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The Demon Slayer Corps had to be the best occupation there was when it came down to proving yourself. That is, if you were willing to die.
Kaigaku did not contemplate death much. There was a marked difference between being on the verge of death and actively thinking about it happening. He simply didn’t have the time to spare on those thoughts. If he had to steal from someone else to survive, so be it. If he had to tear his muscles and break his bones, so be it. If he had to decapitate some creature, so be it. Survival in general wasn’t some pleasant thing. Life got ugly in the blink of an eye. Surviving being a Demon Slayer? He’d call that an even harder challenge any day of the week. But he had an advantage over everyone else, even over the oh so brilliant Hashiras everyone looked up to.
Unlike the rest of them, Kaigaku had no intention of dying anytime soon.
Reflecting on the fiasco others called ‘Final Selection’ always made the taste of blood pool in his mouth. What a fucking waste. 20 dead and gone, all because they couldn’t cut it against genuinely mindless demons. Even then, he almost didn’t make it at times. One close call had him faking his own death just to get by. Ingenuity and strength. Both mattered in this fucked up world. Those who didn’t get that paid the natural price, but it still didn’t change the fact that their deaths were something that should have never happened at all. If only someone denied them. No. Don’t do that. Don’t train there. Don’t go to the bloodied battleground where the purple blossoms bloom.
But no one did, and they kicked the bucket like any other inexperienced schmuck with a fetish for throwing their life away. What. A fucking. Waste.
He only recalled a select few survivors in his group. One of them hadn’t looked at all like the sort of girl who’d live through five days of hell on earth. To be fair, at the time, her right shoulder had nearly been clawed to shreds. Still, he remembered how scrawny she looked for a Breath of Water user. Her nose had been runny, her eyes wet, her face pale. Kaigaku sized her up in an instant. She was bound to die later, just like a certain runt he despised. She’d probably end up choking to death on her own blood.
And in the end, he was right. She did. She was doing it right now in front of him.
“Please…” She kept gasping, like a broken record. “You have to kill that thing.”
Thing. Not ‘demon’, not ‘monster’, thing. As he nodded and crawled past her expiring body, Kaigaku had to wonder. Would the whole of his life be reduced to thing if he ever became a demon? Not that he’d ever be stupid enough to end up that way, but would he? He would have asked her for her reasoning if the broken record crybaby wasn’t already dead. Her brain and heart just hadn’t caught up with the news from her lungs yet.
Misaki - that was her name - told him to kill that thing. But killing a Lower Kizuki wasn’t something you decided to do on a whim. He couldn’t treat this as just another addition to his list of slaughtered foes. A Lower Kizuki held enough power to be beyond existing as merely the 33rd demon he had ever killed. This one, with its affinity for mud, would be a nightmare to finish off.
But he had to, or he’d die. And that was simply unacceptable. Why else had he spent so long learning Breath of Thunder almost perfectly? Why else if not for this?
Kaigaku didn’t say any grand words. He had none to say. The crackle of electricity his blade gave off spoke loud enough for the both of them. What happened next never went on any sort of official record, but the burns on every corpse present spoke for themselves. Luck won out. With everyone else already dead, using his Third Form didn’t hurt a single living soul except his target and himself.
The rest of that day was lost to him entirely. Everything gone in a blank of memory, everything but that one damn moment he couldn’t take his mind off of, even if he tried. And he tried. He tried until he was spitting blood and mud up all over his clothes.
After killing the Lower Kizuki, he trudged back over to Misaki, past the blackened bodies of their comrades and civilians alike. She lay there in the muck, gasping for air. “So you’re not dead then…” Having said this, Kaigaku toppled over, sent sprawling into the very same filth.
Their eyes met. Misaki exhaled one last rattling breath. In that second, the light in her was gone, and only meat remained. It took the last of his strength to reach over and paw at her face. “Don’t look at me like that.” He chastised, lightheaded, as he shakily pulled her eyelids closed.
He woke in a hospital bed, completely and utterly alone.
This did not last.
A girl bustled in through the opening before stopping short. “Oh, it’s you.” She spat. “I can’t believe you’re still alive after that stunt you pulled. Honestly, it might have been better if you had passed on too.”
“You’re telling me it would have been better if I died?” Kaigaku wasn’t the type of guy to gawk at women, but he certainly scowled. “Aren’t you supposed to be a healer?” She looked like one, what with her attire, but her harsh face spoke volumes about her actual disposition. Her bedside manner was definitely atrocious.
“I may be a healer, yes, but I also have morals.” She sniffed loudly, going toe to toe with him in the aggression category and adding some condescension to boot. “That, since you obviously don’t know of them, means I wouldn’t bother using such a destructive attack without checking if everyone else was still alive. The world doesn’t need another callous Hashira. So I sure as hell do think it would have been nice if you didn’t make it. That’s not up to me though. If the gods see fit to let you live, then I suppose this will all be for a reason. Now stay put please. I need to fetch Lady Kochou.”
The aforementioned Lady Kochou appeared before he could work himself up properly. She looked even more dainty than the girl who came before her, but instead of letting her have it, he hesitated. A life on the streets led to a sharp eye for the most dangerous fish in the pond. This girl before him? She was a real deal, and that unnerved him. What had she done to become so powerful?
Before he found the nerve to open his mouth, she went ahead and did it. “I hope Aoi-chan didn’t cause you any difficulties. She’s strong-willed, but she means well. It’s only that she forgets her words and actions reflect back on me from time to time.” Lady Kochou smiled tightly. “You’ll understand my dilemma one day, I’m sure.”
“So… You disagree with her.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that. Please don’t put words in my mouth. All I said is that I’m responsible for her. My reaction to her actions is ultimately up to me.” Those words put everything into context for him. Beneath that thin veneer of pleasantness, a chunk - and that was being optimistic, a bad habit to have - of menace was directed his way.
Kaigaku didn’t shudder. Trepidation gripped him in its clutches, but in the end, he didn’t shudder. “Understood.” He grunted, not wanting to pick a fight. “What did she mean by callous Hashira though? Last I checked, I’m only tsuchinoe.” While he took pride in his rank, especially since he hadn’t been active as a Slayer for too long yet, Aoi’s words didn’t make a lick of sense.
Lady Kochou clapped her hands together. “Ah, she didn’t tell you! Starting today, since you officially survived, you are now our latest Roaring Hashira!”
An involuntary chuckle bubbled up out of him. “You must be joking. I’ve only killed 33 demons.” He sneered in a bad attempt to cover up both his nerves and amusement. The warring emotions made for a terrible mix. Why would he ever believe that they’d eschew eras of tradition for someone like him? And why was she smiling like that?
“I guess your cultivator decided not to tell you. Understandable. No one wants their prodigies trying to kill a Kizuki right away. The process for becoming a Hashira is simple though! If you kill 50 demons or kill a member of the Twelve Kizuki without dying, if there is a vacancy, and if Oyakata-sama approves of course, then you become a Hashira.” Her dull eyes glittered. “You’re in luck. There are two. I suppose you should start calling me Shinobu-san now. Welcome to the elite, Kaigaku-san.”
The elite. What an abstract, laughable concept. People thought of it and imagined prestige, acclaim, influence. He alone seemed to fully get what the term truly signified. Power. Becoming elite was something he was meant to work for, bleed for, until he had rightfully earned the position he was owed in life.
But that too was something he was robbed of. Kaigaku passed out as a nobody, and awoke at the top of the mountain. Where was the justice in that? The satisfaction?
Swallowing down his contempt, he finally offered her a fake grin. There were still 17 demons waiting for his blade. They would help him earn his rightful seat on their shared throne. Before then, he could engage in the pleasantries she so evidently craved and think on his next moves. “Thank you, Shinobu-san. When shall I meet with Oyakata-sama?”
“You’re a silly one!” She laughed. “Why, right away of course!”
Of course. Of course.
He had pictured the leader of the Demon Slaying Corps as someone formidable, on par with the emperor in terms of visible worth. Shihan only ever spoke of the Ubuyashiki family vaguely, but that had been enough to form an idea in his mind. Wealth defined them; in that vein, they had access to resources most people - normal people - wouldn’t dare to imagine. In his mind, this mysterious Oyakata-sama was someone who could claim divinity if he so chose.
But reality didn’t hold a torch to his imagination. The mythic figure he built up in his mind turned out to be impossibly frail.
“He’s… blind.” Kaigaku mumbled to himself. Sweat pooled on his brow. He never did get over his irrational aversion to those men. It wasn’t like Gyoumei-nii and him would ever meet again, but he couldn’t help his gut reaction. As a Hashira, would he be expected to attend to Oyakata-sama like how he would for that person in the past?
Shinobu pinched his arm, interrupting his train of thought. “Be respectful. Approach and kneel.” She hissed.
Whitehot anger surged upward before he shoved it down. Don’t be a fool. She could break you if she wanted to. You’re nothing yet. You’re equals only on a technicality, and she knows it. Everyone knows it. Just swallow your pride and kneel. Arguing with himself like this made him feel even worse, but he did the sensible thing. He kneeled.
“I’m happy to see you recovered.” The man with the warped face and small smile spoke with a gentle air. All of his rage, his resentment… It shriveled up and died. This man… So there was power like this left in the world…
Kaigaku’s hands trembled. No one had ever said that to him before. “Thank you, Oyakata-sama.” He replied, suddenly a little hoarse.
“No need. I’m sorry your fellow brethren couldn’t make it. For matters like these, we usually meet, but most of my dearest children are unavailable. I’m sure Shinobu has welcomed you with open arms in their stead. You’ll make all of us proud, Kaigaku. Won’t you?”
“Yes.” He said. What else was there to say? He’d make them proud or he’d die or he’d make them proud by dying. That was that.
Oyakata-sama inclined his head. “Excellent. Normally, I’d assign you a mission, but none benefitting your rank exist at the moment. Instead, I’m sure your cultivator would like to see you. You should pay him a visit. He speaks highly of your progress.”
With his skepticism - well, cynicism - temporarily held at bay, Kaigaku accepted this immediately. “I will.” He vowed, still stuck with shaky fingers. “I’ll do that. I-I’m sure Shihan will let me stay with him until my first mission.”
“Yes.” The man agreed. “You’ll make a fine Hashira yet.”
It was only when he got away that a fog lifted from his mind. What was he doing? Had he really believed someone who said Shihan spoke highly of him? Did he of all people, Kaigaku, the Slayer determined to never die to a demon, accept his own demise so long as it’d make Oyakata-sama and the rest proud?
His lip quivered, just like the rest of him. He had pictured the leader of the Demon Slaying Corps as someone formidable, and he hadn’t been wrong. He hadn’t been wrong in the slightest.
I won’t die for you. I’ll fight for you, but I won’t die for you. Your drugging words can’t make me. I’ll leave this world old and gray, even if I have to claw my way back again and again from the afterlife. That’s something I swear.
It was decided then. The first step to that future was heading back to where his journey began. It was time to head home.
In this world, there was only one fragrance that could truly make Kaigaku nostalgic. He wasn’t a creature of sentiment, but the smell of peach blossoms had no equal to him. A strong aroma meant a bountiful harvest. A bountiful harvest meant more of his favorite fruit. Loving the smell was only logical. Or, if it truly couldn’t be called that, it was a very human thing to love.
He nodded admiringly at the orchard, successfully keeping his good cheer to himself. The trees looked as strong as he remembered from when he was there last. Good. They’ll bear Shihan-
“KAIGAKU?!?”
Truth be told, he never expected or wanted to see the runt running at him again. Zenitsu seemed destined to die in his Final Selection, exactly like how the rabble did in his own. The less he had to think about the blond, the better. But there he was, sprinting like his life depended on it. Was he seriously going to try and hug him?
Sure enough, Zenitsu lunged for him. Unlike before, he actually made contact for a second before Kaigaku hauled him up by the collar and dragged him off. “What the fuck are you doing? Why are you out here?!? Don’t tell me you’re slacking off again!” He snarled.
“I would never do that! You’re so mean to me!” The younger boy wailed out a fresh new lie. “To think I ever bothered missing you!”
Tch… This bastard needs to grow up already! Can’t he see how much of a failure he is right now? “Listen to me for once in your life, you daft dandelion!” Kaigaku shook him for emphasis. “Shihan’s not getting any younger. He’s wasting precious time trying to make you into something special! So don’t fuck around or a demon will have your head on a spike. Got that, dumbass? Train hard and maybe you’ll be worth the attention one day.”
Those golden brown eyes he despised so much stopped producing tears instantly. His fellow Breath of Thunder user blinked at him, clearly dumbstruck. “Wow…” Zenitsu muttered aloud, like he was talking to himself again. “So my aniki can be nice sometimes…”
Enraged, Kaigaku immediately tossed him to the ground. “I’m not your anything, you stupid brat!”
“WAAAAH! JII-CHAN!!! DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU?!? HE THREW ME! HE THREW ME RIGHT ON THE GROUND! I COULD HAVE BROKEN SOMETHING! OR DIED! THIS IS THE WORST! WHY DOES HE HAVE TO COME BACK AND THROW ME RIGHT AWAY?!? HEY, JII-CHAN!”
Unlike the delusional blond, he had some sense of manners. “Sorry to intrude, Shihan.” Kaigaku said, dropping into a low bow the second he made eye contact with his cultivator. “Oyakata-sama commanded me to return, but I was unable to warn you in time.”
“... Oi, Zenitsu.” His master sounded even more dumbfounded than the other boy. “Is he real or is he another ghost?”
“No, he’s real alright. A real jerk!” Zenitsu huffed before scrambling to hide behind Shihan - typical behavior from that idiot. Honestly, did he never learn? Weren’t the times they had to haul him out of trees enough?
Kaigaku’s primary concern wasn’t with him though. What did Shihan mean by ‘another ghost’? Was he doing alright? He looked fine on the surface, but was he secretly falling prey to his own imagination?
The old man never elaborated. Instead, he hobbled over and began dragging him along without a second thought. “My boy, you don’t have to ask to return! How’d you get an audience with that man?” Without much delay, Shihan was back to his booming voice. It’d be humiliating to admit this aloud, but the complete return to normalcy helped calm his nerves a bit.
Even so, they still existed. Constantly, it felt like electricity was surging beneath his skin, and that sensation only got worse the longer he drew out telling the truth. “... I’m the new Roaring Hashira.”
Zenitsu, being Zenitsu, made an incredulous noise. “You shouldn’t lie to Jii-chan!” came his predictable attempt at scolding him. “Or to me! We’re not as gullible as you seem to think we are!”
Don’t lie to us, Kaigaku-nii! You were stealing! We’re not that gullible!
He bristled, plain and simple. “Everyone else died, Zenitsu! You don’t have a clue what it’s like to face off against a Lower Kizuki! I do, and I killed it, so I’m the lucky bastard who gets to say that I’m a Hashira now! But, no, obviously I’m lying!”
“Calm yourself, boy. That damn temper of yours still doesn’t seem to have left you, hm?” Shihan clicked his tongue. A familiar mixture of resentment and shame rose, only to be swiftly suppressed. Yes, this too was why he struggled with the idea that Shihan would praise him in the first place to someone as powerful as Oyakata-sama. Everyone knew the old man played favorites, and he sure as hell wasn’t the one.
Only respect had him taking in deep breaths. “My apologies.” Kaigaku gritted out, resisting the urge to snap at the quivering blond beside him. “I’m telling the truth though. They saw fit to make me a Hashira for my actions.”
Please… You’re the only one who can do it, Kaigaku-kun.
Shut up! All of you! He thought desperately. You’re dead! Stop talking to me! I need to hear what my master thinks! At least he’s alive!
Shihan’s gaze was unreadable. The blond brat groaned and moaned about his hypersensitive ears, but he had no idea how good he had it. There was never any room for doubt if you had senses like that. Kaigaku only used the same basic tools of perception like any other normal person out there in the world; none of them worked in the face of Kuwajima Jigoro.
“No idea what they’re thinking over there lately.” grumbled the old man at last. “Come on! You’re just in time for lunch!”
What the hell. Kaigaku kept thinking. This is not what I expected. The entire scene felt like one out of his own memories. Once they had gotten to the house proper, Zenitsu and Shihan started to cook while he was implored to change into his old clothes. It disturbed him. He wasn’t at all the same person he used to be, but…
But.
His fingers glided over his magatama, tracing out circles. They were concentric and comforting. This too was a constant aspect of his life, but at least it wasn’t a reminder of easier times. He’d bear the weight it held countless times over if it meant being free of another familial farce.
“H-Here, aniki.” A bowl of rice was presented to him, held by shaking hands. He idly considered the consequences of going through with his impulse to dump the contents all over Zenitsu’s head for a millisecond before accepting it. It’d be a waste of food, and he was undeniably hungry. Just this once, he’d let ‘aniki’ slide.
… Oh, how he hated that boy.
“You look well.” Shihan commented once they were all situated.
I’m not. I saw a girl breathe her last in front of me. She choked to death on her own life. Who’d be well after that? “I suppose.” He said aloud, nodding in false agreement. “You both look the same.”
For some unfathomable reason, the idiot looked appalled by this. “Are you saying I look the same height to you?!? But I’ve totally grown! You’re just taller! Some guys get all the luck!” Zenitsu huffed.
“No, you’re a shrimp now, and you’ll always be a shrimp.” Kaigaku sneered. “I guarantee it.”
“HEY-!”
Shihan slapped the ground. Hard. “Cut it out, you two!” He barked. “Stop going for the throat and eat your food!”
Eating rice in silence was actually worse. It reminded him of when he’d fight with [insert annoying person who saw him as a big brother here] and get punished with the silent treatment by [insert person who held the cards in their household here]. Spurred on by disgust, he scarfed every last grain down. Perhaps this was done unconsciously, but the other two followed suit. They all finished around the same time.
“Zenitsu. Leave us.”
The sudden command made the blond flinch. “What? Why?!?”
Shihan waved a hand at him. “You know I don’t have to answer your questions, boy. Now leave. And don’t you dare eavesdrop, or you’ll be sorry.”
Kaigaku wasn’t blind to the way Zenitsu glared at him balefully. He just didn’t give a damn. Animosity summed up their dynamic perfectly - why bother get worked up about it?
“He’s probably gonna listen in anyway.” His master sighed. “Troublesome kid. Drink your tea, boy. It’ll get cold.”
“I’m not in the mood for tea.” He said carefully before taking a sip. While he wasn’t some saint who did everything Shihan told him, avoiding direct disapproval was a bit like an art to him. Express your thoughts and dance away from any real consequences.
The old man sagged a bit over his own cup. “You’re never in the mood for tea.” He pointed out, astute as ever. “But no matter. How many demons have you killed?”
Straight to the point, eh? Kaigaku thought darkly. “33.”
“A pittance.” Shihan’s eyes pierced through him. “I won’t accept you as the Roaring Hashira until you kill 50 demons. 50 by your own hand, mind.”
“... Understandable.” I won’t accept myself as one before then either.
“When you kill 50 demons,” his master continued, “I expect you to return. It’s important for you to represent me properly since you are next in line. You know what gift I have for you. This time, I won’t allow you to refuse it.”
Yes, he knew the gift well. That haori plagued him constantly. It lurked in his murkiest of nightmares, demanding to be worn. Actually putting it on was unthinkable. But he also knew Shihan’s stubbornness far outweighed his own. “Alright.” He conceded, knowing well that he couldn’t win.
“And another thing! Zenitsu’s training isn’t complete yet.”
Kaigaku fought the urge to frown and failed miserably. “So? No offense meant, Shihan, but what does his training have to do with me?”
He had known from the moment Shihan caught him stealing that the geezer was uncommonly shrewd. The former Hashira believed firmly in tough love, which also gave the impression that he didn’t notice much, but he also managed to say the things that’d keep people devoted to his ideals. Despite being aware of that, Kaigaku continued to fall into his traps. Maybe not the physical ones, but certainly the mental ones.
That tendency left him temporarily speechless when the old man said “Zenitsu should be your tsuguko.”
“Hah?” Well, he never defined how long temporarily lasted.
“Don’t be a fool. You heard me.”
“Why him? Why make me have a tsuguko at all? I work best alone! Even if I didn’t, he’s dead weight! You can’t be serious!” Kaigaku loudly protested. The details of a Hashira’s life eluded him for the most part, but even he knew the significance of a tsuguko. Having one was a bold declaration. It showed that you were capable of rearing up a student that could easily replace you if need be. Zenitsu wouldn’t be suitable for something like that. He was barely capable of thinking his way out of a paper bag!
Shihan’s eyes flashed at him this time. “Have some more faith in your fellow disciple, boy!” He snapped back, giving as good as he got.
“This isn’t a question of faith, Shihan.” Kaigaku said, straining to bring his voice back down to a level tone. “What you expect of him, of me, is absurd. You’re sending that dumbass straight to hell!” If he really is your favorite, he screamed in his head, why won’t you just let him get married?!? Let him live, and let me be your sole successor!
“When you defend him like that, it only makes me more confident in my decision.”
Huh? What’s he on now?
A loud slurp occurred before the old man put down his cup for good. “I’m always telling that boy the same thing. ‘Learn from Kaigaku! Be more like Kaigaku!’ But how can he do that properly? You’re not there to be a model for him anymore, so how can he pull that off? It’s impossible. I’ve seen you two together plenty of times. You can get through to him in ways I can’t, just like how I can get through to him in ways you can’t. If he’s your tsuguko, and if you successfully make up for the deficiencies of an old fart’s teachings, there might be hope for him yet.”
His hands brought tea up to his lips. It was lukewarm. “I won’t do it.” He shook his head.
“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Shihan growled. “You don’t have a choice.”
When he survived Final Selection, he tricked himself into pretending he had autonomy. He could see now that he was wrong. His life still wasn’t his own to control. “I understand,” he replied, seething, “but if you really want to go through with this, you have to listen to one of my demands. You don’t have a choice in this either. If he lives through Final Selection, I’ll take him on. I’ll even wear that haori of yours. But if he doesn’t show any growth in a year, he’s on his own. I won’t acknowledge him as a successor past that point.” Not that he’ll get that far. He’s bound to die.
“A year.” His master agreed before his entire demeanor softened. “It’s nice to see you again, Kaigaku.”
“Likewise.” He lied, mere moments before hearing the telltale squawk of his approaching crow. No doubt the brat knew she was coming long in advance. “I guess he found a mission for me after all. Goodbye, Shihan.”
As he departed, he valiantly ignored the burn of eyes upon his back. Zenitsu always had a way of falling behind.
Killing his 50th demon didn’t feel special at all.
She didn’t even get her claws in him before he took off her head. Her body toppled over into the mud. He had to tear his eyes away from the sight and turn his thoughts to his next step.
Back home, huh, Kaigaku-nii? When will you come visit us?
“Never. You’re dead anyway.” Kaigaku growled to empty air.
I’m hurt, Kaigaku-kun. You know, I would have gone to see your grandfather if you ever asked.
He rubbed at his temples. The guiltier he felt, the more they wouldn’t shut up. “Don’t fuck with me, Misaki.” It came out as more of a sigh than he meant it to be. “You wouldn’t have, and you know it.”
Predictably, his crow nipped his ear. “Not Misaki!” She screeched. “Go home! Go home! Hated haori waiting!”
“Shut up, Momo.” Kaigaku snarled, rubbing at the rivulets of blood she caused. “I’ll eat you.”
“Go home!”
Jealous beast. was his only thought, derisive as it was, before he followed her, same as usual. Momo had absolutely no class, but she could direct him to demons faster than any crow he knew. The same went for anywhere else. She always seemed to know where exactly she needed to be.
So, naturally, he trailed after her. Only a fool wouldn’t go along with a Kasugai Crow’s orders.
The journey took three days in total. Catching a fat rabbit held him over for all of it. Waste not, want not. By the end of the trek though, Kaigaku had a strong hankering for peach.
The runt found him sitting in one of their trees, ravenously consuming the succulent fruit. “Come down and greet Jii-chan!” He shrieked, still looking as doltish as ever. “You’re so rude!”
Uninterested in proving him wrong, Kaigaku spat the pit out directly at his face. What could he say? Hashira or not, he liked unambiguous displays of contempt. To put it simply, if he hated someone weak enough, he’d let them know it. Zenitsu fit the bill.
Jumping off of his perch meant he was closer to the source of the screaming, but it was a small price to pay to see the blond’s distress up close. “That’s poison, you know! You spit poison at me!”
“Look at me.” Kaigaku rolled his eyes. “Do you honestly think I care?”
A storm cloud passed over the other boy’s face. He wasn’t a stranger to that look, so full of loathing that it burned. It just so happened that Zenitsu was usually too cowardly to maintain it for long in his vicinity. This time felt different, though he couldn’t place his finger on why. “I-I’m not scared of you. You’re only a stinking bully-”
Yeah, that’s enough. Truly, the gods blessed him with the height needed to be an intimidating force to Zenitsu and Zenitsu alone. “Can you hear me with those ears of yours? Good. I’m not afraid to ruin your whole life, so don’t think about comparing me to some snot nosed turd on the street again. If I want to crush you, I will. It’s as simple as that.” Each of those words were fired off slowly, deliberately, intentionally. Another blessing came in the way Zenitsu’s expression crumbled. Uh huh, you little shit. Don’t get cocky now.
“Anyway, bet you haven’t gone through Final Selection yet.” Kaigaku scoffed, striding off. Sure, he was wearing a uniform and haori, but that didn’t mean anything. Really, if the blond lived through that, he’d eat his-
“I did! I really don’t get how though… Ugh, I’m dead meat! Totally dead! Jii-chan wouldn’t even let me leave until you came back! That’s got to be a sign!” Now that he thought harder, the eyes he hated most did seem duller than before. Fuck.
Having Zenitsu as his tsuguko was basically a worst case scenario for him. Even with his continual torment, the younger boy still came crying over every little thing, like he expected Kaigaku of all people to make his life better. It defied logic. He never did anything to earn that weirdo’s devotion, but he had it anyway. Things were bound to get worse now that he was… he was… actually responsible for the idiot’s wellbeing. ‘Aniki’ wouldn’t be something tossed at him every once in a while. It’d be constant. It’d be inescapable.
“He should have died.” He muttered under his breath, aware that he’d be overheard and not caring in the slightest. Best to let the boy know where he stood. Kaigaku wanted nothing to do with him.
Shihan emerged before he could get to the house, holding the exact piece of clothing he wanted to see the least. Oh, and a sword. That sure made for a funny combination. “I already have one.” He said on the off chance that the old man was finally going senile.
“Don’t be stupid. This is his.” came the responding grunt. Zenitsu darted forward to take the blade, mumbling about reduced lifespans and being eviscerated. “And this is yours.”
Kaigaku ran his fingers over it before putting the damn thing on. It wasn’t some big trial - in the end, it was just a haori. What it represented was the problem. “Thank you.” He nodded towards his master, hating every second of their delight.
“‘Course. You’ll both do me proud.” Shihan patted them both on the arm, one after the after. Empty words, all of them. He’d go mad if forced to be here any longer.
But there was his hunger to consider. Eating fresh fruit worked in the very brief short term; it wasn’t a substitute for more easily preserved provisions. “Before we head out,” he said, swallowing his pride, “about food-”
“I have your share!” Zenitsu blurted out quickly. “We can go now!”
He might have been disgusted by the whole affair, but he could still see suspicious behavior where it existed. Why is he in such a hurry? Then he remembered that he didn’t actually care about the blond. Whatever. Not my business.
Since he felt confident in his ability to kick the shit out of the other boy if he lied about food, Kaigaku made sure to thank Shihan for his tutelage. This wasn’t for certain, but he didn’t expect to ever see him again. More to the point, he didn’t want to for the time being. His new attire and companion were good enough shackles.
When they left, Zenitsu cried until a sparrow landed on his head, and then cried some more. Irritant. He fought the temptation to scream that at him. Get used to life on the road. You’re never going to know anything else again.
Actually pulling off patiently waiting until nightfall to speak to his new tsuguko - getting used to the term meant actually using it unfortunately - was a miracle. He would have gloated a bit if he had anyone impressive nearby for it to mean anything. Instead, there was a feisty sparrow, a crow with no concept of personal space, a still new Hashira, and a walking corpse masquerading as an anxiety-riddled pubescent boy. They made for a terrible group, if he did say so himself.
Convinced that Zenitsu wouldn’t be helpful, Kaigaku made a fire on his own. He hovered his hands near the flames, using the time to both warm up and stall. How was he supposed to teach this numbskull? What did Shihan mean by ‘getting through to him in ways I can’t’? All he knew how to do was make the blond feel scared of him.
Wait. Rule by fear. He let his eyes fall on the crybaby’s frame. That could work…
“Y-You’re making a scary sound right now…” His tsuguko whimpered. “I have your share right here! Don’t hit me!”
“I’m not bruising my knuckles ‘cause of you. Give it here.” Like clockwork, Zenitsu presented him with 4 rice balls. Two he ate, and two he pocketed for later. He knew there was more food to be had, but he didn’t like relying on the smaller boy that much. Credit had to be paid where credit was due though. The whole affair helped solidify his idea.
“You probably heard this from our master,” Kaigaku gritted out, loathing any reminder that they trained under the same man, “but you’re my tsuguko now. And that means I’m going to train you until you drop before training you some more. You’re going to learn the other forms, and you’re going to jump whenever I tell you to. Can you guess why?”
The blond bristled. “I don’t even want to be your stupid tsuguko! You’re crazy!”
With a false air of calm, he slammed his thumb down on the pitiful insect struggling to steal one of his stray rice grains. “See this?” He lifted the appendage up to Zenitsu, leering at his disgusted expression. “To demons, you’re just like this shitty ant. You’re a little bug following orders, and you’re easily ripped apart by a large enough thumb. If you don’t want to kick the bucket in a gruesome way, then you better be ready to listen to me. Stop your damn whining already!”
Judging by the wobble of the smaller boy’s lip, he’d start crying with the slightest provocation. “Might as well get the tears over with now. I’ll kick the snot out of you if you try it during training.” Kaigaku spat before turning to lie down on his side. “Get some sleep, gremlin. We start for real tomorrow.”
Soft sniffles sent him off to the land of dreams.
Training went as expected - horribly.
Every day, he’d shake the idiot awake and start their tug-of-war. Getting him to do anything beyond stretches took ages if he didn’t get nasty. Unfortunately, that too wasn’t foolproof. Threats only worked well on Zenitsu up to a point. Once he reached said point, he’d just go limp or scream about unfairness. Kaigaku felt like he was on the verge of bursting a blood vessel.
He would have been more tolerant of the boy’s behavior - honest! - were it not for one simple fact. No matter how many times he ran Zenitsu through drills, the younger couldn’t grasp any other forms and the older couldn’t grasp the first. Why can’t I do it? He’d stew at night. Why can’t I win here?
They were still traveling aimlessly when they finally ran out of food. “Are we going to starve?!? I don’t want to feel that again!” Predictably, his tsuguko lost it. “No no no no no! I can’t die without ever holding someone’s hand!”
“You’ve held my hand and Shihan’s hand all the time, dumbass.” He pointed out disdainfully. Well, by held, it was more forced upon him than anything else, but it still counted.
“That doesn’t count!” Zenitsu flung himself onto the dirt road, sobbing up a storm. “You’re so obtuse, aniki! Family’s different from marriage! I just want someone to love meeeee!”
Sick and tired of the brother bullshit, Kaigaku lifted his foot into the air. “If you don’t cut the crap and get up right now, I’ll stomp you out of this life and into the next one!” Even if he did get up, the end result was going to be the same. He was done. It was time to kick the snot out of him.
Or it would have been. Pulling that move off became harder when someone grabbed your leg and threw you.
His first impression of Kamado Tanjirou was that his red hair, especially when seen at an angle, looked obnoxious. His second impression of the boy was that he hated him. There wasn’t much else to it.
“What are you doing?!?” In a blur, Zenitsu was on his feet and screaming… at the intruder? Huh. “You can’t just throw people! What the hell! I know we went to the same Final Selection, but that’s no excuse for bad behavior!”
“Your brother was trying to hurt you. That’s unacceptable! As an eldest son, I won’t tolerate it!” He had never heard any stranger get so defensive over the blond before. And why would they? His tsuguko was a bratty eyesore. Eldest son or not, did this squirt need to look so livid over his teaching methods?
Displeasure made him rise to his feet quickly. “Look, moron.” Kaigaku jabbed a thumb in Zenitsu’s direction. “He’s no brother of mine. Butt the fuck out before I have your ass demoted.”
“Jeez. Now you’ve gone and provoked my aniki. I really hate you hotheads.”
In the short term, smacking Zenitsu felt good. Irritants deserved appropriate treatment. But that rush wasn’t enough to justify the unexpected consequence of being knocked unconscious by a teenage boy’s forehead. Some things were too hard for even him to predict.
Kaigaku woke up to fiery eyes drilling into his very soul. “I’m Kamado Tanjirou, and I don’t like you one bit!” His attacker announced proudly.
“Likewise.” said the Hashira, who already had plans for ditching him. But then he noticed the box.
Slayers, as a general rule, traveled at most with a haori, uniform, and weapon of some kind. Anything cumbersome, like a giant wooden box, was a liability. “What’s in there? Tell me.” He demanded, ignoring the blood dripping down his nose from the blow.
Tanjirou’s eyes rolled upward in a truly grotesque expression. “Nothing! It’s an empty box!”
“Zenitsu. What’s in it?”
He stared down his tsuguko, wondering what he’d do. Zenitsu did a lot of horribly annoying things, but he didn’t usually have the guts to lie about anything important. Would he fib this time? Or would he sell this random stranger out?
“There’s nothing in it, Kaigaku! Stop being pushy already!” The other boy huffed way too loudly. Sure enough, it was as he suspected. He was probably generating wild fantasies concerning being ‘rescued’ from his training as they spoke.
Damn, he had a lot of work to do to get Zenitsu to be a respectable human being. Someone, anyone, strike me down.
A voice came from the heavens, but not the divine kind he longed for. “Murder house! Murder house!” Some random crow hollered. “Keep moving, Roaring Hashira!”
Tanjirou had the gall, the audacity, to wonder aloud what a Hashira was. Were all mizunoto this stupid nowadays? No wonder the Corps were going to shit. At least Zenitsu didn’t have to be told. He did act affronted on his behalf though. Kaigaku didn’t know anyone who was half as mercurial as the blond. One second, he was nursing his bruise and grumbling, and the next, he was defending his ‘honor’. Weirdo.
Here was the thing though.
Kaigaku felt certain the two teens were hiding something from him. He doubted they were truly collaborating in some way, mainly because they both seemed too idiotic to pull that off, but the end result would be the same if they were. While he was always happy to kill more demons, that didn’t mean he was blind to events unfolding beneath his very nose. If it’s a secret worthy of Oyakata-sama, he vowed, I’ll take care of it before he ever has to know. Oh, and Zenitsu’ll regret helping to hide it too.
He didn’t have the time to waste on pointless alliances against the Big Bad Hashira. Kaigaku had a job to do, and if they wanted to fuck around, that was on them. They just had to get ready to be knocked around a bit too in response. He wouldn’t let a dumb kid get the drop on him twice. That too was something he vowed.
But, for now, he had a demon to kill as quickly as possible. He had no intention of dying here, not with two teens in tow.
There were always fools to be found in the world, but the ones who cared for demons’ feelings were the worst in his book. It didn’t surprise him that Tanjirou was the type; he just didn’t expect his suspicions to be proven within a few hours of meeting him.
“The fuck are you glaring at me for? Show some respect.” Kaigaku spat. “The demon’s dead. Get over it already.”
“You didn’t have to destroy his hard work! You’re heartless!” The hardhead screamed back.
Heartless? Me? Pulling out the big guns already, aren’t you? He had to crack a sneer at that. If nothing else, Tanjirou had balls. “Are you done with your philosophy lesson? Can we get out of here? I’m going to wring Zenitsu’s filthy neck for letting those kids past him.” Keeping two brats under control wasn’t a hard order to follow, but he supposed he underestimated how incompetent his tsuguko was. Well, never again. They’d start on assertiveness lessons soon enough.
Red eyes did their best to stab him through, interrupting his train of thought in the process. “If you lay a finger on him, I’ll break your arm.”
“Uh huh. Right.”
Most people wouldn’t have been able to stay nonchalant when faced with that threat, but Kaigaku wasn’t most people. His arm had been broken by other people enough times for him not to care anymore. Go ahead, asshole. Go wild. I’ll be fine. Once you’re done though, I’ll run you through, rules be damned. Patience only got him so far.
Collecting the marechi and his little sister didn’t take too long. What did was dealing with the boar.
Kaigaku grew up with stories. Stories of pain, stories of worship, stories of monsters roaming the night. Most, he had come to believe, were somewhat true. While he’d never met an animal spirit, he knew enough talking animals to think that they could exist.
And here one was, beating up his tsuguko. His blood boiled over. If this beast thought it could throw off Zenitsu’s training schedule, it deserved to get what was coming to it. “Oi!” Using Breath of Thunder to boost running speed in mundane circumstances wasn’t allowed, per se, but Kaigaku felt this made for a pretty big exception. “PAWS OFF!”
With a bit of effort, he flung the boar spirit away and braced himself for a curse. Those existed too, judging by Oyakata-sama’s grisly appearance. He braced himself, but a curse never came. The boar’s head flew right off.
“Oh. You’re a boy.” Well, that makes it easier to kick this guy’s ass.
“Why are you mad at the king of the mountain?!?” Said boy exploded. “Blondie’s protecting a demon!”
There was a lot to unpack there. Naturally, Kaigaku’s mind fixated on one thing and nothing else. “Is that right, Zenitsu?” He asked quietly, already knowing the answer. Of course there was. Fate had a funny sense of humor. After all, he was the only Hashira who couldn’t sense demons. In fact, he had never sensed a demon in his life.
Ingenuity and strength. Those traits kept him clinging to life. He adapted, he improved, but he never knew where demons were until they were right in front of him.
“Please don’t hurt her!” Tanjirou pleaded. “She’s never eaten a single human! Plus, she’s been enchanted! Humans are her family! Don’t kill her! I’ll fight you for her life if I have to!”
Now this is a brother. Kaigaku thought through a cloud of disgust. It’d be quick and easy to kill her anyway, just to spite them all if nothing else. Plus, it’d be the right thing to do. He had no lost love for demons.
But he took the time to look at them. Really look at them. He took in the redhead’s hatred for him and the blond’s defiance in spite of him. And his haori was light and comfortable, but it suddenly weighed him down.
Kaigaku-nii. What are you going to do?
Kaigaku-kun? Aren’t you going to kill that thing?
You’ll make all of us proud, Kaigaku. Won’t you?
“She sure must be something to make you betray our oath.” He eyed them all in the way he would eye a bear. “I’ll meet her first and decide from there.”
Hashiras were the top of the top. They carried out judgment, they killed demons, and above all, they never went against Oyakata-sama’s orders.
Never had there been a disloyal Hashira before, but he was always ready to start a new tradition.