Chapter Text
The first few papers were crumbled, some were ineligible from dried wetness. They are neatly glued to the new pages with a smooth rice paste, making the journal look bulkier and older than it should be.
Back in the ancient days, the Hasegawa clan have pride themselves as a family of demon slayers. Bright as diamond, strong as one… They were the protector of southern Japan for five consecutive periods: Muromachi, Azuchi–Momoyama, Edo, Meiji and currently Taishou.
They were not as many as before, but the family is still as strong, building themselves back up from the rubble of the past. They were the jeweled beasts; the enamored prey that hunts the predators with sharp visual instincts.
They were ruthless to demons, with skills that's equal to one.
It was told that they can kill one without the infamous Nichirin Blade, yet those are only exaggerated legend that glorifies the clan. Even if they were fabled in southern Japan, no one knew of who they truly were or where they lived.
There were some that does knew of them - but even those who carries the knowledge of their existence were rare. They made the family's existence into myths and fables as if they were nothing but an illusion to one's mind. The family took that as their advantage, because stories they might be, they are still famed in another limelight.
The clan have been called as 'Corporation Shinobi' at their brightness rather than demon slayers because of their likes of secrecy and their likes to manipulate the surface with their status as nobility and existence. They were protected by the corporation, funded and even acted as a political ploy in their height - helping the corp grow with funds raised by their underhanded connection with the government. This only happened because of the family's powering number and strength - but even with all those benefits stationed to make them more novel and survive the trying times... still, most of their bloodline turned into dust.
It's true that even the strongest ore can be shattered into brittle pieces at the right angle.
No one outside the corps knew the real reason the Hasegawa bloodline declined, but I do. It had always been recited to me as a story by my father and grandfather and even their forefathers before them. Despite our bleak timeline - I carry our history with pride that most kids have with their family's clan whether they are rich or poor; because to us, it is the matter of honoring our ancestors' legacy and the sacrifices they made for humanity.
Every little single detail of our clan's past was displayed to us like a scripture every scholar needs to study, sprinted in wordplay and performances in times of celebration. Like fabled myths and stories, they became muddled with one another - the specific details lost to the sea of words. And even if I recall those chapters from withered papers; It will never cease to surprise me that our fallen glory was all because of the work of someone who turned into a demon.
That man that was once in the family have everything to do with the clan's fall, and he was the reason everything that was so perfect, turned into a bitter mess. It has always been like that in most stories, but just the thought of such ploy being repeated was it's likeliness to succeed into reality.
One by one, the most influential people of the Hasegawa slowly died out due to an unknown illness - like men in time of famine, but guised as plague whose cure never invented. It was suspected that the culprit was poison; but not even our family knew of the truth - and if someone did, they took such secret to their grave.
For a period, the Corporation Shinobi struggled to keep demons at bay because of their slow diminishing lineage, and few struggled to survive because they fought as if it's the reason for their death.
Because it might as well be the truth.
The Hontaku island was a literal bloody battle field. Only survivors in our family and the corps knew of this dilemma to avoid the drama that comes with being questioned by the monarch and government. They dwindled among those ranks after all, and even the commoners knew that a powerful clan would turn against each other once the head left this world with no heir to take their position. The political structure at that period was all the same with that belief - and if one power fall, the others would reap its treasure for their own. And perhaps that was our family's divine retribution for manipulating the people, the government and their emperors to extort money from them for the foundation of the Corporation.
The demons that hid in that cursed island slowly made themselves stronger through demolishing the population of the seaside villages. Father told me that it was an epidemic-like threat to the whole Japan, and sending the corps' strongest was suicide even with their unparalleled skill.
It shows how big of matter it was for the corporation and our clan. The fall of the mighty Hasegawa, would bring shame to the survivors left behind - and the death of such power, would bring the birth of the sins committed by power connected to the growth of the Corps. That is why a choice was made, a choice that would erase the existence of the Hasegawa ever being a part of the power in Japan in order to save the reason for their existence.
In nature, demons don't band together and would cannibalize one another if it so happens that they invade each other's territories; but there was someone guiding them like a sly wolf leading its pack of blood-thirsty mutts. A strong demon my family assumed to be their godfather - the very one that controlled our clan in its shadow ever since the start of the unknown illness that maimed the Hasegawa's power. It was the very demon that haunted our family's lineage ever since.
And yet, that oni was never named - father and grandfather wouldn't dare try to even name him even when asked several times. To the clan, they remained a mystery that plague our lineage.
The Hasegawa blamed that man because they know how his band of demons grew their number with the fall of our own. With each passing week, it became more of a reminder of what everyone feared: an invasion of demons threatening to overcome the country's existence. Thus, the corporation became desperate to send of half of their hunters to fight that battle to diminish the possibility of such foreboding future. The corporation had blamed my family for this. The existence of those demons banding in that island all started when one most our kin fell sick and sent off to Hontaku. And it was all but the truth; that man played our clan that the island would serve as a recovery center for the sick - only to be turned to the very being they hunted for decades.
In repentance for such mistake, most of our clan mates were sent off to their death. A large portion of those brave warriors were my direct kin, and out of those seasoned soldiers, only two of them returned alive.
Yet, my ancestors knew that those sacrifice wasn't enough to diminish the demons number into zero; it was only enough to avoid an invasion just to save the name of the Corporation in fall of the Hasegawa's name. It was grievous to our kin's lineage, but they knew they couldn't do anything about it. Our pride has fallen because of that demon, and our forefathers were too adsorbed in cleaning their mistakes that all they could do is build themselves up from the fallen pillars of what their family once been.
After all, repentance was all they could do. All because my ancestors played in that demon's hands - like ink splattering on the clear pages of a new bound journal; forever imprinting the fault in our history and blood even with new generations clearing out the pages.
But despite those struggles and shame brought upon them, the clan tried to bounce back. To change. To avenge. In what they hoped and believed would be revenge against demon kind; mocking them and that man out there that their kin still survive such genocide.
The two survivors from the oni-invasion saved the Hasegawa clan by cleaning our history by bringing light in to new ones. One of them lived a normal life with a title hailed as Kanjori, while the other continued our tradition and called themselves as Haseto.
These two struggled with the life they wanted to establish for themselves. Kanjori wanted to focus on business to earn money to fund the corporation in the shadows like what our ancestors did, while Haseto kept the family lineage as sharp as a diamond's by training lowly farmers to shinobi to help the corporation of the purpose they once served. Both were successful in passing down their will until this generation - the future of the Hasegawa's became a little brighter.
That is the reason why my first entry I made upon each new journal, I would always recite this story in ink upon pages in honor of the sacrifices our ancestors made and the legacy they left us to continue. I do this, because Haseto was my great-great grandfather, and his proud blood runs wild in my very veins.
My father, and those before him were trained vigorously at a young age of five - to be stronger than our ancestor, better fit for the battlefield, and to continue the clan's promise for the world: to eradicate the number of demons by means of justified slaughter.
That is the purpose of our lineage, and I wholeheartedly accepted that when I had my calling.
It must have been cruel to those who read this; to be stripped off our humanity and status as children to become soldiers trained to die.
To some, it must've be been unthinkable. But as children, we were given two choices that will last a lifetime: To be a shinobi that will help establish our legacy to humanity, or to live normally as a noble in our humble abode.
I chose the former because I want to be a warrior like those before me, to help save our name with what little that I can do -- and to escape the role I would perform if I chose the latter.
I'm the eldest daughter of the direct Haseto descent, meaning that my blood is pure. I know that I'd be married off to someone I wouldn't know to continue our lineage once I turned sixteen. If, and only if I didn't accept our clan's sole responsibility - and with the knowledge brought upon growing, I knew it within myself that I don't want to live in a choreographed life that'll deemed me as low as… mean for reproduction. I know I am harsh with the choice of my words, but I will not apologize for it - because that's how lowly those people are to think the life of comfort and luxury is better than fighting what is deemed our mission when they knew of the reason why our clan still lives until today.
Reproduction, it is the means to continue one's bloodline in hopes to foster children that would blindly chose the reason of their own existence in a limited choice. That choice is nothing but meaningful in purpose, but absurd in practice in my opinion.
I was young when I decided that time, too young to even have a proper consciousness about the real world - but from the stories told by my relatives, of the acts and kabuki plays re-enacted in our clan's days of celebration - I garnered enough knowledge that being a hunter, a slayer, a shinobi would help my family keep the honor they instilled from our ancestors.
For me; to train harshly in order to carry the weight of our legacy, to die knowing you've served your purpose, and to help the clan with our eternal duty would always be the better option among all reasons of being brought upon life in the land of Hase.
___
I trained with my father for three consequent years after I made my choice - learning only the most basic of the breathing techniques at the high mountain of Saiki from three springs to its final winter. I learned to starve myself to adjust through the future journey, to overcome the threat of freezing, and to adapt and absorb my environment in likeliness of hours. I strengthen myself through proper breathing for better perseverance, learned my own techniques to survive and dodge all things that spells of trouble in the wilderness. Most of all, I willed my body to restrain the pleasure of an elegant life, and put all of my possible passion in redeeming my family's promise.
It was hell incarnate, remembering those moments - this memory struck me the most; I still recall crying helplessly shadowed by my grandfather's grimace. That time, I could not rise my body from exhaustion and I feared I was at my limits. I was left in the mountain, and I was alone. The solitude brought fear and disappointment, and those emotions stilled me to raise my numbed self and stagger to the camp, greeted with a smile a mentor can only bestow to his favorite student - but as such, the lessons were heavenly once I realized how beneficial they were on the field.
Cultivators upon cultivators, I traveled from southern Japan to the north, leaving my village and learning the secrets of the breathing skills and pressured training these cultivators have willingly honed throughout the years of their experience. I accompanied their students through it all as an observer - children old and young became a sideline company for a nomad like me. But their will to fight for a better place for humanity is as whole as their spirit and my own existence.
Grandfather said that our age did not speak for us. Our experiences did, and I should never judge a senshi by their physique once they knew the reason why they carry a blade. Appearances are deceiving, and thus the eyes would always fail to find the truth alone. Our senses are unique and together they make life so meaningful. True to his words, each of those cultivators and students were all unique on their own likeliness and styles that each movement and of their aura that intermingle with their passion to fight were all made meaningful since we all fight the same battle. A battle for a better future: one that would be accounted as victory once no more demons roam this land of rising sun.
And I aspire to wield their teaching and my own observation of their passion into my waking consciousness. I've learned of them all through observation alone, as I would never dare to try to copy theirs and adapt it as my own because of my own stubbornness to uphold my own principle to respect my mentor's style as nothing but a stepping stone; not something to use in my own benefit. (Yet, I knew it within myself that they never stroke a chord in my own way of fighting - all of them are flashy, calculated but long - all are fit for a slayer, but not for a shinobi.)
I know, that the pain I've endured from my labor were all but distant memories. A nightmare, a dreaded fleet - but even then, I try to relive them everyday to maintain those lessons hot in my blood, as they still give me purpose despite the hidden scars they've left in my soul.
I've learned to comfort myself that all of the torture were nothing, but promises to become a better individual in the battlefield. The pain and struggle of my own body became a part of me as I grew up - and sometimes I will admit that I forget that I'm still a child until someone reminds me of it
But that doesn't mean anything to my me.
Demons may have favorites when feasting on humans, but they do not chose the age of their victim if they go berserk from hunger.
They'll eat anyone regardless of where they'd came from, whether they are family, a lover or an infant. To them, flesh is food, and food would satiate their drive.
And to me, a child should never be called a child once exposed to the reality of the harsh world. They've seen the horrors, and that is what the way of my training means to preserve in my being. An awakened child, is what I strive to be, and I am in the process of such enlightenment. However, despite how meaningful my purpose may seem - I know I'm not alone. I'm not the only waking child that belongs to the direct Hasegawa descent.
The resemblance that distinguished my kin are unique, and I've seen children similar to myself; with pink hair that shines with the blooming of cherry blossom once the spring blooms, and of the tinted buds that breaks at dawn of an ending winter. All with different pinkish hues, but all are notably strong.
"Our hair were once the pride of our people." I recall grandfather telling me. Both men and women from our clan will get suitors from the family of powerful nobles and politicians to establish a guaranteed healthy offspring and protection from demons. He said that cherry children will keep the home warm and joyful - while they also remain as a reminder to demons that the family are not to be messed with lest they wanted to be specifically hunted down.
That was the saying before the fall of the main clan.
Demons nowadays will not hesitate to attack someone regardless of their hair color and familial background.
___
Most of the children I've seen have mixed colors, some of them were not pure - but their aura were strong, passionate and never-ending like a Hasegawa's. I've always theorized they maybe children, descendants of those women that ran away from their roles upon knowing the knowledge of the death of their husband, and to escape the shame that will brought upon them at the fall of the fabled clan. They are the estranged, for leaving their honor and dignity behind. Weak, disgusting, a waste of potential.
But even then, I assumed those children were nothing from us. They are not meant to be a hunter or shinobi because of their bodies, which were all fattened up with luxury and comfort. Though, they were still exceptional people living among normalcy at best from what I've observed - still stronger, smarter or indigenous among the rest.
Their fighting spirit might have been tamed and lazed around in squandered likeliness to a commoner's - and it will take a lot of adjustments to make them one of us: fighters. But I've heard from mother that those type of people are more successful than ones who've trained in their whole life.
I always have scorned at the notion my mother stated and implied once, but I came to believe her bits by bits. In my travels, I've seen them do impressive feats I could not replicate. (Then again, stealing something without even getting caught is not a technique I would dare try to adapt, but the mere stealth and charisma that salmon-haired man pulled off was something I desired to have.) . Till then, I've only seen two people that carry our dominant family's trait in proud display.
It's myself and Mitsuri. Though, my hair is more of a vibrant cherry pink compared to her lighter ones hued with minty hinges, still she is as impressive despite her anomaly.
Mitsuri is older than me, but she grew up ignorant of the real world as result of the life her forefather chose for them. Full of luxury and ignorant of the purpose coded in her blood pumping in her veins. Still, she knew of the demons as everyone does in rural places where most use to lurk and hunt, and she would always joke how meaningless their life have been to be spent their eternity on just 'hunting demons' -- and it was difficult not to hate her because of it. She openly mocked the existence of our clan, and I knew better than spout the truth to her. (I remembered thinking that she was below me and if she is as spoiled and negligence as this, then the truth should never be bestowed upon her as it would be nothing but be a waste using my own saliva explaining something she would never dare try to understand.)
Despite my own personal opinions about her, I still try to connect with her and her equally snobby relatives as deemed by the task given to me by my father, and throughout our stay I've known the reason why she thinks and behaves like that. And how she was tortured for the beauty and strength that the Hasegawa lineage carry.
I've heard that she cursed our blood even more than once because of her estranged hair color, but I couldn't blame her. She lived a normal life as a young maiden - so naive that she dreamed of growing old thinking that she would be normal in the eyes of someone that will truly love her, and accepts her physical nature and of the potential she never knew she carries. Perhaps if she knew our family's legacy - she would have chosen to be a slayer, or shinobi instead. But her family never told her about our history and would never try, and it saddened me to think they want to stay ignorant of their relationship with the corporation despite the fact their family head knew and still fund them secretly.
Mitsuri, I have deemed, to be a rare case. Unlike the fact I was born into this world to become a hunter or means to continue our legacy because of my 'pure blood' at the time of my inception; her Hasegawa genes were evident in her form once she turned older.
It's as if our shared blood was calling for her to continue our duty
My family visited hers once every few seasons, and she was nothing but pampered with ignorance compared to my own siblings and I.
Mitsuri, like the other nobles I've met in my own clan, only cared for luxury and love; always telling me of estranged dreams of a prince charming sweeping her off her feet. How her days would be spent being adored, looked up upon and always be courted even until the pink hair in her head would glow nothing but white under the moon light. How she would bring forth children with the combined looks of hers and her husband to be in exception of the damning pink in her hair. She then tells me that I would become her children's godmother and how I would listen to their dreams like I always am listening with hers. She has always been lonely, but I never thought that it would made her as pitiful as that. While I never agreed with her sight of the future nor did she knew how I think against her behind the cup of green tea we always share in the afternoon; she always take my judging silence as support to her aspiration.
Though, whenever I recall those innocent moments, I know that even with the softness her heart carried and of delusional the dreams she wants to continue dreaming - her heart and souls' barriers were as strong as a diamond. Perhaps even better than one. Fit to be a Hase, and not a Kanroji
Her aura have always been bright and overwhelming - the more days I spent with her, the more times I realized I've always been drawn with her energy and uniqueness. My ugly comment about her that plague my mind have been morphed into genuine adoration that settled in my chest. I then started playing with her openly, trained with her in the likes of playing the shamisen and biwa while chatting, and the days I hated drinking those warm bitter tea with her became the times I long for that simple life. I then started telling her of my pursuit, and almost felt disappointed that she didn't want to be a demon hunter despite the passion I've shown in telling my dream to her. She thought I was reaching the impossible, that a young girl like me should aspire the same perfumed dream like hers - but I took her words with spite and reminded her that someone need to keep our part of the family legacy going.
Despite the venom in my voice and the shadows looming my eyes - she asked me what kind of legacy that was, and I almost forgot that we weren't meant to tell that secret of our blood line to the likes of a Kanroji- so, I distracted her with a question of how she pictured her future husband.
In my relief and additional stress, I was successful to divert her attention, but I had to endure the hours listening to her perfect-gem of a husband and of their plan for the future. (16 children? Giving birth is hard as it sounds but it doesn't seem to deter her to have that many. She should have been birthed to the Hase.)
I've always judged her as a lovesick fool.
Yet, her spirit have always shined the brightest as a Hase's soul, and it was more brought to light of when I realized that her body is flexible enough to adjust with the labor judging the fact she used to beat me at childish races and flexibility stunts in our youth.
I was jealous of her because of her competent skills, and whenever I watch her converse with her siblings with that satisfied smile on her face; I couldn't help but think that 'She is such a waste of our bloodline.'
___
My thoughts must have been stalked by kami-sama, or the Buddha upon high heavens. After going home one winter to rest from Kuwajima-sensei's training; I was enlighten to hear that Mitsuri had answered the Hasegawa's calls.
She became one of the corporation's slayers after a rigid training - but I wasn't told on how long, or who her sensei was in respect to her side of the Hasegawa family. But I was impressed that she did it considering the fact that she was the very first hunter from the Kanroji clan.
Then again, I never would have thought of that relevance since I never had the chance to talk to her about her improvement after I started my own journey to fulfill my training. Despite the lack of communication between each other with the large years that halted our relationship, I know it upon myself that her journey must have been a hard one. I don't need the grisly details I want to ask for the sake of my own curiosity -- I'm just glad that she overcome her struggles with a hearty passion and confidence that she always carry with her. (I'm happy that she finally found her purpose and didn't throw her potential out of the window.)
___
We became pen-pals with the help of our clan's messenger sparrows.
It all started when she started traveling as an official demon slayer and she was given the knowledge of using one of our family's trained avian for her personal pursuit to send messages and letters to her family. And I received one - weathered, yet readable. She asked me how I was doing and continued to covered the paper with anecdotes of her travels and the food she'd tasted, and instead of her signature, she would always illustrate herself in what little space the letter can provide. And to my amusement, her character would always be crudely drawn. Perhaps it was my own solitude haunting me back then, or maybe because I was too happy that she took upon herself to be a hunter, but I replied her letter with one of mine and since then, we started sharing the most domestic of news at the villages and places we visit rather than our share of battles with a passing demon. And... I can confidently say that we've grown closer compared to our relationship back in childhood now that we shared a similar struggle and purpose in our journey.
I thought of the giddy, electric feeling lifting my spirits whenever I see a sparrow with pinned letter on their claw - how I would open it like a child receiving a mysterious gift and reading her words like a favorite novel.
It made me think that 'this must've felt like kinship'. One that I do not closely share with my own father and siblings.
It was a hearty feeling that made the torturous training easier to go through.
___
At my tenth birthday, no sparrow came - but only a man that delivered a batch of sakura mochi with my name on the wooden bento. I was stationed near the Shigaruya prefecture - the same place I am with Mitsuri at that time. Yet, we never had the chance to see each other and celebrated in advance for her upcoming birthday. There was a letter alongside the package, floral and foreign - a rare show of a work from the western culture, and on that letter was a bad drawing of hers raising her thumb up with six fingers underneath.
I recall the mix emotions of feeling the dreaded waves of longing sadness of her news, but also the distant sign of profound respect and pride for her when I read the content of that floral paper - all the while the sakura mochi sat cold on my lap with that sinking, yet elevated sensation blooming in my core.
Mitsuri became one of the strongest slayers in the corps after being scout out for fulfilling her duty impressively. She was even dubbed as the "Pillar of Love", a new title befitting her own technique that branched out from the style she'd learn.
I was truly proud of her. To think that I belittled her back when we were children - but now, she was far ahead in our family career more than what my brother or I can aspire. That achievement of hers somehow made me drink a bitter pill that was hard to swallow, but the effect of finally accepting it was just as bittersweet and fulfilling.
I will be frank that at that time, I felt devastated to read the words that she will be busy with her new position. I understand that as passive and mature as a teenager could - but my ego and pride was poked at, even more so; I felt betrayed and jealous left out.
I almost felt like I was being humiliated in my position and incompetence in our family -- almost. But as always do in trying times, and always have been when in face of doubt in my position compared to hers since she started journeying as demon slayer - I always remind myself that what we are fighting the same fight, but in different way.
It's one of the things that comforted me and my dignity that I'm not as incompetent as my own mind tries to tell me.
Father and grandfather and those before him became a Corporation shinobi - a title that is held with no regard within the Demon Slayer structures. It's alike the Ubuyashiki clan that specialized in leading the corporation - but both are not openly known or acknowledged. Only few does, and those few were secretive as well. A shinobi's existence is all but a secrecy. The emperor in old tales have his samurai fleet to battle for him in broad daylight, but the shinobi would serve and fight for him in the shadows. That is what we are. That is the likes of the Corporaton shinobi. And yet I couldn't help but be jealous of Mitsuri's accomplishment like a spoiled child throwing tantrum for not getting what they want.
That feeling of frustrated bitterness was somehow a comic emotion that was so childish because of course, I could never be famed as Mitsuri would because of the difference of our position. Yes, I was aware of it, yet it didn't stop me from feeling that stupid bottled feeling. That's how irritating it was.
Comparing myself to her and my older brother's achievements -- I'm nothing but just a kid still in training.
If I could, I could count my own kills and perhaps compare it to Misturi's - flaunt my own experience and even make my head bigger than what should be socially acceptable; but it's not how it works for us on my side of the clan.
Counting corpses isn't what the Hase's after; it's snuffing out possible ties and influences demons creates in spark of their mistake.
The Corporation shinobi or a Corshin's sole purpose is to travel around Japan while seeking out and killing demons outside the corporation's hit list. The Hase corshins have prided themselves in eliminating out demons trying to incorporate themselves as humans in Japan - killing without garnering any attention. That's how we usually work and it's how our main priority should be, but that doesn't mean we won't kill demons that's already enlisted to other hunters when proven they needed to be executed given the circumstances.
It's a justified murder that promises the people that the future would be better.
Grandfather and father managed to kill some of the numbered moons in their times and countless others that tries to rise in power. They were succeeded by my older brother who is still out there doing what we do best.
Granted, my brother wasn't much of a writer so we don't usually speak with one another nor do I mention him at times - but he does send off certain souvenirs for me and the family. It's usually a piece of cloth worn by the influential demons he killed - and the news of his success were usually a floodgate in our village because of my father's prided way of showing off his first son in the letters (and the sekihan we kept eating in celebration for him), but that's it. I've never really knew much of his own accomplishments other than he kills demons as clear as day as Mitsuri.
Since that is our role; to kill demons that tries to be humans for power gain or political ploys - it was no use trying to remember the number of oni that I've slaughtered while traveling. I don't keep trophies nor try to remember their faces - but I do try to drop a prayer for their lost soul. That's the only comfort I could give them, and admittedly to myself.
But still; I wanted to be a pillar like Mitsuri. Get praised and known for your strength and accomplishments. Perhaps even be admired by others for the hard work you've instilled to make the world a little bit safer with one less demon around.
But I know that would make my job harder. Unnecessary fame should be avoided in order to look like a prey to the demons. Anonymity is enjoyed by silent killers, and an advantage for us corshins, and undoubtedly, I should too.
I gritted my teeth and set aside the negative fumes escaping my body. I should be happy for my cousin instead of feeling pity over my own lack of accomplishment.
I wrote her my congratulations to her as ecstatic as I could without any semblance of bitterness on the white pages, and even sent her a gift I've spent hours choosing for her to expand my happiness for her. It was a floral-cotton kimono, one that hopefully will get along with her complexion and hair. I've had problems picking that gift because I don't wear such luxuries such as that, and the last time I've seen her was when she busted out her… accommodating size. On the front. (How her breasts grew to the size of a melon is a mystery by itself.)
By the end of the day, I've been sales-talked by an old man claiming that the cotton in the kimono came from the mountain skies itself. It was doubtful, but he have a way with his words that I hoped would be printed in Mitsuri's mind once she wore that garment.
I just wished that the she would've like the gift. As of then, I've wasted moping around and killing demons while writing this passage; I'm still contemplating as of the reason why must I still need to grow for the next two years instead of finally fulfilling my duty.
After all, I'm already able to slay demons with the skills I've brightly earned.
When will I be able to shine as bright as Mitsuri's soul?
___
Traveling and recalling the past after losing my old journal almost seems like my end is near. I can't recall much aside from what I've written before, but I tried to take the synopsis from the contents of my old diary that I can remember into this new one.
And coming up with a summary of my own life feels like counting the pages left of a favored book.
I heard that people usually reminisce about what happened in their life at the brink of death, and I've found myself thinking that perhaps my own end is near. And that thought is uncomfortable. I don't fear death, my existence is to kill demons, and being killed by one would only mean I tried my best. But I would never let that happen as long as I still have strength in my body. The reason I don't want to die is as simple as avoiding being accounted as a failure by my family. I am a direct descent, I must at least show that I am strong as such.
So rare moments like this; bathed silence brings discomfort for someone who's used to push their limit too much. Rest and the leisure in the word quiet is luxury some of us cannot afford.
Yet, here I am - resting my body under the sight of the full moon and twilight. I bore no regret as I know this is a duty a senshin one must preserve to keep going. Rest. Such a waste of time, but helpful to one's body.
I've managed to hitch a ride from a kind merchant transferring their sacks of rice next town. Actually, that was too kind for me to write; I promised protection to this farmer in exchange of a free ride.
The poor man need to buy medicine for his son, and while I cannot provide any expertise in that area - I am well equipped with my blade.
I just hope the rumors of a demon hunting the path separating him from his goal to buy the cure for his child is just that, a rumor.
___
It wasn't a rumor.
I've seen the overpowering aura of a fresh mutated demon first before confronting her. It was a sickly sight of smoky red - like painted waves overpowering the greenish mist of the dark forest. An aura so sickening and full of manslaughter, and an aura of a soul I've known well enough since slaying my first demon.
It's a low class demon, perhaps someone who just turned a week or so - their body is the brink of a powerful mutation and I wonder if they have fed on an unlucky marechi on this daunting dirt pathway. Even as they feast, their aura of thirst was uncontrollable as newly-turned and the corpse they feed on was unmistakably fresh; as it still reeked with the faded the mist of fear and horror.
It was of a poor monk, facade frozen in fear and disbelief as their frame is caked in warm, rusting black goo under the shade of the night.
The farmer screamed at the sight, the horse that he controls neigh and tried to run after coming face to face with the she-demon. It was a hindrance for me for being exposed, and all thanks to that farmer who couldn't be frozen in fear at the sight of such grim.
"F-fight her! I gave you a ride for a reason!!!" The way he said it, with the expression of cowardly fear on his face told me that he planned to leave me if I'll be defeated. It's all written in that murky aura of his and I almost scorned at that man for his lack of bravado.
As always, I've easily defeated the demon with a practiced slice on the neck. I only have to jump towards her while she's distracted on her feast of gnawing the broken bones in her jaw. It was fast, clean and she wouldn't know that she was slowly meeting the shinigami by its face since the demon was still high from the taste of blood on her tongue.
To me, she should've been another blank face in my memory, just another demon enlisted in my countless victories - but she said something that made me curious of her past life as a human. "I didn't… want this." The tears streaming down on her faded eyes made her look pure - despite the caked sight of blood that smeared her face. An innocence, undeserving of a man-eating oni, yet so perfectly aligned with the girl's dissolving face.
Then I briefly thought of how many demons did I kill that once lived such an innocent life not knowing they've turned to beasts hunted for their will to survive.
Dying into something so sorrowful without leaving an ounce of trace is such a sad way to say goodbye to your old life. I know that, but that is their curse. I could only give her my prayers after I instructed the farmer to call the near town's authority to give the monk a proper burial.
Writing this as I wait for the farmer made me think of how unpredictable life could be. Like a sky, stagnant but changing - you'll never know when a storm will suddenly fall nor why it does.
You just accept it as it is without any other reason as 'it just happens'.
___
My last trainer happens to be my grandfather's close friend. My father and brother trained before him before they were sent to the final selection. And as such, it is my turn to follow them.
He was notably known as the 'Tengu who trains water foxes': Sakonji Urokodoki. My father told me that he was the most ruthless among of the cultivators, yet seemingly the most soft-heart trainer there is.
His power and wit rivaled the Hase's, and it's one of the reasons why the corps held him in such high regard and the children he'd manage to train.
I was writing down on my journal when I noticed a familiar aura coming by. I quickly assumed it has to be Urokodaki-sensei - but I was a bit confused that I also sensed someone else.
Actually, two strangers running after him.
I quickly put down my journal and brush to prepare my stance in battle - perhaps he knew he was being followed and it must be a pop test of reaction of some sort, but I soon relaxed when I realized that they're only just his companions.
Truthfully told, I wasn't expecting to see him come home with a boy carrying a bamboo basket that holds a mystery. He rarely train possible hunters these days out of personal reason I would never dare ask so long he gives me permit to finally attain the final selection, and for a second, I thought he have adopted a family of his own - but I've seen something more than that to scratch out that notion of him settling down in this rundown hut.
I saw that in the boy's aura was filled with undeniable emotion that flooded his senses. He was passionate, determined and full of unreasonable type of firm innocence. The fierce kindness and hope was almost the same with the old man's fluid aura, but while the mist that covers the kid intermingle with him in a subtle harmony - Urokodaki-sensei and this boy are not related.
It gets complicated.
It wasn't the presence of the boy that shocked me; it was the bright looming demonic flames that mingles like the spring wind inside the covered basket the boy is carrying.
I recall giving my new sensei a worried glance, but he only stared at me with unreadable tengu eyes.
I could only entertain my curiosity as the boy composed his breathing behind him - wondering how on earth should a cultivator let someone so naive carry a weakened man-eating monstrosity behind him.