that is demons and their wants for isolation. Yoriichi thinks Haruhime would go crazy being trapped in a forest that may be filled with the very thing they seek to destroy. Haruhime looks relieved at the sight of houses and the candlelight flickering through one of the windows visible in the rice fields. With practiced, memorized steps, she guides them through the road, and they end up within a house with a wisteria crest on its banners.

“Is this the place?” Yoriichi asks, trying hard not to collapse from sheer exhaustion. Rui’s medicine must be fading away.

“Yes,” Haruhime nods. She knocks on the gate, and the boys wait with bated breath as it opens with a clank, and an old woman answers her knocking.

She was a frail old woman, at first glance— however, Yoriichi could feel such brusque strength coming from the elderly woman, that he thinks she was a fighter, or rather, a demon slayer in her youth before retiring in her twilight years. A rarity, Senjurou tells them, those who are fortunate enough to retire when they realized that they have seen enough horrors to last a lifetime. She was hunchbacked, and she was wearing a simple kimono with a shawl wrapped around her neck. Her hair is snow white and tied to a bun.

But when she looks at Haruhime, her eyes light up in recognition. “Ah, Aizetsu’s pupil. It is so nice to see you again, safe and sound.”

Haruhime smiles at the old woman. She must be a demon slayer, then, from an old era beyond the Taisho period. Or maybe she was just one of the few nurses who chose to take care of demon slayers, seeing their faces fade into the ground below. “It’s good to see you again, Hisa-san.”

The old woman, Hisa, steps aside to let them in, the pleasant smile on her face keeping Yoriichi at ease. “Now, who am I to turn away what seems to be three young children who have ran afoul of a demon? Come inside, I’ll prepare dinner and your sleeping quarters.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, and she looks at Muzan and Yoriichi.

Prompted, Muzan says, “Thank you,” in a begrudging manner. He passes her as he follows Haruhime.

Yoriichi nods at her, too tired to say anything else. But when he passes her, he feels her tense aura.

“Young man,” she enunciates, her cordial way of speaking fading into a tone of seriousness. “What is in that box you are carrying? I sense… evil within.”

Yoriichi’s heart seizes in his throat. He doesn’t think Haruhime could help him, and he knows Muzan won’t, seeing as he was ready to kill his brother.

He tries to find his words— tries to get Hisa off his back, off her suspicions over the demon inside of the box he is carrying. He cannot tell her about Michikatsu. If she still has ties beyond the higher-ups of the Corps, then it is likely that the letter will find a Pillar that will not be so merciful of his privation to let his demonic brother accompany him during missions. Perhaps it was a mistake following Haruhime into a wisteria house, rather than separating himself from the pair and heading home to the Rengoku household.

Hisa continues to look at him with a calculative eye, her expression one of scrutiny and suspicion.

Yoriichi feels a drop of sweat falling from his face. He doesn’t know how to get out of this.

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

Haruhime and Muzan exchange glances.

Muzan rolls his eyes, and walks towards Yoriichi, who was frozen in his spot.

“This guy right here,” he points a thumb towards Yoriichi’s direction, “has a weird habit of taking a demon’s things when he kills them. Yeah, I tried telling him that those things are infected, but he’s a creep who doesn’t like being told what to do. Sorry if you sensed something evil in his box. That was his fault.”

Yoriichi nods fervently at his statement, no matter how undignifying and uncharacteristic it is. He could even hear Haruhime make a strangled noise that might be laughter covered with her hands from behind the two of them, as Hisa scrutinizes the box, and Muzan’s false statement.

He was surprised that Muzan came to his rescue, when he seemed to be praying for his downfall with as much zeal and passion he could muster. It must be because of Haruhime’s exhortation, and him having a soft spot for her well-established.

Hisa sighs, relenting to Muzan’s whims. “Young man, you best be careful gathering things that once belonged to demons.” She doesn’t seem to believe Muzan’s statement, judging from the fact that she was looking at Yoriichi with a doubtful look wholeheartedly. “Now, come inside. I am sure the cold night’s air is causing concern for your injuries.”

“We should get a doctor,” Haruhime blurts out, looking at Yoriichi and Muzan with a concerned expression. “Yoriichi has a sprained ankle and broken ribs, and Muzan has a concussion… which was definitely caused by a demon headbutting him hard.”

“She’s lying,” Muzan says, ignoring Haruhime’s surprised outburst. “Yoriichi caused the concussion.”

He changes his mind immediately about Muzan and how helpful he is.

Hisa looks towards Yoriichi, who does his best to tell her through his expression that he did not mean any of it and he regrets doing it to Muzan.

She sighs, a labored breath escaping her lips. “I’ll summon someone to treat your injuries and then call a doctor in the morning. Will that suffice?”

“It will suffice a lot,” Haruhime says, flicking Muzan’s forehead with her fingers. She likes to talk with people who won’t surprise her, it seems.

“I’ll show you to your rooms.” Hisa guides them through the house, the halls lit with lamps hanging around the walls, and Yoriichi, feeling his energy recuperating at the promise of being healed and having a good night’s rest for what seems to be a long time, decides to pick up the pace. The old woman stops by a room that was only for one person. She looks at them quizzically, her eyes landing on Haruhime. “This is your room.”

“... Huh? Oh!” A red blush settles on her face, fidgeting with her fingers. She must have assumed readily that they would all be sharing rooms, before Hisa had shown her which room she’ll be sleeping in.

From beside, Muzan snorts, crossing his arms.

“The bathroom for the women is to your right, my dear,” she tells Haruhime sweetly, and she gets what she is saying as she makes a beeline to the said location, still red-faced. She turns to them, and the boys follow her into a room much larger than the one she gave to Haruhime. “And this is your room, boys.”

Muzan’s amused expression fades when he realizes the implications of her words. He looks at the old woman, the matron of the house, and towards Yoriichi, who did not wait for Muzan to come to terms with what this means for the two of them, walking towards the bedroom. He studies the pillows with a relieved glint in his eyes. They seem quite comfortable.

“The men’s bathroom is to your right,” Hisa tells them with a slight smile, but her eyes are darting to Muzan and him. “I have prepared towels and new kimonos for you.”

“Thank you,” Yoriichi says, removing the box from his back and placing it near the bed he had taken as his. Hisa’s eyes turn to look at it, before regarding him with a kind smile.

“Wait, I’m sharing a room with this freak?” Muzan asks, gritting his teeth, as if it was the end of the world if he dares share a room with him. “Can’t I just share a room with Haruhime and leave him alone in here?”

Hisa raises a questioning brow at him. “She’s a girl.”

“Yeah, and I've known her since we were kids. She’ll agree to be my roommate. Anyone but this asshole.”

Yoriichi does not fight back against the poisonous insults. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t care about what other people think of him.

Since the day he was born, he was considered an anomaly, a being that should not exist. Muzan’s words don’t hurt him. He was used to vitriol being spat towards him like a court of thorny roses.

“She can visit you, but I draw the line at you boys mingling with her when you three are about to sleep,” Hisa says firmly, and that is how the argument ends; the victory of an old lady who was shorter than Yoriichi and Muzan combined, and the inevitable loss of Muzan, his stubbornness not giving her a dent.

“Fine,” Muzan says, stalking towards the futon that was unmarred by Yoriichi’s touch, before dragging it across the room, away from Yoriichi. “This is fine. Just don’t talk to me.”

But you’re the one who’s always talking to me, Yoriichi thinks to himself, a bit puzzled.

He doesn’t respond to Muzan’s jab, though.

The two of them settle for an uncomfortable, but fulfilling silence. Muzan is off studying the broken machinations, the shattered remains of his oni mask, with a face Yoriichi usually sees with Michikatsu when he is off ruminating about girls and boys after a meeting with other noble children. He tries not to get lost in nostalgia, not when Muzan is here, watching his every move in the meantime.

Then, the box moves.

Yoriichi looks at Muzan. Muzan looks at him, then at the box.

The older boy points at it, a conflicted look on his face. “Did that box just…?”

It moves again, like mentions of it moving will make it move. It seems Aniue has gotten restless being trapped inside of the box, too. Well, who wouldn’t? Despite his shapeshifting prowess, he doubts it is comfortable staying in that place for a long time. Yoriichi would remove the lid of the box immediately when he could sense his brother getting restless.

But not here— not when Muzan is watching the box with the eyes of a hawk.

Muzan, instinctively, grabs for his yari, before raising his hand up empty-handed, cursing slightly. Right, they all surrendered their weapons to Hisa for the notion of being in a state of relaxation during their tenure here.

He glares at Yoriichi. “If I get eaten by the demon inside your box, I’m dragging you down to hell with me.”

“I doubt he’d eat you,” Yoriichi says with a shrug. If Michikatsu can recognize Yoriichi through the predatory haze surrounding his mind, then he’ll be lenient towards a childhood friend. If he could remember him from way back.

A derisive snort. “Why, because I’m unappetizing?”

“No…” Yoriichi tells him, as he opens the box’s lid. Muzan’s eyes grow wide when a pale, clawed hands, veins visible from the light, emerges slowly from the box. “Because I think he recognizes you.”

He watches as Muzan, who was usually unblinking when it comes to demon hunting and the idea of killing a high ranking demon, immediately begin sweating in all the wrong places. He discreetly crawls away from Yoriichi and the box, as his brother begins emerging from the shadows slowly, blearily. He must’ve had a good slumber.

When Michikatsu is finally out of the box, hair obscuring his eyes, Muzan’s eyes grow wide. He must be noticing the resemblance of the demon to Yoriichi. The gears on his head must be turning already.

“Good evening, Aniue,” Yoriichi greets softly, and his brother hums through his muzzle in response, sifting the hair out of his eyes.

And then, his six eyes meet Muzan’s horrified red eyes, and he grows stiff.

***

After half an hour of being inside the bathroom, scrubbing herself until the dirt and blood are replaced with scratches and bruises, she replaces her uniform with a soft, white kimono Hisa had offered her before she went into the bathroom to clean herself. She tries not to cringe at her reflection in the mirror whilst she dries and brushes her hair. Aizetsu wants her to cut her hair, but she likes the way it looks. She doesn’t want to tie it up either, even if that is a workplace hazard. She likes the way her hair frames her face— like she was still a nobility and not a girl working to kill monsters who prey on humans.

As she brushes her hair, she hears the sounds of Muzan and Yoriichi talking in their assigned bedroom. Unsurprisingly, from the high intonation of Muzan’s voice and Yoriichi’s disgruntled inflection staining his words, they were arguing. She’s not sure how they ended up hating each other, but they knew of each other’s presence in the Final Selection.

She feels their hearts beating, and that is relief enough.

However, something makes her drop her hairbrush, staring into the mirror with a strained expression.

There is a presence in Yoriichi and Muzan’s room.

A demonic presence.

Did… Did Yoriichi release the demon in the box? Why? They are still in Corps territory! Haruhime had let him bring his demon here so he won’t do anything… she doesn’t know! Perhaps something stupid such as showing the demon off?

Although, that presence— while it was marred by the toxic vitriol demons spew out when they want to be heard, there is something familiar. Like solace in the moonlight, in a garden with only a pair alone, talking about the world and their interests.

But that can’t be. Michikatsu is dead, and Yoriichi confirmed it—

She gasps, standing and inadvertently pushing the stool out of her way. She immediately exits the bathroom, and, with light footsteps, makes her way towards the boys’ room. She slides the door open to see what is going on and why the two of them were arguing.

Although, she knows why they would argue, if that is the case.

Muzan and Yoriichi turn to the door— Haruhime tries not to flinch at Muzan’s fierce expression, teeth bared as if he is currently losing an argument. Yoriichi, meanwhile, looks like prey being found by a predator. His face was stricken with emotions, and he was caressing a swollen, bruised cheek. Must be from Muzan hitting him straight across the face.

And the one, in the middle of it all, shielding his brother from the vitriolic barrage of vocabulary she knows Muzan is capable of, is…

Her jaw drops, because there is no way this is possible, he’s dead and gone, and she should forget all about him, but—

She lets his name slip from her mouth. “Michikatsu?”

Chapter Text

Anger is a familiar emotion for Muzan Kibutsuji. When he’d been born, fierceness and anger was foreign to a fragile, if not dying infant, who was about to be set on fire if it were not for him finally realizing that anger will keep him alive, crying a thousand lifetimes in order to persuade his parents not to give him up to the great, sweeping flames. He was not born with anger, but anger was now ingrained into his bones, a driving force of how his life had ended up. The way he let go of his anger was the day he lost Rei, and gods above, he held tight onto his fury after everything that had happened.

He was angry at not contacting Haruhime, wondering where she went when she was right beside him, training for revenge or whatever ambition she has once she is in the Corps. He was angry over this boy, Yoriichi Tsugikuni, younger than him by a year and was still stronger than he is at that age. He was angry when he realized he had walked right into a massacre when he thought of visiting Michikatsu, staring into the graves and inhaling the scent of mildew in the air.

Now, he is angry that Yoriichi has deceived them all into thinking Michikatsu is dead.

Not only was he not dead, he was an enemy of humanity— a demon.

The same creature that killed Rei.

Six eyes stare at him, eyes wide in recognition. Strange— didn’t the slayers tell him that most demons do not remember what their human lives were? He seems to remember Muzan.

He doesn’t know why that thought warms him enough to feel the tension leaving his bones, before it returns once more when Michikatsu— no, the demon approaches him.

No matter what the brothers say, Michikatsu is dead. He died in whatever demon attack took the lives of the Tsugikuni household that day, and this… thing was just wearing his face. It couldn’t even get his face right, and that muzzle covering his mouth must be to conceal the fangs he now has.

He’s not Michikatsu Tsugikuni.

Muzan will have no qualms killing him.

Still, he shakes when he looks at him.

He has the same hair, longer and messily tied (was it Yoriichi who attempted to tie it up? It looks horrible) , the same stance, confident but tall, and despite the muzzle and six eyes, the same expression when he is taken aback by something.

He must not have known that Muzan was the culprit for almost killing him.

He must not yet know Haruhime is tagging along with them on their mission, current or future otherwise.

His eyes were demonic, lacking the human characteristics of them, but gods, they hold the same human feeling as they did when he was still, well, human.

He hates it.

He hates how the anger is being drowned out by the telltale signs of nostalgia seeping through his bones, cooling his boiling blood down.

Muzan lunges at Michikatsu— no, the demon.

Yoriichi moves to intercept him, locking his arms with his own.

“Let go of me,” Muzan says, staring at the demon with wild, crazed eyes. The demon stares at him with shame and surprise on his face. It makes Muzan’s heart beat with fury he doesn’t think he can contain.

Anger is the only way he can survive. It is the only way he can remain sane in a changed, cruel world that has taken every single thing that matters away from him.

“He’s my brother,” Yoriichi says, as if Muzan was a stupid man. He knows who he is already. He just doesn’t care.

(He shouldn’t.)

“And?” Muzan says, glaring at Michikatsu. Michikatsu did not stagger back— he looks at him defiantly, his hands clenched into fists. He was never one to back down from a challenge. “He’s a demon! No amount of sympathy you level towards me will convince me not to cut him down! It was a mistake bringing him here, to a well-known retired demon slayer’s home!”

He didn’t have to guess if the old broad was a demon slayer from a bygone era— that wisdom and inability to be sensed by the three of them says it all.

“He was your friend.” It was strange hearing the usually emotionless boy raise his voice in anger in order to defend his brother.

“That demon is not my friend.” Michikatsu looks away from Muzan. He did not need to know that he was hurt, or perhaps humiliated by the squabbles of an old childhood friend and his own brother. “He’s dead, and you sully his name by forcing this demon to commandeer his body. What were you thinking?”

“I want to save my brother,” Yoriichi says, not budging when Muzan is trying to get through Yoriichi. “I cannot let you kill him. I want to return him to becoming a human.”

“Bullshit,” Muzan snarls. “That’s fucking impossible. No one can cure a demon of its affliction. Just give up on that shitty dream and get a real aspiration.”

Yoriichi shakes his head. Muzan seethes. Why does he not get it? “I can fix it. I have to. He is the reason why I'm still going. I do not care if people are skeptical of what I wish to accomplish. I have to. For him. For us. For the future.”

Michikatsu looks at Yoriichi with surprise and appreciation in his eyes; it was like he's never expected someone to be nice to him before.

Once upon a time, Muzan had decided to share his books from the Western world with Michikatsu. They all returned to him dog-eared and used, but as Muzan lays there on his sickbed, he just touches the worn pages and the small signs that Michikatsu had been there. That someone alive was sharing the same book as him.

Yoriichi, it seems, doesn't have much to live for except for chasing delusions that won't ever be reality. He needs to get a grip on the real world, not hide behind Michikatsu. It seems like that's all he's been doing in the past few years, hence why he's adamant at keeping Michikatsu alive.

He's not human anymore. That's enough evidence for someone to kill him.

And he has the support and tutelage of the Flame Pillar? How did he do that? How did he get formal education about Breaths while Muzan was almost dying trying to commit to Total Concentration? He completed his training after six months, for fuck’s sake!

It was like Yoriichi's entire existence was solely to piss Muzan off.

It was working.

He punches Yoriichi in the face to get out of his grip, and he staggers back, completely letting go of Muzan to cradle his face. He looks at Muzan with a look of terror briefly streaking his face, but his view of Yoriichi (and the guilt that he denies he feels coursing through him) staring at him with a mildly horrified look through all the stoicism that he is wearing during his confrontation with Muzan catches him off guard. If the veil of anger was not worn, Muzan may even think that he was scared of him.

What, can’t handle a punch? He thinks to himself, scoffing.

Before he could turn those thoughts into taunting words, he hears a growl. His heart picks up again when he sees Michikatsu pulling a shell-shocked Yoriichi behind him, his eyes all glaring at Muzan with a fierce look in his eyes. It seems that the friendly camaraderie they once shared is less important than the fact Muzan socked his twin in the face. Who is, currently, looking at him like he was some sort of vagrant and not him, the one who’s currently breaking the damn rules.

He can handle this. Handle the fact that Michikatsu’s a stranger to him now. At least Haruhime’s recognizable, despite wearing a uniform she hasn’t — figuratively — grown into yet.

“You’re going to get your brother to protect you from the consequences?” Muzan taunts, tilting his head at Yoriichi, who doesn’t seem to be looking at him. “Grow the fuck up.”

Yoriichi stays silent. Michikatsu watches him cautiously.

That was when Haruhime came in, looking surprised and out of breath.

All three look at her, at her white kimono and her wet, still dripping hair (did she even wipe her hair before running all the way here?) and her addled face as she takes in the scenario in front of her.

Then, her eyes land on Michikatsu, her face swirling with flummoxing recognition.

“Michikatsu?” She asks, incredulous. “You’re– you’re alive? But– but Yoriichi—”

She looks at Yoriichi, who was still massaging his bruised cheek, eyes wide. Muzan isn’t sure if it’s from the fact he was found out and he’s about to be put on trial, or from the fact that he punched him. It was probably the latter. He doesn’t know why he’s so sad and scared about it, however.

Haruhime’s surprised expression fades into one of worry as she trudged up to Yoriichi. “Uh… are you alright? You look…”

She tries to touch Yoriichi’s bruised cheek, but Michikatsu’s looming frame blocks her way, shadowing right above her. Muzan expected her to cower in fear, perhaps start rambling and showering their old friend — the demon in their old friend’s body — with apologies and distancing herself from him.

While she does jump in surprise at the slightly hostile behavior Michikatsu is exhibiting, she averts her gaze, looking at the floor sullenly.

“Sorry, I didn’t– I was just– I was checking on him,” she says in a flurry of words Muzan doubts Michikatsu understands. She then turns to him with a slightly disappointed expression. “Did you have to punch Yoriichi in the face?”

He puts his hands up. “He was holding me! Saying shit like he’d cure the demon he was hiding inside of his damn box! We both know that’s impossible! Michikatsu is dead!”

Haruhime processes his words, before looking at Yoriichi and his brother with a scrutinizing look. She tilts her head, sending them both a look of pity. “Yoriichi… no offense, but, what you’re doing is against Corps rules.”

Michikatsu raises his hands. Muzan gets ready for it to strike, for it to show them how much of a demon he really is, but he just… moves his hands. Like some sort of sign language. Yoriichi still shakes from behind him, and his breathing has become more labored.

Haruhime’s eyes seem to glint in recognition when Michikatsu moves his hands. “Wait, you know Japanese sign language? You were never the most prolific in—” She takes a look at his face and colors in embarrassment. “Ah, right, sorry, sorry. You have, like, a muzzle. Which inhibits your every word from getting out your mouth. Do you hate it?”

He gives her a deadpan expression. She grows redder.

“What did he tell you?” Muzan asks, not liking being out of the loop. He watches as Yoriichi exits the scene, opening the sliding doors to rest upon the engawa of the house. He wants to chase after him, but he thinks that what he’d done was too much already.

Haruhime spares him a glance. “That Yoriichi and Katsu have the backing of the Flame and Destruction Pillars.”

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he approaches her. “We both know that they vouch for him, because they were the ones who let him train in the first place and spare the demon! Are we sure we can trust their word? You’re—” He chokes; he can’t believe he’s going to say this out loud, “You’re more well-versed in the Corps than I am, Haruhime. At least tell me if the other Pillars would understand what the red-headed idiot did. Because I think it was his lack of rationality that’s going to doom him.”

Michikatsu bristles at the insult Muzan had told him, but he doesn’t pay him any mind. He doesn’t care about what people have to say about how he acts. They only live once, after all, and he’s going to make the most of it. Do not talk to him about the prospects of reincarnation.

Haruhime turns her head to Michikatsu. “Have you… ever eaten a human?”

Michikatsu shakes his head, as if such a notion of him eating a human was ridiculous.

Muzan narrows his eyes, but, like how he doesn’t feel threatened outside of Michikatsu literally shielding his brother, he doesn’t sense the fact that he is lying, either.

Which is rather overwhelming.

Haruhime looks back at him with the answer written over her features. “I can hear his heart. Or whatever is inside of him. He is– he’s not lying.”

Red eyes trail over Michikatsu again,and he sighs, relenting. “I have no proof that you’ll eat a human, Michikatsu. Do whatever the fuck you want.” With that, he leaves Haruhime and Michikatsu inside the room, ignoring Haruhime’s protests that all three of them have to talk.

***

Haruhime jumps a little as Muzan pulls the fusuma closed, and she is alone with Michikatsu.

Someone she thought was dead.

He was looking at her, but she’s not sure what he is looking at her for. Was it for recognition? Was it to see if she was a threat to him and Yoriichi?

Those six eyes staring into her soul was creeping her out. It was like the eyes of spiders, except they have eight. But some species have six eyes, or less! And they creep her out, like that one time a spider decided to turn her almost dead body into a home for its web and—

What was she talking about again?

She looks at Michikatsu, who stares at her back. She averts her gaze, fidgeting.

Silence fills the room. She was incredibly out of her depth— to be fair on her, she did not expect to have a conversation with a friend who she thought was dead. She was severely out of depth and unprepared for what was about to happen when she opened the door to see someone she never thought she’d see again.

What does she say to someone who she thought was dead?

Happy… not dead day?

She hears a snort snuffled by a muzzle, and she looks up to see Michikatsu’s eyes crinkled around the edges of his face. Realization settles on her face, as she covers her mouth bashfully.

She said those words out loud.

Will she ever get a break?

“I did not mean to say that out loud,” she says softly, looking everywhere but Michikatsu. She didn’t think that having a reunion would mean giving him a horrible first impression, but she did. “I am so sorry for saying such insensitive, probably offensive things! I didn’t mean to think that!”

Michikatsu simply shakes his head, and it seems… fond. Nostalgic, even.

He signs, Glad to see you’re still the same.

Was that… was that supposed to be a compliment? Or is it something else?

Still, Haruhime gulps. “Michikatsu, I thought you were dead.”

He blinks, all six eyes repeating the same beat. It looks very satisfying, for Haruhime. But it still creeps her out, not getting the spider imagery out of her mind.

So, she tries to get him to specify. “Was that a compliment, or…”

Michikatsu is known in their social circle for having nothing nice to say towards people that annoy him. She was just glad that he did not seem to be annoyed when she approached him, her twin sister telling her that it was fine if she was going to spend time with someone their parents are making negotiations between her and him. Haruhime knows that Amahime will marry first, then her, and she accepts it.

Until, well, the whole thing with her mother.

Michikatsu looks at her, but shakes his head. He affirms that it was a compliment, and she wonders why. Isn't staying the same a bad thing? A stasis that never changes, something that is stagnant and disorderly? Does that mean she is the same coward that she had been when she last saw Michikatsu?

Michikatsu seems to sense her distress, as he shakes his head and signs, I meant it's nice to have a familiar face. I recognized you instantly. You've gotten more confident speaking to others.

She did, didn't she? She never was one to talk to others, having been conditioned by her father to speak only to those who ask for her. She was prohibited from talking, especially in front of the men, and to do so, to tell everyone that she is well-spoken and knowledgeable of things that only men should know, and embarrass her father, would have unforeseen consequences. Amahime was better at catching men’s attention than her anyways. She was used to traversing dark corners and hiding there until her father tells her that it was time to talk to other noble children.

Which was how she ended up getting to know Muzan and Michikatsu.

What does she say to this? He seems to have a high opinion of her, even after all this time.

She tries to mirror his enthusiasm and relief seeing her. “You look… different.” Then she immediately snaps her mouth shut when she realizes the extent of what she had just said. She looks at Michikatsu with a flustered expression. “Oh gods, I didn’t– I didn’t mean– uh, well, I meant—” 

She was rambling again. Every time she opens her mouth, it always ends up with her saying something offensive, statements she didn't mean to say. So many people took offense to what comes out of her mouth, and all the attempts trying to tell them she did not mean for it to sound so degrading or insulting is all for naught when she attempts to explain herself. They will not bring themselves to listen when she's sputtering about. It's how she gained a somewhat terrible reputation towards other slayers around the Emotion Estate, not only because of her subpar medical skills. (If Muzan and Yoriichi are going to look for her for medical procedures, then they should count down the numbers until they reach their deathbed. She's terrible at medicine.)

She was waving her hands in order to jog her mind with different words that isn't from an unintentionally offensive jargon. “You're… taller than I remember! And you grew out your hair!”

Michikatsu can only blink at her, puzzled, before nodding slightly. She used to be just as tall as he was— she was the tallest of all her sisters, and she was rather embarrassed by that characteristic. She was still surprised that Michikatsu and his brother grew so tall; when was the last time they've seen each other?

She prattles on, knowing Michikatsu was never a talker. He loathes talking. Haruhime doesn't like to talk either, since Uta and Ume were the chatty ones whilst she's more content on cheering them on in the sidelines, whispering her thoughts to Zohakuten, who would not interrupt and encourage her to continue her train of thought. “We were the same height, you know. Also the same hair. Father hated the fact I looked masculine with the way my hair was styled. Did you ever finished the book I recommended? The one by Futabatei, Ukigumo?”

They traded book recommendations; from older classics, to the modern, satirical pieces that always seem to offend their fathers more than praise them for being able to read through all of the things they found in libraries. She enjoyed hearing what Michikatsu had to say, even if his words were snippy and judgmental.

Michikatsu makes a sign. He can't remember the contents of the book.

Ah, that's fine. She supposes that things like that can't be helped. Turning into a demon might mess up their memories; especially ones that are not very important to the psyche of a recently turned demon.

Which begs the question…

“You recognize me, don't you?” Haruhime asks, looking up at Michikatsu. “You told me I stayed the same. Do you know my name?”

He makes the signs for spring and princess without much difficulty. She looks at him, mesmerized.

“You do,” she whispers, tilting her head. “You remember me. Remember Muzan. Your brother, too. But how? It doesn't make any sense. Demons are supposed to rid themselves of their memories. Yet despite some obvious holes, your memory is vivid. Even your sound remains unchanged of what it'd been when you were human. It's weird…” She blinks, then shakes her head. “Not that I'm saying you're weird, but– oh gods I keep calling your brother weird, oh no, I'm so sorry—”

Haruhime? His sudden movement interrupts her spiel.

She looks at him. “Yes?”

He points at the floor. The girl stiffens; did she end up stepping on a roach or spider? If that's the case, she may just cross the borders of the Sanzu River and be done with it.

There was a dark spot on the floor. Actually, a trail of dark spots leading to Haruhime’s current position.

That is when she realizes she never properly dried her hair and is now currently dripping wet, tracking it through the tatami.

She shrieks unabashedly, feeling flustered at being so eager to dispel the fight the boys are getting into, and the ominous presence in this room that she hasn’t completed her nighttime hair routine.

“Oh gods, I am so sorry for tracking my wet hair all over– ah, what a mess!” She says, waving an exasperated hand around.

***

Muzan supposes he could use some fresh air, to calm himself down and process the current events.

Haruhime is a demon slayer. He doesn’t know why, the poor girl isn't cut out for this kind of job (he, arguably, thinks Amahime would be better with this slayer business).

Yoriichi is the twin brother of a former acquaintance of his. He pisses him off to no end, and it is impossible that some oblivious country bumpkin was able to complete training at a brief period of time.

Michikatsu, the aforementioned acquaintance (dare he says friend) is alive. Not really alive, in a sense that all humans are, but reborn from decay and rot, turned into a demon. And yet, to his perplexity, he does not hunger. He protects, from the way he immediately shields Yoriichi when Muzan makes the (mistake) bold move punching him.

He sighs, tucking a wavy hair strand behind his ear. He hears Haruhime talking to Michikatsu, and resolves to walk away and give them some ounce of privacy.

What is he doing?

He sighs, sitting on the engawa around the house. He hears the sounds of crickets and the rush of water all around them. The wind was chilly, but it is fast approaching autumn. He can handle the cold. He's been through worse, after all.

Muzan shouldn’t care about Yoriichi hoarding a demon. He knew earlier this afternoon, and he covered for him when that old hag began trying to investigate him, but he didn't know it was Michikatsu who'd been the demon in his box.

He wished he was dead.

He lets out a frustrated sigh.

But a part of him… wants to see how far Yoriichi will go. How far he will abide by his morals in order to cure his brother.

What was the first thing he told Yoriichi during the Final Selection? Survival of the fittest, right?

Yeah, right. Survival of the fittest, when Muzan wasn’t even fit for life. He almost fucking died so many times in his childhood, and he was saved from utter doom in his teen years thanks to Rei. He did so much for her— he eloped with her behind his parents’ back, and ran away from home without so much as a peep. He simply vanished into thin air, completely besotted with her and the idea of exploring the outside world, now that he is well enough. He never believed the books that tell him he must survive, he must encourage the cycle of survival to continue.

Rei was fitter than him. Why did she die and he was left alive?

Fucking demons. They were the reason why she is dead. He should hate them all. He does, but…

Michikatsu was an exception.

Make up your mind already, a voice in his head chides, sounding a lot like a younger Michikatsu, when he was surly and wishes for privacy so he could look at the contents of his book without disturbance. Is he Michikatsu or is he just a demon that’s wearing his clothes?

Muzan pinches the bridge of his nose. He hates when his thoughts aren’t so surefire; his feelings flummoxing into a well of uncertainty and wistfulness. It must mean something that three out of four childhood friends were reunited.

However, there’s a problem: he doesn’t believe in fate.

Only in misfortune.

Can you blame him, though?

He sees movement near the small pond at the back of the beautiful garden that is doubtlessly cultivated by that elderly woman. The pond was still, no ripples in sight, so he could make out Yoriichi’s reflection in the calm waters. He seems to have calmed down from his panic and horror a few minutes ago— which Muzan doesn’t understand. It was just a punch. His sturdy figure means that he can take him without difficulty.

So why had he been shielding himself like a child?

Still, a maelstrom of regret settles into his bones, and he lets out a small sigh. He should not regret that show of violence, but he does, if he sends the other boy outside and the demon— Michikatsu? Shielding him as if Muzan was the demon.

It makes him feel feelings. Feelings that he wouldn’t think too deeply if…

“If we didn’t meet?” The voice of Rei floods his ears, and he shakes it away. Somehow, he also shakes the scent of cinnamon from his nose.

He looks at Yoriichi, still staring into the water. Gods, did that man have any hobbies besides doing that? He looks pretty creepy.

He trudges over to him, wondering what he should say. He’s not particularly adept at conversation; all three of them aren’t. Michikatsu hates socializing, Haruhime always has to hype herself up before complimenting someone, and Muzan is every single negative conversation trait combined. He did not last a day in the life of nobility.

Still, he tries. He doesn’t know why, but he tries.

(If only he knows it’s because of the relief he feels seeing Michikatsu alive.)

“Your brother and I met during a party with the bigwigs up in Tokyo,” he finally settles on saying, and Yoriichi jumps, realizing that Muzan is now beside him. He ignores Yoriichi’s wide-eyed stare. “I was finally well enough to walk on my own two feet, but ugh, the noise and smells of Tokyo high society will always get to me. I’ve been used to smelling incense all my damn life, and sniffing perfume all day was fucking horrible for my nose.” He grimaces when he remembers the noxious odor that stays with him. “I went to the bathroom to wipe the smell away, and I found him sitting on the sink, looking at me like I just entered his turf.”

He snorts a bit when he remembers the sullen look he earned when he trespassed on Michikatsu’s safe spot. “He was about to tell me to get lost, before I lost my composure and ran to a toilet to vomit my guts out.” Why the fuck is he telling this embarrassing story to Michikatsu’s twin? He’s sure that Michikatsu has already told him about how he helped lift a stranger’s hair so it won’t get morsels of half-digested food on it. What is he doing, and why can’t he stop? “Long story short, we became friends after that. I think you like happy endings.”

He deigns to look at Yoriichi, who is watching him. He wonders if a thought has ever transpired within those blank empty eyes, but Yoriichi inclines his head upwards, looking towards the moon.

“He never told me he had friends,” Yoriichi says softly, as if he didn’t want Muzan to hear him shout. “Well… he never mentioned you two properly, only through allusions and physical descriptors, but he never referred to you by name.”

“He’s cold-hearted,” Muzan comments, “it’s part of his charm. He always liked to impress Haruhime by acting like this one male hero from a Western romance novel she gushed over. I guess he liked to keep his double lives separate.” His tone was acrid, completely the opposite of the detached finality in Yoriichi’s words. He wonders if Yoriichi is hurt by Michikatsu’s omision.

“... Why are you telling me all this?” Yoriichi asks him, and he groans in response.

“Fuck if I know,” he says, his eyes trailing over Yoriichi’s face. The dim moonlight makes his face indiscernible from the shadows. He wishes he could see the mark he landed across his face. He doesn’t feel that thrill of satisfaction when he hurts someone. He feels… horror at making someone feel like they need space. “I’m just… what you’re doing is a stupid fucking idea, Yoriichi. You’ll probably get yourself executed by the other Pillars.”

“Are you worried for me?” There is an edge of challenge in his voice— one that sounds like Michikatsu’s.

“No,” he snaps, his reply coming a bit too fast. Yoriichi flinches a little. It was subtle, but he senses the movement. Fuck’s sake, why is Yoriichi suddenly acting jumpy with him? Was it the punch? He calms himself down. “I just think that dying before seeing your brother get cured will be the stupidest thing you’ll ever do, Yoriichi.”

He means it.

“... So does this mean you accept him? That you recognize him as the friend you have once cherished?” Yoriichi asks him, tilting his head.

Muzan clenches his fists, looking down. He remembers the crap he said to Michikatsu’s face. They were confidantes and loved talking to each other about the flaws of everyone gathered at the party. Michikatsu was particularly relentless with both his father and Haruhime’s father, and he has never, not once questioned it. He also saw the shame within Michikatsu’s eyes. He saw that he didn’t want to be seen by his childhood friends in this form, and he exacerbated this by going off on a tangent that he was just a demon, nothing more and nothing less.

Fuck, he’s going to have to… apologize to Michikatsu about the things he said to his face, huh?

Not now, though. Maybe when everyone is asleep. He is still surprised Yoriichi can walk, judging from his limp.

“He’s not going to eat me anytime soon,” Muzan simply says, before he watches the stillness of the pond ripple with ease when he plunges a toe in the water. “I guess he’s cool.”

***

“Hey.”

Michikatsu perks up, distracted suddenly from watching his brother, pale-faced and sweat-ridden, despite the futon draped over him. He was tossing and turning in his sleep, and not even Michikatsu sifting through his hair, wiping his face and caressing his face was enough to snap him out of his sleep. He turns to the only other boy in the room, since Haruhime was forced to leave them be. He was not asleep, and his red eyes glow dimly in the night.

He remembers him. Muzan Kibutsuji. He thinks his memories with him were a lifetime ago, just like Haruhime’s.

He remembers him fondly, though.

Still, he punched his brother, who is not very good at taking physical hits to his face well. A familiar, aged anger churns deep within him when he remembers their father, who was the main cause of their mother’s grief and Yoriichi’s sadness. Muzan was, at the very least, keeping his voice controlled, like it’s the best thing he could do.

He hears the older boy let out a deep inhale, as if he is prepping himself up for something. He looks Michikatsu in the eyes. There is a look of slight guilt on his face, one he reads easily with the furrow of his brows. “I’m sorry. For dehumanizing you. That was shitty of me. You’re not going to eat me, are you?”

A pause. Michikatsu slowly shakes his head, still watching this boy for any sudden movement.

He whistles. “Thanks for letting me know.” He moves back down to a sleeping position, leaving Michikatsu staring in the dark.

Chapter Text

It has been three days since Senjurou last heard from Yoriichi. After he bid farewell to them in order to march to Asakusa, it was like he vanished from the face of the earth. Shinjurou tells him not to worry, as Yoriichi might be busy completing his flurry of new missions. They never let the new recruits rest, observing if they have the fighting spirit to complete each mission and grow stronger. He was sure that Yoriichi is still out there beyond their reach, fighting for justice and for a chance to cure his brother. Despite believing his father and the silence of the crows, who always declare if a slayer has been killed, he is still worried that there will be a harbinger of bad news.

The Corps always has a plethora of bad news to choose from.

Senjurou and his father were currently outside eating dinner, finding no need to use their dining room when it was only the two of them. Back then, when his memories are fuzzy due to his youth, the table was filled with four people— their mother and father, subtly flirting with one another as Mother serves the boys dinner, and their Father, who has just returned home from a mission, tired but continues to entertain his boys’ questions of how he vanquished a demon, sans all the gory aspects of his profession. His older brother would yell how delicious the meal is, to the amusement of his parents, before Mother helps Senjurou with eating his dinner.

They were so happy back then.

Fate, however, has different plans.

“You've gotten attached to him,” Shinjurou comments, as they finish dinner. He doesn’t have the energy to fix their dishes up, not yet.

“He's easy to like,” Senjurou replies with a shrug. “You have grown fond of him too, father. I see it from the way you want to protect him from a dead man when he briefly talks about his childhood.”

Shinjurou grunts, “Both boys are in need of healthy parental figures. I don't know what they went through in their former household, but I can assume it isn't very pretty. I want to… help them get acclimated to a safer environment where they're able to explore who they are without feeling like they should fear the world.”

“I reckon that becoming a demon slayer is not a safe environment to learn how to get rid of the maltreatment their father extended upon them,” Senjurou says, taking a casual sip of his tea.

Shinjurou huffs, smiling wanly. “You know what I mean, Senjurou.” His face deflates a little. “I want to be a better role model for them. I want to be the father Kyoujurou hoped I was before I decided to fuck it up by searching for happiness down the side of a bottle. You and the others deserve that much.”

Senjurou gives his father a solemn, sympathetic expression. “I am just glad to have you here with me, father. I am sure that Aniue will be proud of you if he sees your progress.”

He doesn’t want to continue rinsing the concept of Kyoujurou's disappearance being an allusion to his death, or worse, his betrayal. The idea that his brother, whose moral compass is strong, turning to the side of the demons causes unrelenting bouts of fury settling in his bones. It is why he never entertained such lucrative nonsense the other Pillars were accusing his brother of, when they have no proof of his treachery whatsoever and their only evidence was the haori that Senjurou now carries on his back with pride and justice. Perhaps it is why he immediately jumps at the chance to mentor Yoriichi and offer support for him. He did not think he would return to a brief sense of domesticity when he was tutoring him.

Shinjurou hums; while doubtful of Senjurou's lingering hope his eldest son will come back to him, he entertains this kind of pondering. It is much better than grieving the alternative, but he is quite certain Ruka will receive him with open arms if he crosses into the afterlife.

Then, as the two of them set down their teacups, a caw fills the air.

Senjurou's own crow flies to receive the call of the crow. Both Rengoku men look up, and Shinjurou makes a face, trying to recognize the other crow.

It is not Yoriichi’s. So it means he doesn’t have any new missives or updates, and that he isn’t dead.

Senjurou gasps, as both crows come flying to perch on their engawa, recognizing the other bird. “It's Urogi’s crow!”

The four Wakisaka brothers love decorating their crows, most particularly Karaku and Urogi, who give them snazzy headwear or a small bow on the birds’ feet. Urogi usually offers his crow yellow garments, since his signature color is yellow, stating that the color was quite jubilant. Right now, he was wearing a yellow bonnet that completely contrasted the colors of the night.

Shinjurou frowns at it. “The Joy Pillar? What the hell is his crow doing all the way—” A realization sparks in his eyes, as he exchanges glances with Senjurou.

Urogi’s crow looks like it had been crying, which was a sight to behold. Dread fills Senjurou's stomach as his own crow, with a solemn expression, turns to look at them.

“Urogi Wakisaka, the Joy Pillar, was killed fighting Waxing Moon Two.”

Senjurou stares at both crows, disbelief written all over his features.

Shinjurou shakes his head, a look of anger on his face. “Waxing Moon Two? The same demon that killed their father?”

Senjurou swallows down his anxiety and dread, before leveling the crow with a sympathetic look. “I see… I send my condolences to the Wakisaka family. I know how it feels, being bereaved of a brother.”

It feels fake. He wanted to cry, to scream, to figure out how in the world had they decided to take away one of the brighter lights in the Corps. He was not close to Urogi, but despite the entire Rengoku fiasco, he has never treated him any different. Unlike Karaku's more boisterous and risqué displays of joy, he was the lighthearted kind of happiness Senjurou has yearned for. Like his brother, he continues smiling with the purpose of lighting up the room, and his jokes aren't in bad taste. Everyone agrees he was like the rays of the sun showing them that the life they live can still have sunspots.

Now he's gone.

How are Karaku, Sekido, Aizetsu, and Zohakuten currently faring? Grieving in their own ways, he presumes, but he worries over their relationship. Cracks have begun forming in their relationship— every time they meet, Karaku and Sekido are fighting, Aizetsu stands by timidly, and Urogi, ever the mediator, convinces the pair to stop fighting.

Urogi is gone, and Aizetsu is too timid to get between his more passionate brothers.

Urogi’s crow registers this response with a nod, before flying off into the skies to tell the other Pillars.

Shinjurou stands, gathering the remnants of their long forgotten and now cold dinner. “I should wash these now. Are we attending the funeral and wake?”

Senjurou nods. “Of course we are. Didn't we attend the funeral of the first Emotion Pillar seven years ago?” He remembers it vividly, the second funeral he's attended, the first being his mother's. He now knew the meaning of death that time, and how people will never return from it.

He sighs. He wonders how Yoriichi is doing, and if he and Michikatsu are safe.

***

A letter arrives on Haruhime’s and Hisa’s separate desks during their tenure at the wisteria house in the late hours of morning, after the matron hired a doctor to look over their wounds. 

Yoriichi was staring out into the garden, which reminds him of his home, minimalistic but large enough to include a small pond filled with koi, when he hears a choked sob coming from Haruhime's room. He perks up— it sounds a lot like his mother’s muffled wails after a fight with her husband turned violent. He stands, walking towards the source of the noise; the door to Haruhime’s room was open, which must be the reason why he was hearing her sorrows. Still, if she needs a shoulder to lean on, he could probably offer her one.

… Ignoring the fact he doesn’t know how to verbally comfort someone. He was always there to be embraced. Haruhime isn't the kind of person who's satisfied with physical comfort.

Still, he wants to help her. As he approaches her room, however, someone else has beat him to it.

When he pokes his head to check on Haruhime, to his surprise, he sees Muzan’s back facing him as he looks towards Haruhime.

… He wasn't expecting Muzan to comfort her, but it wasn't a surprise anymore. He knows her and she's satisfied with what he knows of him, and that's enough.

“... So, uh,” Muzan begins eloquently, “what happened? Why the hell did you start crying like a baby? You disturbed everyone's routines today!”

Scratch that, he's being annoying again.

“My mentor's brother is dead,” Haruhime replies once her sobs fades away. “He was killed by a Waxing Moon.”

Yoriichi furrows his brows, leaning in to overhear the conversation. Michikatsu would admonish him for his terrible manners, but he shouldn't be talking when he listened to his and Father's conversation.

A Waxing Moon… Yoriichi remembers Senjurou’s closed off face when he tells Yoriichi of the Kizuki, the main agents of chaos for Yushirou. The most powerful kind of demons are the ones in his inner circle. The Waning Moons are powerful to those who do not have expertise, but the Waxing Moons will overpower any Hashira that has encountered them. They are the cream of the crop, no, more than that— they were gods trapped in eternal, decaying forms.

No Pillar has ever succeeded in killing them, much less survive encounters with them.

They were on a whole other level– and for a Pillar to simply be killed just last night and it being broadcasted to the entire Corps was… disheartening.

Muzan goes to say something else, but it was quiet that Yoriichi did not catch what he said. Hopefully, it was something that cheers her up.

“Do you know that eavesdropping is impolite, boy?” An old crone's voice startles him to the point he loses his balance from where he is standing. He would've fallen to the ground, thus alerting the two inside the room (and Muzan's rage at being eavesdropped by) if it weren't for his fast reflexes. He catches himself using the walls in time, clutching his currently bandaged chest.

He looks up to see Hisa smiling at him, although it feels like she has some kind of ulterior motive for happening on him when he'd been listening in.

“I know,” he says, feeling slightly guilty over being seen spying on Haruhime and Muzan about the death of the Joy Pillar. He fidgets with his fingers, wondering what else he should say as he averts his gaze from the elderly woman. “I'm sorry.”

Hisa hums, studying him complentatively. Yoriichi feels awkward underneath her gaze. “You're a strong young man.”

Yoriichi nods awkwardly. “Many people say that.”

Well, they tell his brother and pretend that he doesn’t exist. Michikatsu always rolls his eyes at those comments.

“Alas, your strong complexion seems to be marred by that mark across your face.”

Yoriichi wilts a little. He's gotten used to people claiming he was a child of bad omens, or a child of the Sun by both his brother and mother, but to hear people notice his mark like it was a blemish was proving his father right. Even when he's gone and no longer connected to his world, he still haunts his mind like a ghost.

He doesn’t say anything else, so Hisa continues. “You’re the Flame Pillar’s student, correct? The Breath of Flame User who completed training in six months.”

Yoriichi is surprised that this elderly woman, despite being a Pillar, seems to be so in touch with the Corps world. While he deliberately tries to distance himself from it, knowing the risks of running into someone of a higher ranking. He already got in trouble with Haruhime and Muzan sussing out his brother, and he almost got caught by Hisa when he came with his brother in the wisteria house. He has to be more careful in the future to prevent cases like these from happening.

“I am.”

Hisa hums again. He is nervous about the tone of her hums. They feel like they're scrutinizing him. “You're quite well-known amongst the Pillars, thanks to Uta's charitable words towards you when she and her master were talking about her Final Selection. From the rumors I've heard from my former student, the current Insect Pillar, some have been asking your mentor for questions. Walk with me, dear.”

Yoriichi acquiesces, and he follows Hisa away from Haruhime's room to leave her in her grief. She doesn't seem to need him.

He and the old woman cross past his and Muzan’s shared room, and he spares a glance at the lone box near his futon, untouched. He lets Michikatsu out of the box when Hisa is not around, which is, fortunately, a lot. She seems to favor spending time with the sole girl in their trio, mostly because she knew her from her mentor already.

“Uta?” He asks, finding the girl's name familiar. There had been three girl's and, including Yoriichi, three boys in the Final Selection. He spoke to all of them directly, except for the amber eyed boy who was quite hostile to him.

“You spoke to her during the Final Selection. She was the gray-eyed girl who loves to talk.”

His mind immediately processes the girl with gray eyes that touched him and then began speaking to him without judgment. He nods, his eyes pinned to the floor. “Yes, I remember her. She was very talkative. In a good way.”

The pair ends up outside, in a section of the garden that has clotheslines installed with their garments. When they had taken a bath, they all had bundled up their uniforms in a basket and let Hisa wash them. Yoriichi tried to apply himself, knowing how to wash clothes, expected to know some house chores due to always assisting servants, but she declined. He'd been concerned with her breaking her back or her fingers scrubbing the dirt and blood out, but she managed to finish them by the time the doctor had finished wrapping bandages along his chest. Apparently, he has to rest for two weeks thanks to the injuries he sustained both in Asakusa and in the mansion. And, well, he'll take it.

Besides, he has to write a letter to Senjurou about what happened in Asakusa and yesterday. Things must have become hectic since the Joy Pillar was killed by a Waxing Moon. He has to know he's fine.

“Help me get your clothes, young man,” Hisa beckons, and he nods, silently obeying as the two of them begin removing said garments from the clothesline. He was fast and meticulous with his work, despite the sprained leg, and finished the chore in record time, returning them to laundry baskets as Hisa watches with a smile on her face. She chuckles, covering her mouth with a hand. “They were not lying about your speed, boy. Even I had a hard time believing what Uta said about you.”

“You don't need to believe me,” Yoriichi says as he places Muzan’s haori in the basket. “I just want to do my part in the decimation of demons.”

She makes another ambiguous sounding hum. “How did you and Rengoku meet?”

“The Destruction Pillar, Hakuji, introduced me to him as a potential student.”

“How come he didn't take you in as a student?”

Yoriichi answers with a shrug. He never questions why Hakuji did what he did, but he was still grateful to him for giving him and his brother a chance. Besides, he likes him, so he was not particular with his choices.

“Do they know?” Hisa asks, as he carries the laundry load inside. He worries for her health if he lets her carry this.

“... Know of what?” He asks as she follows her into a room that seems to be used for folding and storing clothes.

Hisa looks up at her, her smile wan and her eyes skeptical. “You're carrying a demon in that box of yours.”

Yoriichi stiffens. He opens, and closes his mouth. Then, he turns away. “All three of them know.”

Hisa huffs. “Just as I suspected. How did you and Hakuji meet?”

“He found me after I discovered what remains of my father's household,” he winces at the description. “Aniue has not eaten human flesh.”

“I will believe that. He's been in contact with Haruhime and that other friend of yours, and they don't seem to look shaken when I checked on them. In fact, I saw Haruhime having a conversation with your brother as if he wasn’t a demon.”

“You won't tell anyone?”

Hisa’s expression becomes grave. “They'll learn of this violation eventually.”

“Which is why I try and minimize my interactions with other slayers.”

“And if you can't escape? What will you do? Even the Pillars who aided you in this journey will be caught in the crossfire of this foolish decision.”

Yoriichi’s eyes become steely. “There is nothing foolish about saving my brother.” He places the laundry basket on her feet. “Thank you for your hospitality, Hisa-san.” When he opens the door, Haruhime’s face is the first thing he sees. He takes a step back, surprised by her arrival. It was clear from her body language that she'd been unabashedly listening in their conversation.

The tips of her ears turned red. “Oh, um, Yoriichi! What a coincidence that you're in this room right now. I was searching for Hisa about my clothes. I was definitely not listening in your conversation. I just need my clothes, especially my uniform now.”

“It's in there.”

“It hasn't been folded yet,” Hisa says.

“That's fine, at least it's dry now. I just… need it. Now. I like the white kimono you gave me, but it's not appropriate for returning to the Emotion Estate. Because I'll be returning. Immediately.”

Yoriichi perks up. “You're leaving? But we just got here.”

“Well someone important to my mentor just died!” Haruhime exclaims, before she covers her mouth and, turning away from Yoriichi, stutters her apologies for raising her voice. “Sorry. Um… I need to go home. Thank you so much for your hospitality, Hisa-san, but I am needed to help arrange the funeral and wake.”

“I’ll be accompanying you,” Hisa tells her, “Urogi Wakisaka was a good man who loved making others smile. It would be disrespectful of me not to come to his funeral, when my student is also attending.”

“What about your guests…?”

Yoriichi feels as if he has overstayed his welcome here, and he itches to return to the Rengoku household. He finds that a more appealing notion than staying here.

“I’ll be going back to my home too,” Muzan speaks up, leaning across the walls with an almost bored expression on his face. “Can I have my clothes back? I don’t trust that you haven’t torn them.”

Yoriichi frowns. “Manners.”

“I have plenty of them.”

Haruhime turns to Yoriichi, after Hisa dismisses herself from the conversation by giving Muzan the clothes he desires. “You’re not well enough to be walking.”

“My ankle is sprained, Haruhime. I am not lame.”

“Can’t you ask a kakushi to carry you to the Rengoku Estate?”

Yoriichi stares at her, as if telling her how that could not be possible.

It takes her a few seconds before muttering out apologies, saying that she didn’t mean it like that.

“You can send a letter to Shinjurou to come pick you up,” Hisa interjects. “I am not discharging you from my care until you are ready to walk… which you are not. And what about your ribs?”

“Healing well,” he says as earnest as he could. Although it did not sound very earnest, if he says so himself.

“Has your father taught you that lying is bad?”

His father did, to Michikatsu. He hit him until he was black and blue when he wouldn’t answer the right thing, before saying the statement his father wanted to hear.

“Very much.” Not a lie at all.

“We’ll wait until someone receives your letter and comes to get you,” Hisa says, patting Haruhime’s arm gently. “They can wait for a few more hours, right?”

She nods. “They’re not the type to get upset. Besides, they have Mukago and Enmu helping them with the rest.”

“You better get to writing that damn letter,” Muzan says, having shedded the white kimono and wore his uniform beneath his haori again. He gives Yoriichi a scathing look. “You snore loudly.”

Yoriichi tilts his head. “I did not know I snore.”

“You’re a horrible roommate.”

“Okay.” Was there any rules pertaining to roommate etiquette?

Muzan rolls his eyes, scoffing. “You’re supposed to act offended.”

“I’m not going to pretend that my feelings are hurt because you don’t know how to actively insult people.” His brother was better at getting under others’ skin.

Muzan’s eyes flare. “Why, you little—”

“How’s your concussion?” Hisa intervenes before Haruhime does.

It effectively shuts the dark-haired boy up. He averts his gaze, looking anywhere but the three of them. “... Fine. I can handle myself, old woman. You don’t have to coddle me.”

“Enough to leave?”

“Yes. Since everybody seems to be keen on leaving, I’m leaving as well. This entire place is pretty stuffy.”

“It’s a makeshift hospital, Muzan,” Haruhime mumbles.

“A horrible resting stop, I’m sure.”

Yoriichi, too tired to continue with the rest of the conversation, turns away and stalks back to his room. “I’ll be writing that letter now.”

When he was finished writing the letter and had given it to Aka to send it to the Rengoku Estate, he finds Muzan by the doorway, looking at him, and then at the box hiding Michikatsu simultaneously.

“Do you have something you wish to say?” Yoriichi prompts, already knowing how Muzan operates. He never seems to like it when another person guesses what he wanted to do.

Muzan scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m just gathering my things.”

“You have nothing left here.”

“Fuck you. Do you always have to be such a smartass when I say something?”

He blinks. “No.”

Muzan groans, throwing his arms up in frustration. “You’re impossible to provoke. I’m here to tell Michikatsu I’m leaving. That’s all.”

“You’re not giving me a goodbye?”

He looks sickened at the notion. “Why in the everloving fuck would I do that?”

“Because…” We’re friends, is what Yoriichi would like to say, but isn’t that a lie? They barely had any positive interactions since they met, and when they do talk, it occasionally ends with bickering and Haruhime always having to tell them to knock it off. He hopes Michikatsu did not want the two of them to be friends, because he has already failed that step. So, he says, “It’s polite to bid farewell to everyone when you are leaving.”

“Whatever,” Muzan says. A pause fills the room, before Muzan lets out a deep inhale, and then an exhale. “Bye, Michikatsu. Hopefully, when I see you, you’re not with your annoying brother.”

Yoriichi can’t really get irritated by his demeaning words.

The two of them hear the sound of someone carefully scratching the box. He must’ve said goodbye as well, but thanks to the light around the windows, cannot actually exit the box.

Muzan hums, his expression becoming softer for a moment, before it returns to that hard, cold glare that is always supplanted across his face with no kind of remedy whatsoever. “I’ll be leaving now.”

“Goodbye.” Yoriichi meant every word of it.

He doesn’t register that Muzan pauses a little when he said it, before vanishing into thin air.

***

Shinjurou manages to reach the wisteria house in record time, having been the one who received Yoriichi’s letter in the first place. He greets Hisa candidly and awkwardly at the engawa— the older woman does not seem too pleased to see him, and Shinjurou doesn’t seem to be comfortable with her either, since he keeps looking away like he was guilty of having wronged her somehow. Which is peculiar, as Yoriichi thinks Shinjurou wasn't one to make enemies that were his son's future colleagues. He seems uncertain of where he stands with her, bumbling phrases he shouldn’t and almost calling Yoriichi a son rather than his son's student. Yoriichi felt his heart skip a beat when he said that before he corrected himself with a cough.

Haruhime bids him — and by extension, his brother — with a meek wave of her hand and a small smile on her face. Now that Shinjurou had come, they have no reason staying here. Yoriichi smiles at her and waves back, and he finds joy seeing the light in her eyes shine brighter like the stars, and for her waves becoming stronger.

Shinjurou asked him what happened to his ankle. Yoriichi replies he wasn’t allowed to walk for the rest of the journey home. The older man mutters about how Hisa is very concerned for her patient's health all the time.

They end up taking a carriage home. Apparently, Shinjurou still does not trust the new vehicles currently running around in Osaka.

The ride was mostly silent, except for Yoriichi telling a slightly summarized version of the events in Asakusa and yesterday. Shinjurou did not pry much, except when he asked about the origins of Rui and his group of renegade demons. Yoriichi did not have all of the answers for that, but he never pried for anymore information.

“Senjurou is at the funeral,” he says once the carriage drops them off at an approximate location to where the Rengoku household is. They're quite paranoid with common folks learning the truth about demons. “He'll be returning tomorrow night.”

And if Senjurou is at the funeral, so is Hakuji. So it's just him, Michikatsu, and Shinjurou, like those months in training.

“You didn't come to the funeral?” Yoriichi asks as they enter the yard.

“I'm not, uh, exactly welcome. In the Wakisaka Estate; for good reason, before you're going to be defending my honor.”

Yoriichi shrugs. “Whatever you did back then, you've been attempting to rectify it with your current behavior. I appreciate leaving the comforts of your home in order to fetch me. It must be quite troublesome.”

Shinjurou looks at him like he'd just said the most ridiculous thing in his life. “Kid… I'm not too tired to unpack whatever you said to me. Listen, it ain't troublesome coming to get you when you're injured. In fact, I'm relieved hearing you're alive after keeping us in the dark for a day or so!”

Yoriichi looks at him, surprised. “My father…”

He groans. “When you talk about your dad, I begin to believe he doesn’t know what he's doing to his kids, or how he's raising them. Believe me, I know what it was like, being so… difficult to my sons. The difference is I grew out of that horrible, small way of thinking, but he just stayed in that stasis.”

Yoriichi blinks. This was not how this conversation had gone in his head.

Shinjurou smiles at him, and Yoriichi feels at ease as he approaches the older man. He couldn’t be anymore older than his father, but nothing in his eyes scream hate, disdain or anger. There is only kindness and hope in his eyes.

Yoriichi tilts his head, and, shlyly, asks, “Can I suggest tempura and unagi for dinner?”

He brightens at the mention of food. “Of course. Besides, you'll be staying here for two weeks, so no missions in the meantime. Meaning you can choose whatever dish you'd like for me to cook.”

He perks up, “I can?”

His eyes soften. “You don't normally eat too much food, Yoriichi. I want to change that. I want to change the fact that you shouldn’t be afraid to ask me of something. To know that you belong in the Rengoku household. Because you're family to us. You and your brother.”

Yoriichi looks at him, awestruck. He bites his lower lip, unsure of what to say.

So, he doesn't say anything at all.

He walks forward, and, without warning, wraps Shinjurou into a hug. The older man did not seem to see it coming, but Yoriichi does, a smile forming on his lips.

He doesn't speak. He wants to say thank you, alas, his tongue is tied.

He hugs him back, and that is all the reassurance Yoriichi needed.

Chapter Text

*

One of the variant legends in the Shoki relates that Amaterasu ordered her brother Tsukuyomi to go down to earth and visit the goddess Ukemochi. When Ukemochi vomited foodstuffs out of her mouth and presented them to Tsukuyomi at a banquet, a disgusted and offended Tsukuyomi slew her and went back to Takamagahara. This act upset Amaterasu, causing her to split away from Tsukuyomi, thus separating night from day.

*

The weeks spent in the Rengoku household pass by in a blur. Despite those said two weeks, the somber air is still palpable throughout the house. The death of the former Joy Pillar, who was killed fighting Waxing Moon Two (a formidable opponent, and one that had leveled the village where the deceased Pillar was staying in) has affected the morale of the demon slayers. Senjurou was busier than ever, always being accompanied by Hakuji so that when they happen across a demon with formidable strength, they have someone to fight the battle with. Shinjurou himself seems more distressed and worried, though he attempts not to show it to Yoriichi when he watches.

Yoriichi is healing well— his ribs were beginning to ache less, and the sprain has healed without any problems in the course of a few days. It felt nice, only having to train and attend to a few formal things with the Rengokus, but he was beginning to itch for some action in his life. Yushirou is still on the loose, spreading misery around the country, and here he was, waiting for Senjurou to return with Shinjurou, who was anxious.

He was made to kill Yushirou, and yet he still let him slip past his fingers. He still let him create monstrosity after monstrosity.

He thinks about Haruhime, and begrudgingly, of Muzan in that refractory period. Michikatsu does not speak of them, especially Muzan, who he thinks hates him now after seeing what he had become. Yoriichi wants to tell his brother that Muzan doesn’t hate him, how could he do that, but he doesn’t have the words of affirmation to give to his older twin. Haruhime was nice and gentle, but he doubts she’s suited for the job of a demon slayer. She’s too afraid and uncertain of her choices. Muzan is foolhardy and always has to impress someone, and was incredibly brash himself.

Michikatsu looks rather pensive after having a reunion with the two people who knew him prior to becoming a demon. He could sense the shame and anger towards himself roiling around him. Yoriichi tried to make him feel better, yet all attempts were of naught, with Michikatsu often stomping off angrily into darker parts of the house so he could avoid Yoriichi. It is no doubt that Muzan and Haruhime’s opinions of him affected his brother greatly.

Still, he misses them daily, and hopes that they're doing fine despite the scare pertaining to the recent dent made to the Pillars.

After a fortnight of recuperation, Aka returns to him with the following details of his next mission: a demon stronghold up in Mount Natagumo, with a dozen slayers having vanished into thin air… meaning they are all dead.

Shinjurou frowns as he watches Yoriichi wear his uniform and carry the box containing his sleeping brother in one hand, strapping it across his back. “Stay safe.”

Yoriichi nods at him. “I will. Do not worry over me, Shinjurou. Worry for your son instead.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “I can worry about the two of you.”

“I’ll come back,” he tells the elder man. “I promise.”

The Rengoku patriarch huffs an acrid laugh. “Well, I know that the promise will be fulfilled.” Yoriichi tilts his head— he doesn’t know if it was sarcastic or not.

Yoriichi waves goodbye to Shinjurou, who, with a solemn expression, waves back. He turns and begins to run, taking a Breath so he can move faster with no time to waste.

When he reaches the foot of the mountain, it was already dark, the sun having set a few minutes before he had reached his destination. He lets out a breath of relaxation, his legs feeling quite heavy.

It's going to be a long night. He can see it from how the mountain and its surrounding forest and nearby ridges are looming ominously over him.

Yoriichi stops running, opting to walk. He doesn't want to waste his energy, knowing that he has to use them as well as he can.

He could feel himself shivering in the cold night air. He can feel the entire world turn into nothing more but a ghost town as he continues to approach the mountain. Aka had told him, prior to joining this mission, that he will be accompanied by two other slayers in order to complete this mission. Yoriichi wonders who the other two were— and could he hide his older brother from them?

Yoriichi sighs as he walks, trying not to feel the slightest bit disturbed by the malignant aura in this setting. He hasn't even met a demon yet, but the aura of this demon is encompassing.

It's like it's telling him that whatever he is about to face will be deadly and more cumbersome than any other demon before.

That was certainly a comforting mindset to think of.

Finally, he makes it to the proper foot of the mountain, hearing the sounds of chatter as he climbs. Perking up, he walks faster to see who his partners will be, feeling a strum of familiarity at their presences— it felt light and whimsical amidst the heavy atmosphere that is hanging over them. Yoriichi’s appearance is noticed by his new partners, whom he thought wouldn’t meet again for a while until now.

“I can't believe I'm grouped with you again,” Muzan says with a disgruntled noise.

Haruhime makes an affronted, almost hurt noise. “Huh? Wh– what's that supposed to mean? I thought you were happy seeing me again?”

“... who said I was?”

His eyes light up when he sees the familiar silhouettes of Haruhime and Muzan in front of him, who are currently locked in a conversation with each other.

“Muzan, Haruhime,” he calls once he reaches them, thanking the gods that he was given partners who had already vouched for him in the past. Muzan and Haruhime turn to look at him, with the latter gasping when she sees him.

“Yoriichi!” She says; she doesn't smile, but a relieved look passes over her face. “You're our last partner?” She turns to look at Muzan, waving an arm at his direction. “See? We should've waited until the last member of our assignment finally came! I'm glad it's Yoriichi.”

Muzan glares at him. “Who gave you the right to use my first name?”

Yoriichi points at Haruhime. “She uses it.”

He crosses his arms. “Because we knew each other.”

“You and my brother did as well.”

Muzan's red eyes flick towards the box strapped on his back. He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You brought the demon here?”

Haruhime looks at him. “Muzan, he's Michikatsu! He's not some– some demon you have to kill!”

He rolls his eyes, brushing Haruhime's concern off. “We're not having this conversation again. And… we’re kinda cool now. I guess.” He looks at Yoriichi; his gaze lingers at the box, and then he turns away. “C'mon, time's wasting. We gotta kill that demon before it runs away before sunrise.”

Yoriichi doesn't have any time to waste, as he climbs with the other two. Natagumo was a rather moderate mountain, in terms of height; however, it was rather steep, and Yoriichi, who's been rather used to flat plains all his life, almost stumbles a few steps.

Muzan chuckles, having caught him slipping a bit. “You don't know how to climb mountains?”

Yoriichi grunts. “Can't say I have the luxury for it.”

Muzan hums. He turns to Haruhime, who looks rather distressed about something— more distressed than usual. Yoriichi looks at her. “Are you alright?”

Her lips are pursed into a thin line. Then, she says, “I… I hear something. It's like– like someone trampling over branches… plus some heavy breathing.”

Yoriichi perks up. “A survivor.”

“A bait,” Muzan says.

They get their answers once a bush in front of them parts, exposing a young man in a demon slayer uniform, which was tattered and torn. Some of the skin exposed was bleeding, and he does not need to have access to the Transparent World to see that his bones are broken. His grip on the handle of his sword is firm, his body shaking, and his eyes looking as if it had seen a war of some front being fought. Yoriichi stays his hand on his blade, wary over the demon slayer's next move.

When he sees that he has company, he seizes up, his teeth clenched and chattering. He walks close to them, and it is clear that he has a noticeable limp.

Haruhime gasps, as Muzan narrows his eyes at the slayer.

He opens his mouth, his free hand dropping the sword in order to reach out for them. Without thinking of the consequences, Yoriichi reaches out for him too.

“These demons…” The slayer croaks, his voice broken from shouting and whatever he has experienced within those woods. Yoriichi furrows his brows, feeling his heart break at the man. If only he had ran here faster… “They're unlike anything I've ever faced. Please… please, help me.”

Yoriichi immediately shoots forward to help the slayer, but something happens.

Unbeknownst to everyone, the slayer has a thread attached to them— a sliver of metallic, silver thread, and when the puppeteer finally has enough of playing with his food, for giving it a sense of freedom, he drags it back to the lair of the demons, yanking him using his thread, sending him soaring through the air.

The slayer realizes this as soon as he can feel something pulling. Those strings pull him, begin to repeat the word ‘no’ over and over again. A sign of his fate, of what is to come.

“Grab my hand,” Yoriichi tells him, but as soon as the fingers of the slayer’s hand brush his own, the slayer is pulled away so suddenly and harshly it sends him flying into the air, disappearing into the canopy of the forest on the mountains. Each three have varying degrees of horror and disgust written over their faces. Yoriichi stares at the canopy where the slayer had disappeared into, and towards his hand, which was inches away from grabbing him. He feels a surge of anger and self blame, realizing he could've prevented a casualty. “I could've yanked him back.”

Muzan scoffs. “And send you to where he disappeared to? Fat chance.”

Yoriichi’s eyes turn to look at Muzan. “He could've been saved—”

“He can't,” Muzan cuts in, and frustration boils over Yoriichi. “Save your hero complex for something more important, stupid.”

Haruhime was unremarkably silent, her eyes pressed firmly on the ground.

“Whatever is in there, it's demons who are powerful. With abilities never seen before. Whatever took that guy… he must've been connected to something.”

“If there is that slayer, there must be other slayers like that in the forest,” Yoriichi surmised. “We have to save them.”

Muzan narrows his eyes, “We gotta save ourselves first. You can try and save them for all I care but that'd mean that the demon will have more ammunition for it to distract us.”

“If you see humans like us as mere fodder I do not think—”

“It's not about how I see them. It's about how useful injured and incapacitated soldiers will be in the battlefield!”

Yoriichi inhales, calming himself down. Honestly, of all the people he has met, Muzan Kibutsuji angers and frustrates him to no end. He was insensitive and callous, and selfish and self absorbed. He would rather indulge in a hundred corpses as long as he will not die at their hands. He is everything Yoriichi finds terrible about mankind.

“I want to save the demon slayers who are trapped in the mountain and kill the demon responsible for the suffering it caused,” Yoriichi says. “Can we please not argue when we have not even taken a step into the mountains?”

Muzan huffs. “Fine. Do whatever you must. Let's just go and get this over with.”

Haruhime looks up from the ground, now that the two have finally stopped arguing. “We can't really save them if we're still here, right? C’mon, let's go. Even if this place gives me the creeps, we have a job to do.”

Beside Yoriichi, Muzan grimaces. He inhales, looking at Haruhime with a sheepish expression. “Right. Uh, Haruhime… you're not coming with us.”

Haruhime’s face, instead of being excited by such a prospect of sitting this one out, her face falls. “Wha– why not? I'm a demon slayer! I'm capable!”

“You'll scare us half to death with your paranoia,” Muzan tells her, and Haruhime’s face falls at every word, her body shaking. She was afraid of the unknown, and of what awaits her as she scales the mountain, however it seems being deemed unreliable by her closest companions scares her the most. “It'd be better if you stay here, away from the things that'll make you paranoid.”

She stutters, as she looks at Yoriichi. Surely he won't agree with Muzan’s words, right?

Yoriichi sighs. He avoids Haruhime’s gaze. “I believe it is best for you to stay here. Perhaps even call for the Pillars instead if we do not come down by the time it is sunrise. That way, they'll be able to hunt them down with ease.”

Her face plummets.

It's safer for her here, he justifies himself in his thoughts. He doesn’t want to be unable to save someone he has begun deeming as precious to him.

Muzan meets his eyes, and Yoriichi nods. He sighs as he returns to look at Haruhime. “Well… we'll be going now. Stay safe, Haruhime.”

Yoriichi turns away to begin their trek over the mountain, unable to hold his gaze by Haruhime’s desolate expression any longer.

***

The Master looks quite distressed— his face frequently carries one of exhaustion and pure disheartenment for how his soldiers are currently progressing in the war to eradicate demons, but it seems, ever since the death of the Joy Pillar just two weeks ago he’s become fearful of the mortality of his Pillars, counted with how demon slayers left and right seem to keep dying from demons.

Tamayo sits seiza beside the current Water Pillar, a stoic, quiet young man whose face has been covered by a fox mask since he became a Pillar at the age of seventeen, despite… the controversies surrounding his promotion. She was surprised he was still able to do his duty when it was said that he had been in a coma for a few months before becoming a Pillar. He wasn’t well-regarded by the other Pillars, either, but Tamayo thinks it’s mostly because he doesn’t know how to socialize.

They look at The Master as he greets the two Pillars he has summoned to his residence with a grave look. “My slayers have been whittling in numbers over the years, and I loath to say it, but the demons have gotten stronger. Or… have you gotten weak?”

Tamayo looks down, but her smile doesn’t recede from her face. The Master is in one of his moods again, but The Lady will improve his mood after this meeting.

“We have not,” the Water Pillar says without hesitation, a tad defensive when it comes to their master questioning their strength. He is lucky that The Master wasn’t a child any longer— he will not take this talk back with tolerance.

The Master hums, sounding unconvinced. “The demon activity in Mount Natagumo has been reported as a site for a Lower Moon. Most low-ranked demon slayers never return once they set foot on the mountain. It’s up to you to vanquish the demons that live there, and save the demon slayers assigned to this mission. Sabito, Tamayo, I am entrusting you to the safety of all victims of this mountain.”

The Water Pillar, Sabito Urokodaki, nods as he rises from his seat, with Tamayo Hanaka, Insect Pillar, following him. “We will not let you down,” Sabito says resolutely, and Tamayo nods with a smile. “We will vanquish the Lower Moon for the safety of the people.”

***

She'd been crying for the past few minutes after Yoriichi and Muzan left without her. She knows that what they had done to her, leaving her here by the side of the road so callously, wasn't something they did on purpose; they must have been afraid that she'd become a victim of the demons. Yet they fail to see that she's just as trained as them, that her hearing is out of this world— they can only see the sniveling girl who had just lost one of the people she is closest to in less than three years.

She should give them the benefit of the doubt; Muzan, despite his terribly pessimistic exterior, doesn’t think that she’s useless. Still, it hurts that one of her friends from childhood would think so… low of her. Yoriichi, who she had heard had such a pure sound deep in his heart, had also been in favor of leaving her, not at all expecting her to do any work aside from killing a demon, something they doubted she could do.

She’s killed demons! She has probably killed more demons than them, one who had just begun training a few months ago, and one who had vanished and got his wife killed because he was unable to kill a demon!

Her breath hitches, and she lurches with guilt when she realizes what she had thought of Rei. Gods, she shouldn’t disrespect the dead girl like that. Muzan must have loved her dearly if it meant abandoning his old lifestyle in order to find the culprit responsible for her death.

Still… leaving her here? In the middle of the night alone? She may have a sword, but what if the demons come for her too?

Haruhime wipes her eyes. She was always so prone to crying, something her mentor’s brother finds extremely annoying, stating that she wouldn’t become a slayer for having such heavy eyes that are always quick to fill with tears. Her mentor finds that to be a strength, even if a lot of others see it differently. She doesn’t want to be like this… she knows she can be capable, but now… she doubts it.

However, she is going to try. She’s going to be stronger— and for that, she needs to stop crying so loud. Her friends are in there, and, even if they don’t want her to risk her life for the two of them, that won’t mean she’s not going to come and save their asses before it gets killed by a demon.

She’s sure that the demon here… it’s a Lower Moon. It is far more powerful than any other Moons they have faced.

***

Yoriichi could still feel the guilt churning within his stomach as he and Muzan climb the mountain. He could even feel the remorse eating Muzan away.

“I didn’t think you’d agree with me, leaving her there,” Muzan says with an expressionless mask. He must still be reeling from the culpability of his actions. “But she is a liability to both herself and us.”

“I wouldn’t call her a liability,” Yoriichi says. “She is too kind and bright for this world. I don’t want another cherished one to die when I couldn’t save them.”

He scoffs. “Oh gods, you really do have a guilty complex, huh?”

Yoriichi could not bear the guilt any longer. He stops, causing his companion to pause. He turns, “We should not have left her there. I should—”

Muzan stops him by holding his arm. He hates how he stops almost immediately. Red eyes look upon his own. “Hey, we made our choice. And that choice was to leave Haruhime behind. She’ll be fine. She’s a smart girl, and she’ll call up her master to tell him about the activity in this mountain. Don’t go back on the path you made now.”

Yoriichi sighs. He’s… made a great point. “Alright. We’ll find the demon and save the victims.”

The two of them continue to walk. They have a job to do. Once everything is finished, Yoriichi will apologize to Haruhime for leaving her behind. Perhaps one day he’ll see her in action, but not today.

Suddenly, the tense, static atmosphere is cut by the feeling of snowfall. He places an arm in front of Muzan, who looks puzzled, but doesn’t fight him off.

“Someone’s with us,” Yoriichi tells him.

“Is it a demon?” Muzan asks.

“I don’t think so.” He looks towards the the bushes, as it begins to rustle. To their surprise and imminent relief, a young woman a few years older than them jumps out, with black hair streaked with white, gray-blue eyes, and beauty marks strewn across her face. Her hair is tied to two loose tails, all tied with one blue bead each. Her sword is brandished, and despite looking worse for wear, seems fine.

She realizes that she has some onlookers, before sighing in relief. “Are you reinforcements? Are you two Pillars? I’m Fumiko Ayase, Rank Kinoe!”

Muzan and Yoriichi exchange glances.

“I’m Yoriichi Tsugikuni, Rank Mizunoto.”

“Muzan Kibutsuji. Rank Mizunoto.”

With those introductions, the woman’s face falls. “Mizunoto? Are you kidding me? We need a Pillar! Two Mizunotos won’t cut it!”

Muzan arches a brow as his face becomes annoyed and pointedly frustrated. “What is that supposed to mean? Just because you're Kinoe doesn't mean you get to demean us like that!”

Fumiko backtracks. “It's nothing like that. It's because the demon we're fighting, well, I don't think it's an ordinary demon. And I don't think it's working independently either. No matter how many legions of Mizunotos or any other rank than a Pillar to this place, they'll fall eventually!”

Yoriichi could feel her panic throughout her senses. She truly was scared for her life, and worried for their welfare. Still, they were given a job to do, and he doesn’t intend to fall short on his expectations.

“We'll do our best, Ayase-san,” he says. “Can you please tell us what happened here? I can feel the presence of other slayers, but none of them have presences as vivid and poignant as yours.”

Fumiko grimaces. “I was with a group of Lower ranking slayers— I was the team captain and the one supposed to be giving orders. Yet, as we climb up the mountain, we must've bumped into something, or disturbed a few webs, because these things were designed to control us. Every slayer turned on each other, attacking one another. I was the only one who managed to cut the threads free and escaped. So—” She stops, peering closer to Yoriichi and Muzan, before slashing her sword in every direction near them.

Yoriichi stiffens at the action, afraid of her being puppeteer around, but realizes that her blade did not touch him, nor Muzan.

Still, Muzan lets out a shriek, glaring venomously at Fumiko. “What the fuck was that?! Were you distracting us so you can kill us?! Huh?”

Yoriichi feels something land on his palm. He looks at it, a prompt heaviness despite its small mass: a silver string, smelling of metal. He turns to look at Muzan, “No, she saved us from getting attached to strings herself.” He shows him the string, and suddenly, he begins brushing his clothes and skin off the strings.

“It's easy to find where the strings are located. They have a funny feeling, and because of its heaviness, it takes a moment for you to become their puppets. With incredibly fast reflexes, you can cut yourselves out of that sticky situation in no time.”

Yoriichi nods, “I appreciate the advice, Ayase-san.”

“Please, call me Fumiko. We might locate the demon who's been using our comrades as puppets if we find them.”

Suddenly Yoriichi feels several presences at once— they all feel human, the deceptive kind, and he cranes his neck as he watches demon slayers — dead and alive — come out of the woods with injured, mangled bodies. Some of them should not even be walking with the way their legs are bent, with each beating heart screaming further with pain and agony. Yoriichi’s heart bleeds for them.

To make things worse, something looms over the sky, with an overwhelming presence rivaling Yushirou's, however a lot less menacing and weaker than the aura he gave off, but more malicious than ordinary demons.

He looks up, and so do the other two.

“Shit,” Muzan says, staring at a demon that seems to be floating— or perhaps he was using the strings?

He was short in height, almost like a child. He certainly dresses like one, and his face was covered with a Hyottoko mask with a furious face blowing. His hair was tied to a ponytail, and despite the mask, his aura radiates anger and disdain for them.

He points a finger towards the three of them, and with the added image of the slayers all walking around looking half dead, it feels more chilling.

With a petulant, childish voice, he yells, “You slayers always have to ruin my fun!”

Chapter Text

Yoriichi stares at the child— it acts like one as well, and in spite of his demonic aura and the way it holds himself, he was too irritant and impulsive. It was like it was holding himself back from standing over them the way an adult does.

“We have to kill that kid,” Muzan says, glaring at the young boy with animosity and hatred. He has unsheathed his spear, its pointed sides both pointed towards the demon still hanging above them.

“This guy has been watching us whilst my comrades were killing each other,” Fumiko concurs as she brandishes her sword. “I’ve been tailing him all night, but I am unable to get close to him without tons of strings trying to attach themselves to me, or him vanishing into thin air.”

“We can’t kill him without a plan,” Yoriichi tries to rein him in, afraid that Muzan will do something impulsive and put them in danger. “And… I feel as if he is powerful. More powerful than all the other demons we have fought and vanquished. We must thread carefully.”

Muzan tsks, rolling his eyes with so much force Yoriichi is surprised his eyes do not fall from his head. “You’re trying to steal my kill from me, saying shit like that to dissuade me from going for the big fish. Whether or not this guy is a strong demon, I won’t give a shit. Anything to get me to the Pillar position.”

Yoriichi frowns. “I am not looking for the Pillar position. I just wish to warn you before you go about and get yourself unwittingly killed.”

“What, you think that I’m not skilled enough to take down a bunch of demons? A bunch of asshole slayers who got themselves tied up to the demon? I may not have been blessed with a perfect body like yours, but I trained for this moment. Unlike you, who was born with such skills.”

Yoriichi clenches his teeth, but doesn’t say anything else. “Do whatever you want, Muzan.”

He scoffs, looking at the demon above them. With that mask on his face, it is hard to tell if he was one of the Twelve Moons or not. “I intend to do whatever I want.”

Muzan immediately leaps, his blade drawn, towards the demon. Yoriichi watches, amazed at how strong his leaps were, how they immediately defied gravity. Well, Muzan was a light individual, and his form was lithe and slender. He uses the branches of the trees to bring him closer to the demon, but before he could even touch the demon — which does not look affected by a slayer approaching him so suddenly — the demon disappears from thin air, as if it was never there.

Being caught so off guard, Muzan loses his balance, jumping earlier than he had intended, falling to the ground. Yoriichi and Fumiko both race to catch him, with Yoriichi succeeding almost immediately.

He catches Muzan. When Muzan recovers and realizes he’s in the arms of his most loathed individual, he pushes Yoriichi’s face away from him.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I have to see your face up close,” Muzan bemoans, to Yoriichi’s exasperation.

“A thank you would suffice,” Yoriichi says as he obediently places Muzan on the ground, as gently as he can. He might complain if he was not.

“Are you okay?” Fumiko asks at the same time.

Muzan groans a reply, but it is overshadowed by Yoriichi sensing that the demon slayers that are currently standing still, being controlled by the strings despite their bodies contradicting every movement. Yoriichi raises his sword as soon as one of the slayers gets too close and swings his sword towards them, with his grip shaking. He did not want to hurt them, but he also did not want to die. Not yet, when there is a goal he must accomplish before he could die.

He meets the slayer’s eyes— they were dull and wide, and his expression did not change for these past few minutes. His arms were also twisted and bent out of form, making Yoriichi feel sick.

The slayer is dead.

Fumiko gasps. “They’re still controlling him, even when he’s dead…”

Yoriichi sighs, realizing that he will not save those who are too late to be saved. Yoriichi eyes the rest of the slayers— two out of the six of them are still alive.

“Don’t desecrate their bodies,” he advises the two of them. “It’s the least we could do, to respect them.”

Muzan sighs, but it wasn’t filled with malice this time. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Still, he heads Yoriichi’s request; moving exceptionally gracefully, as he dodges and diverges each of the swords coming at him by using his yari, but never once piercing or drawing blood so he could defeat these unfortunate victims. He and Fumiko engage in harmless combat as well, disarming a few of these corpses of their swords, before cutting the strings that had been attached to them completely, watching them as they plummet to the ground unceremoniously. Yoriichi hates how their lives seem to mean nothing to the one that had been controlling them in the first place.

A wave of anger travels through him as he effortlessly disarms the corpses without disturbing their remains. Some of them have broken bones or necks that have snapped, or lacerations that proved to be fatal, or they have bled to death. Every death Yoriichi knew he was not able to save, it brings him back to the snowy day when his life changed, but this time, he is no mere puppeteer of fate. This time, he is now holding the sword to cut through the cruelty of it.

Whether it has a great effect or not… remains up in the air.

Fumiko removes a few threads that were trying to attach to her limbs once more. “Gods, these threads are so annoying! Be mindful of your surroundings, boys, they’re persistent in trying to capture you.”

“There must be a puppet master behind all this,” Yoriichi observes as he heads Fumiko's advice, slashing through the strings effortlessly.

“What about that demon kid?” Muzan asks.

“It isn't him,” Yoriichi shakes his head. “Whoever is controlling these threads, it is not him.”

“How would you know?”

“His presence is not very profound with these threads. It is someone else.”

Muzan scoffs. “Sure, let's trust your occultish guesses and find the culprit, then.”

Yoriichi frowns. “Occult?”

Muzan does not respond as he blocks another strike from — this time — a live swordsman, who looks like she's in agony as she continues being dragged around by the strings on her arms to commit violent acts against her fellow swordsman. She looks like she was a few more actions away from sobbing, the way her face is scrunched up and her eyes were welling with tears. Whether it was her own body betraying her or the agony she is feeling, is nebulous information.

Yoriichi had his own puppet opponent to kill, in the form of a man who was dripping blood down his chin, and bloodshot eyes. He fights the urge not to cringe when he sees why— there were two strings strapped to his eyelids, forcing them open even when his body is killing him and begging to be closed.

How despicable of this puppet master to toy with these bodies as if they do not live and have stories of their own.

Without mistake and without fail, he immediately slashes all of the strings that connects this boy from the demon, and he drops to the ground, choking. He kneels to get a good look of the slayer, worry lacing his tone as he asks, “Are you alright?”

The slayer looks at him with bleak eyes but manages to nod shakily. Yoriichi helps him up, before offering him to Fumiko, who is quick to tend to him and let Yoriichi fight the slayer that Fumiko had been fighting earlier, a boy who was still alive and did not have any grievous injuries, aside from a broken arm, unlike the boy he fought earlier. He effectively cuts all the strings off and catches him with ease, and he gives him off to Fumiko, the only one who has proper medical training and supplies. He turns towards Muzan, who is still off battling the one girl before disarming her by loosening his spear slightly and firmly gripping it once more.

When he catches Yoriichi watching, he narrows his eyes. “What?”

Yoriichi looks away. “Nothing.” He turns away so he could look at Fumiko again, who was still tending to this person. “Do you think that you can look out after these injured slayers while we find the demon who’s responsible for this?”

Fumiko sighs, “Yeah, sure. I don’t suppose you two know any first aid tips?”

Yoriichi doesn’t respond. Muzan, pointedly, kicks at a rock.

She rolls her eyes, “Alright, I’ll stay here and look after these three.”

“Will you be fine? There are hundreds of threads here still waiting to attach us to the demon.”

“I can sense them easily, even when I’m distracted. Besides, my breathing style makes it hard for threads to stick to me in the first place. I’ll be fine— now go and kick the demon’s ass!”

Yoriichi nods, as he and Muzan immediately try and find the exit from this clearing, whilst also avoiding the bodies of the dead out of respect.

Muzan turns on his heel to look at him, effectively stopping Yoriichi. “So, what’s the plan now, leader?”

“Try and find the demon responsible for the deaths of these people. I do not want anyone else dying under my watch.”

Muzan snorts, repeating the words, “Under your watch.”

He looks at him. “You seem to have a problem with the way I speak. May I know what goes on your mind?”

“No, you may not,” Muzan replies in a mocking tone. Yoriichi wants to press, but he doesn’t want to further poke the dragon with a stick. “So how do you find the demon?”

“Well, the slayers all have strings attached to them, right? And they were quite heavy and bothersome, with the tangible scent of silver and molten metal. So they are easy to see unlike more invisible strings.” He remembers Rui’s Blood Demon Art, how he never saw it coming until it came in bundles. “So they must have come from somewhere. An origin point of sorts.”

“Huh, that’s the smartest thing to have come out of your mouth,” Muzan hums. “Still, do you know where the demon is?”

Yoriichi frowns. “I do not feel any presence of this demon here. It must be much further.”

“And you’re sure you’re not leading us into a trap?”

“Why would I?”

The two of them stop when they hear the sounds of boots crunching leaves— it must be another batch of captured slayers forced to fight with them. How bothersome.

Muzan rolls his eyes, seeing that most of them are dead again. “I can’t believe I have to fucking play gentle.”

“We must.” Yoriichi says as he draws his sword to block the first assault towards him. “We have to let them know that we do not see them as mere casualties— that they are as human as we are.”

***

Meanwhile, in the forests, there exists a demon man whose fingers are all cut up and bruised from playing with the sinews of silver, thinned from the ingots he had produced as a Blood Demon Art in order to create these puppets. It was a fraction of the power Kotetsu was able to offer him, and he used it to his full advantage.

“Kanamori!” Kotetsu’s voice causes the elder demon to jump in surprise, as he turns to look at his master, a boy who is just ten years old and yet has an explosive temper, one he did not wish to cross, especially when the boy is on his bad days. His mask was a caricature of a passive face, with bushy brows and wide eyes.

“Yes, Kotetsu?” He asks mildly, as he goes about controlling the slayers that are currently fighting their next victims. It was annoying, how easy they sussed out the threads, thanks to that white-haired Kinoe girl. Out of all the slayers in this mountain, she poses a threat due to being a higher rank and how efficiently she gets out of the sticky situations she is in. She must have also noticed what kind of demon Kotetsu is by now, and why she was avoiding him. While she was on the way to becoming a Pillar, she must be weighing in on the cons of something comparable to a suicide mission.

“You’re taking too long!” Kotetsu says, pointing a finger in an accusatory manner. “Kill those guys already, now!”

Kanamori nods. “Understood.”

“If I see that they’re not dead in over five minutes, you’re going to be standing in the light of dawn for two minutes this time!”

Kanamori flinches, shaking his head as the fingers that have been holding the threads are clenched, the force exerting onto his fingers, as it consequently cuts his fingers more and makes them bleed, some of them dripping down the metallic threads. True fear is not against the demon slayers, who are honestly just insects to them, but Kotetsu, a demon beyond his understanding, sitting at the foot of the Great One’s throne. No one can cross him unless it is his superiors. “No! I mean, no, Kotetsu! I shall kill them now!”

Kotetsu watches him, and he wishes that they did not have these masks so he could see what he is currently thinking now. Then he hums, like a child, but not really. “Okay, whatever. I’ll be going to see the progress Tetsuido is making. Have fun with your food!” He says the last sentence so jubilantly, that he ignores the utter fear that is currently in the other demon’s chest. He disappears at the speed of light, incomprehensible to a normal demon like him.

A demon that is, currently, embroiled in fear at the prospect of being left out while the sun is rising.

Kanamori takes a deep breath, despite the trembling of his fingers, ignoring the stinging of his fingers, having gotten used to how incompatible these strings are to his skin. It will not do him good to freak out. Not when Kotetsu is confirmed to be watching his every move. If he does not kill them, there will be dire consequences.

He inhales, letting out a short, stammering breath as he begins manipulating the strings once more, trying to stave off his anxiety about his demonic overlord. “Please, just die by my hands so I may not be punished by Kotetsu. Perhaps I should unleash my proudest puppet yet. I have no use for these slayers who always fight against my control of their bodies.”

***

Yoriichi thought that he was doing a great job, preventing the deaths of the slayers that had the misfortune to be taken into the strings of this demon. Yet, as he and Muzan try to disarm the slayers, especially the ones who are alive in order to further prevent them from getting even more injured, the strings that were holding their heads are lifted, and then twisted in another direction. Yoriichi, through his eyes, sees the bones of their necks twist in an abnormal direction, before hearing the sound of a CRACK throughout the forest.