Chapter Text
The world, to Tokito Muichiro, was mostly made out of fog.
Objects had shapes, and people had voices. But they never stayed for too long. Nothing really remained anchored in his mind.
Everything was replaced by a vast, echoing nothingness. That's what it meant to be the Mist Hashira, floating through life with no objections.
Not like he'd remember them anyway.
—
He'd been thinking about that during the Hashira meeting. They were used to it, him gazing at the clouds. Master paid no mind — Muichiro wondered if he's pitied.
”Pretty cloud...” He muttered under his breath, blinking his big teal eyes. It brought him back to what was going on.
Master had resigned for the evening, leaving the Hashira to discuss logistics. He winced as the loud one piped up. What was his name again? ’Nemi.. No — Sanemi? Sanemi Shinazugawa...
Shinazugawa, he smiled. That was Genya's last name. They were brothers, right?
Did he have a brother?
Glimpses of his memory had been returning at random moments while he was fighting or asleep. Lady Kocho says it's because he's been under increased stress.
They weren't exactly good memories, just visions of blood or an arm. He hoped it wasn't his arm - nope, all his limbs were perfectly intact!
Oh yeah! What was the angry-sounding pillar saying?
The topic had shifted to discussing the high death rate in lower-ranked demon slayers during their last training course.
”They’re fuckin' weak.” Sanemi barked. Everyone seemed to cling to his words; Tokito thought they had no real use, frankly.
”A bunch of spineless, worthless brats. They think holding a sword makes them swordsmen - it's embarrassing.” His knuckles tightened as he clenched his calloused fists.
”They're wasting our food, medical supplies-”
Now, now, Shinazugawa-san.”
Shinobu chimed in, her voice painfully sweet but carrying such a threatening ice. ”Yes, our recruits indeed lack experience, and that is exactly why we are training them to be the best they can be. Refrain from jumping to conclusions.”
”Eh?!” He sputtered; Sanemi looked dumbfounded. ”You can't polish dirt, Kocho. None of these kids have a drop of shitty talent!” Sanemi narrowed his eyes, thinking of one specific example. He scoffed.
”Take the kid with no breathing technique. He's a fucking embarrassment to the uniform.”
The room grew noticeably colder; nobody needed to ask whom Sanemi was referring to. There were a couple of disappointed sighs, but nobody said anything.
He was speaking about Genya, one of the world's cruelest creations. A boy destined for pure greatness, but forced to live in such a horrific society. All the Hashira knew of the rift between the Wind Pillar and his younger brother.
”Shinazugawa, there's no need to go into specifics.” Giyuu said, coolly. ”That is your brother you're referring to.”
Sanemi almost burst a blood vessel right there.
”BROTHER?” He laughed maniacally. ”I don't recall having a brother.” His voice came out as a low growl as he clenched his teeth. His fingers dug into the maple table.
”I told that worthless brat to leave the corps. Find some girl and marry off. I don't give a shit what happens, as long as he stops trailing behind me like a lost dog.”
He carried on going. The conversation had sparked Tokito's attention, something that was difficult to do.
”...It’d just be easier if a demon finishes him off now. Saves everyone the trouble.”
Gasps rippled around the room. Sure, Sanemi’s volatile behaviour was a normal display. But this was too far, to wish death onto your own blood.
Gyomei let out a heavy sigh, his face wet with tears as his beads became a constant backdrop.
Muichiro tried to focus on that; he really tried.
A sudden, splintering noise killed the silence in the room.
All eyes diverted to the source, a heaving Muichiro.
He was no longer gazing at the clouds; instead, his eyes were firmly locked onto Shinazugawa.
The young boy's face was usually so devoid of emotion that as it twisted into something so full of rage, it shocked everyone.
His brow was so deeply furrowed it cast a shadow over his eyes; his jaw quivered. The ambient temperature of the room seemed to drop substantially as the Mist Hashira grabbed it by the scruff of its neck.
Sanemi blinked, genuinely caught off guard. ”The hell are you looking at?”
Muichiro didn't react with words. He didn't think he'd felt this angry before...
No... he had. It was times like these that his memory was the most clear. The fog in his head had dispelled.
He took steps towards the older man; his boots clicked sharply against the wooden flooring. A threatening display for such a small child. Everyone underestimated him. Not anymore.
”Repeat that,” he said, his voice a stark contrast to the fiery attitude of Sanemi.
Sanemi's face flushed a deep red; he stood up, his height almost double the younger boy's.
He almost laughed, but he had more sense than to laugh in the face of another Hashira. He could just hear the reprimands.
”I said that it would be more convenient if he was taken by a demon now, rather than cause incessant suffering later.
Muichiro seethed.
He turned around, slapping a table so hard it crumpled under his hand. Deep breaths, please.
”You are a fool,” Muichiro spat, the words spitting with a truly malicious, vindictive intent. ”You sit there, littered in scars, and you think that you are strong. You think you're wise just because you push people away. I disagree. You are a coward.”
”What the HELL did you just call me?!” His hands instinctively went for that dark green nichirin blade on his hip. ”I don't give two shits you're a Hashira, I'll have your neck!”
Muichiro smiled, a truly unsettling sight. ”Do it.” He said, inching closer. His blue eyes were wide and unblinking.
”You speak of Genya as if he is dirt. You call him an embarrassment, you call him useless. You say that the only person sharing your miserable bloodline deserves to die a horrific death at the hands of a demon.”
He wasn't done; he'd barely started. His voice rose to levels that nobody had seen before. Yet, there was no intervention.
”You do have a brother! He is alive, he is doing good, he breathes! He willingly wakes up every day, choosing to fight in a war, just so he can glance at your ugly, hateful face, and even then, he views you as someone worth saving.”
He cleared his throat, almost regressing to his original state.
”And even then, you badmouth him, you deny your siblinghood.”
The entire estate seemed to be quiet, down to the Cicadas outside.
Muichiro's chest heaved. Memories came back in troves — memories of Yuichiro — flashed violently behind his eyes. He could hear the croaking final words of a twin who died for him, praying to the gods to protect his younger brother. A boy he would never speak to again.
Muichiro remembered it all.
”You don't even recognise how lucky you are,” He started, his shoulders dropping and his head down. ”How lucky you are to have a brother. To throw that away, someone who unconditionally loves you despite your abominable attitude.”
”Get a fucking grip.” The curse fell off his lips like an anomaly; nobody had heard him swear before - nor had they seen him this furious.
Sanemi stood frozen.
The typical fiery retort he would normally shoot out failed to materialise. For the first time since anyone could remember, the Wind Hashira was completely helpless.
Muichiro didn't care for a response; he looked at Sanemi with a profound disgust in his eyes and simply left.
His haori floated behind him dramatically as he marched to the exit.
He didn't give a bow to the Master's quarters, nor turn back to see the astonished faces of the other Hashira. The shoji screen was slammed with a resounding thud that echoed through the estate.
”That was totally unflashy.” Uzui piped up, but was immediately silenced with a firm slap on the wrist by Shinobu.
”Silence, Uzui.” She said, her mouth curling into a tight smile, but her eyes shot daggers.
”I am going to seek master with a restorative for Shinazugawa and young Tokito.”
The rest of the Hashira fell into a hushed whisper, Sanemi still in a bewildered state.