Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“A bland diet is the key to a quick recovery for ailing stomachs.” You read aloud out of a thick hardcover book, entitled “Home Remedies For Fragile Children.” A whole chicken burbled on the stove, boiling dejectedly in a large clay pot. You lifted the lid to reveal the grayish-white meat. With no seasoning or anything, it looked supremely unappetizing. 

You scooped fresh rice into a small bowl, on top of which you poured an ample amount of weak tea. A few small chunks of pale boiled chicken floated here and there like sad little deflated life preservers. For a hint of… something else, you garnished the dish with some slivered seaweed. Cloudy and gray, the meal resembled what you imagined prison food might look like. 

Perfect.

“Master, lunch is ready,” you announced. For the first time, you peeked into the room he usually slept in and found him seated at a writing desk, reading from a stack of papers. A crow waited on the tatami mat beside him as he penned a reply. 

“Writing to your secret lover?” you asked, setting the bowl on a tray table in the corner. He smiled at you mysteriously, now folding the page up into a tiny triangle for the crow to take. 

“That sounds like fun! But, no, these are from headquarters.” Rengoku handed you the stack, which you read over quickly as the contents were very short. As you read, he tried a spoonful of his lunch, a very curious expression taking over his face. He did not take a second bite, nor did he say anything. 

Must be even worse than it looks. 

The papers contained some extremely promising news. Upper Rank Six had been defeated after a grueling struggle with the Sound Hashira, Uzui Tengen, and a small squad of mid-ranked Demon Slayers: Kamado, Agatsuma, and Hashibira. It surprised you that the report noted they all survived the encounter. It was also written that afterward, Uzui had decided to retire. 

Upper Ranks Four and Five had been overcome just the day previous, though the village in which the Nichirin swordsmiths lived had been infiltrated, resulting in many casualties. Love Hashira Kanroji Mitsuri and Mist Hashira Tokito Muichiro had sustained injuries and were currently hospitalized. Your stomach turned and you frowned. The same three names appeared: Kamado, Agatsuma, and Hashibira. Additionally, a Shinazugawa was listed. Again, all Corps members survived.

“These three mid-ranked Demon Slayers keep turning up in these reports,” you noted, flipping through the pages. “Kamado, Agatsuma, and Hashibira.” You looked over to your master, who was eyeing his bowl of lunch with an apprehensive look on his face. However, at the mention of the three names, he smiled. 

“Indeed! Those three have been very busy. They were on the Mugen Train mission, too, back when I was injured! Kamado wanted to come here to train, but was sent along with Uzui after he recovered from his injuries.”

You placed the papers back on Rengoku’s desk, thinking. “Do they just… attract the Upper Ranks?” you wondered aloud. Rengoku laughed.

“It is possible! We have been told that Kamado encountered Kibutsuji Muzan some months ago! Since then, it seems that he’s had a target on his back. Though he is not a Hashira, he is strong, and so are his two comrades! Perhaps you will even meet them one day.” He paused, looking thoughtful.

“Though, if you do meet, I must warn you in advance. Kamado travels with his sister, who has been turned into a demon. She does not eat humans, but you may be surprised!” 

Your mouth hung open in shock. “She’s a demon?” you asked. “And that’s allowed?”

“There has been a special exception made, yes!”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t really know about that, but if you say so, Master…” You couldn’t imagine traveling with a demon, much less having one as your sibling. You tried to envision your brother as a demon. It was no good, though. If he became a demon, you did not think you would hesitate to slay him. 

When Rengoku smiled at you, it was gentle. “If you meet them one day, I think you will understand.” 

He stood up from the desk and it was just then that you noticed how long your master’s hair had grown. He didn’t have it gathered up as he usually did, and it hung thickly down his back, like undulating flames. You felt your heart thrum in your chest at the beautiful sight as he turned away from you. He took the crow in his hands and ushered it to the door. 

You must have been blushing or making some strange face because when he turned back around to face you, he immediately crossed the room so he could see you better. His eye grew very wide and a grin spread across his face.

“Wh-What is it, Master?!” You backed away slowly. 

“Did you see something you liked, Kujaku?” He plucked the thought directly from your brain. 

You felt your fist tighten at your side and then came the insatiable urge to punch him and then run away, screaming. Riled up, you scowled right at him, your cheeks heated. 

“Do you want me to cut your hair, Master?” You held up two fingers and made a snipping motion as you struggled to control your face. “It’s gotten so long.” 

Maybe if you cut all his hair off, you could avoid moments like these. You watched as he reached up to feel his hair and inspect the ends. You’d never seen anything like it. The color and the shape resembled flames so strongly that sometimes from afar, it looked like his head was on fire.

“It has grown long,” he agreed, gathering it behind him in his hand to tie it off at his nape. “But I’ll leave it alone for now. Unless you think differently, Kujaku?” He looked almost greedy, like he was trying to gather something off of you. 

You crossed your arms and backed away, excusing yourself from his room. 

“I don’t have a particular opinion about it,” you lied. “But if you want me to cut it, I can do it later.” You closed the sliding door and shuffled away, thoroughly flustered. You nearly started running when Rengoku slid the door back open and poked his head out after you.

“Kujaku, we’re traveling to headquarters tomorrow at daybreak, so get some rest tonight.”

You turned back to him and bowed your head in acknowledgement. He watched you from the doorway until you were gone, headed out into the yard to do strength training. Somehow, you noticed belatedly, there was something in his expression that looked uncharacteristically solemn.

It was probably the lunch. 

Recently, no matter how many handstand push-ups you did, your shoulders wouldn’t grow any stronger. Sweat rolled down your temples as you gripped an imaginary katana and sliced skyward with it. The Second Form, Rising Scorching Sun, remained beyond your abilities. Until you managed to master it, Rengoku hesitated to spend any time with you on the Fourth Form, Blooming Flame Undulation. So, you had hit an impasse with your sword training. 

Frustrated, you tried to balance yourself upside-down on one hand, but immediately fell over straight onto your ass. The ground had grown cold and hard over the past few weeks and it hurt to fall.

You laid out, spread-eagled on the ground and watched your breath rise into the frosty air. It would be the New Year soon. Wondering what prayers you should offer for the coming year, you couldn’t help but remember your master’s “New Year present” he’d given you back in November. 

You blushed heavily and sat up, tipping yourself forward into a somersault, your body curled up like a roly poly. Somehow, it felt good, so you did another. And another. And another. 

As you rolled past the front door, it slid open and you caught your master watching you with a bemused expression out of the corner of your eye. The feeling of his lips on yours was still fresh in your mind, so you somersaulted away from him as quickly as possible. 

“Kujaku!” he called after you as you rolled down the path that led up to the house. “Push yourself off the ground more with your hands, not your neck!” 

After all, he was your master. You sobbed and scrambled to your feet, now just breaking into a plain old run. You’d finish your exercises in the forest. 

That evening, he would not leave you alone.

“Kujaku!” He came sprinting toward you as you returned from your strength training in the forest. You rooted to the spot, trapped halfway between fight and flight. Neither option was a good one. 

“Kujaku?” His intense stare bored into you as you tried to hide behind a huge bowl of soup at dinner. 

“Kujaku!” The door to the bath slammed open and a gust of winter air swept away the warmth immediately. Submerged in the tub, you sneezed. 

You were hiding in your futon when the door to your room cracked open. You could hear the door frame slide very quietly in its tracks. Your hand shot out of the covers to grab your katana.

“Kujaku! It’s just me.” Rengoku opened the door wide. He stood there in the dark and all you could see was the faint light of the waning moon reflected in his dilated pupil. You let your hand drop from your katana on its stand with a thump. 

“Master, you should get some rest yourself,” you reminded him. “We’re going to headquarters tomorrow, right?”

“That’s right!” Rengoku lingered in the doorway with a smile on his face. You sat up in your futon, waiting for him to say something more. But he just stood there, looking at you.

“Can I… help you?” You drew the covers back over yourself. It was cold outside of them and you wanted to go to sleep. “Master, you should really go to sleep soon. It’s cold.” 

“Kujaku, is there something bothering you?” He suddenly blurted this out and it occurred to you that he’d probably been wanting to ask for a while. “You’ve been hard to train for the past month!”

You spluttered. “What do you mean, ‘hard to train’?! You can literally do whatever you want to me. You’re about eight times stronger than me in every possible sense of the word.” You pointed an accusing finger. “You didn’t even finish the lunch I so lovingly made for you earlier today!”

His smile was scary. “That’s neither here nor there, but it makes me glad as ever to hear I have a Tsuguko who loves me!” 

Ahhhh… You put your face in your hands. Had you been acting strangely? The memory of how it felt to kiss your master was constantly playing in the back of your mind at every possible moment and it felt like a taboo. 

Since then, you agreed that the air between you had seemed stiff. Rengoku acted the same as always, but when his eye followed you around, it felt different. Neither of you had made any effort over the past month to further express any particular feelings. You were back right where you’d started, but with a little extra spicy-spice to add an additional dimension of torture to your grueling days of training. 

You tried to put your thoughts into words but they didn’t come out fully formed. “I feel a little… spicy, Master.” 

He immediately laughed and you screamed into your pillow. 

“I’m sorry, Kujaku.” You looked up, little tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. “Let’s hear it! How are you feeling spicy?”

You really, really did not want to talk about it. 

“Please go get your rest, Master,” you pleaded, putting your face back in your hands. “We can’t talk about this now.” 

Or ever.

He took an audible breath and every muscle in your body tensed at his next words.

“Kujaku, are you in love with me?”

Suddenly, your hands were full of tears and sweat and you hid yourself in your futon, wishing there was a black hole at the bottom to suck you in. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of! Don’t disappear!” Rengoku’s voice was smiling, but his request for you to not disappear sounded so frantic that you let your eyes peek back out at him. He watched you intently, now kneeling in the doorway, his torso bent to the side so his face was almost level with yours. His eye glowered at you in the dark like a stalking cat’s. Conversely, yours quivered with crumbling resolve. What were you being so stubborn for? 

“I’m in love with you, Master,” you finally admitted aloud. “But I wish I wasn’t, so I’m going to forget about my feelings. I’m sorry that I’ve made things awkward between us these past weeks.” You buried your face in your pillow, voice so muffled that you halfway hoped that he couldn’t hear you. 

“Hm!” Rengoku straightened up, seated on his knees at a respectable distance. He waited but you did not raise your face from your pillow again. You heard him shuffle toward you, his knees sliding across the mats, and all your senses prickled, the familiar urge to run away surging through you. 

He placed a warm hand on the back of your head. The moment you turned your face just a bit to sneak a peek at him, he was there in an instant and his hand tightened to angle your head better so he could press his lips firmly against yours. 

It wasn’t like the kiss you’d gotten from him before, so soft and fleeting it had barely happened. This time, he gathered you up in his arms, pulling you out of your futon entirely so he could feel your whole body against him. A hand gripped your lower back and you found yourself fully in his lap, your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms with nowhere to go but around him, too, one hand pressed between his shoulder blades and the other tangled in his hair. His mouth chased you, pressing for more and more, and your mind became a blank, nothing there except the thought that you had never felt something more intense and pleasurable before in your life. 

When your lips parted, he held you tightly against his chest, your nose in his warm hair. 

“Don’t reject me, Kujaku,” he murmured into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Don’t forget your feelings for me. Stoke them brighter and hotter and they will brighten your way.” 

Panicking, you started to cry in earnest. “Oh God, Master, is this part of my training, too?!”

He shook with laughter in your arms. 

“Sorry! It sounded that way, didn’t it!”

You sobbed. “Please, just answer me!”

“It is not! My apologies! I love you, too, Kujaku!” 

“Waaaahhh!!”

Chapter Text

You followed Rengoku mindlessly to headquarters the next morning, your thoughts occupied at their fullest capacity by the events of the previous evening. You barely noticed as the late December wind chilled your lungs because all you could feel was radiant heat. Nor did you notice when your master picked up the speed, your legs keeping pace with him on their own, your mind too absent to care or complain about it. 

Thinking you’d pay a visit to Ito’s grave again, you made to part ways as you drew closer to the estate that comprised the Demon Slayer headquarters, but Rengoku stopped you, a hand on your shoulder. 

“This time, we’ll attend together,” he instructed, beckoning you to his side. “Do stay close! It is easy to get lost inside.” 

You felt your back straighten as you drew close to your master, heeding his word. A sprawling estate entered your view and you could see how it would be easy to get turned around. Natural paths wound in every direction, some into a distance you couldn’t see the end of. Rengoku led you to the courtyard of a stately building, overlooked by a wide veranda. The garden was set with smooth white stones, so pristine that you were afraid to walk on them. 

Three unfamiliar figures faced you as you approached and your heart leapt into your throat as you realized that these must be other Hashira. You could tell by the way they held themselves that they were strong. 

“Good day, isn’t it!” Rengoku greeted loudly and you jumped, resisting the pathetic urge to hide behind him. 

“Easy for you to say.” A man wearing an eye-catching striped haori sneered back immediately. “I hate the cold.” He drew his hands inside his sleeves and as he turned to look at you, you noticed his eyes were two different colors. The lower half of his face was bandaged thickly, obscuring his mouth from view. 

Rengoku laughed, opening his arms toward him. “Want to share my warmth, Iguro?! I’ve got plenty!” 

Iguro turned away, scowling. “Don’t be disgusting, Rengoku. You’re acting too friendly.”

“Hahaha! Well, I would be remiss if I was not friendly to my friends!” He folded his arms back across his chest and turned to the other two, who seemed to be trying to ignore the exchange. “Tomioka and Tokito! It has been a long time.” 

Tomioka wore a haori that looked as though it had been sewn out of two different haoris, put together. He just nodded silently and turned away, obviously not in the mood to talk. Meanwhile, no matter how you looked at him, Tokito was a child. He didn’t seem to register Rengoku’s presence at all, instead staring up intently into the gray sky. You glanced skyward, too, wondering if you were missing something.

There was nothing there. 

Seeming to not notice the cold welcome, Rengoku clapped a hand onto your shoulder. “Kujaku, the Serpent Hashira, Iguro Obanai.” He gestured toward the man with the mismatched eyes. “Water Hashira, Tomioka Giyu.” He nodded toward the man with the half-and-half haori. “And, Mist Hashira Tokito Muichiro.” Sure enough, the child was also a Hashira. You bowed low. 

“I am Kujaku _____. It’s an honor to meet you,” you greeted respectfully. None of them seemed to notice your presence. You guessed you could probably start dancing and they wouldn’t pay any particular attention. It could be worse. They could be insulting y–

“That’s your Tsuguko, Rengoku?! Are you insane? It’ll take a million fucking years for that one to get strong enough to succeed you and Shinjuro-dono.” A fourth figure approached and you took back everything you’d just been thinking. Every inch of skin you could see was touched by some kind of scar, including his face, and the look he gave you made your skin crawl. 

“Shinazugawa,” Rengoku acknowledged the man as he drew closer, but he wasn’t smiling any longer. “Kujaku is strong enough to succeed both me and my father. Don’t say such insulting things.”

Shinazugawa… You felt like you’d heard that name recently, but you forgot everything about it when the man started to draw his sword. 

“Oh yeah?” He was grinning now, obviously sizing you up. “Let’s see about that, then.” 

You had to admit, you hadn’t been expecting a fight. Swallowing your apprehension, you assumed a quick draw stance, your hand hovering over the handle of your katana. 

As your fear evaporated, your teeth clenched with indignation. 

He might be a Hashira, but he’s also a fuckwad.

“Alright,” you growled, digging your heel into the polished garden stones. “Maybe it’ll be you who I’ll succeed today, when I put you in the hospital.”

“Hahaha!!!” Shinazugawa assumed his own stance and you watched his scarred knuckles whiten as he gripped his katana tighter. “That’s the spirit, motherfucker!!” 

You caught the foot and Shinazugawa got the fist. 

Tokito, the tiny and unexpected interloper, simultaneously landed his fist into Shinazugawa’s throat and the sole of his shoe into your chest, without seeming to even look. You skidded much further than you would have ever expected, the wind knocked out of you. 

He sighed and his voice was surprisingly steady. “You’re making too much noise,” he complained. “Rengoku, rein in your Tsuguko. The Master will arrive soon.” 

Rengoku walked over and pulled you to your feet, laughing. “Sorry! But I admit, I was interested!” 

You glared at him, half angry at being stopped and half angry at not being stopped sooner. 

Kanroji and Kocho arrived together a minute later, and as they walked into the courtyard, the weight in the air seemed to lessen. Both of them greeted you gladly and as Kanroji forced you into a bone-crushing hug, you noticed another man there, so large that you couldn’t believe you’d missed him. Despite his massive size, his presence was so quiet that he might as well have been a rock. He stared straight ahead with eyes that did not seem to see, hands clasped before him in prayer. You watched Rengoku bow to him respectfully and you found yourself drawing a blank on whether or not this person might be strong. 

You didn’t have much time to wonder about it, though, as the doors beyond the veranda slid open and a single man stepped out, dressed in layers of clothing, topped by a thick bed jacket. He looked so frail that you worried that a strong wind might tip him over. His skin appeared as though it had been fiercely burned.

“Thank you, my children, for coming all this way in the cold.” His sightless eyes settled on you and, overcome with a sense of unquestioning deference, you sank to your knees and lowered your face. 

This must be the Master. 

The man began to speak and you found yourself hanging onto every word. His voice had a mysterious quality to it that soothed you from a place deep inside. Although he looked so fragile, you did not question his authority. 

The mission he gave to the Hashira gathered there was a special one. He predicted that a confrontation with Kibutsuji Muzan could occur within a year. As a result, he requested each Hashira open a training regimen to the Demon Slayer forces at large. Any Demon Slayer could come to train, not just their Tsuguko. Also, all Hashira and Tsuguko could participate in other Hashira’s training if they chose. 

With this information, the meeting was adjourned. You watched the Master as he withdrew back into the house, a serene expression on his heavily scarred face. He seemed as if he had already transcended, paying a visit from a faraway place. 

“Looking forward to torturing you, I mean training you, Tsuguko-chan.” Shinazugawa goaded you as he raised himself to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets. You stared after him, wondering what could have possibly climbed up his ass and died there to make him like that. Glancing over to your master, you noticed him watching Shinazugawa, too, with an indecipherable smile on his face. 

Without delay, you and Rengoku returned to the training ground and by the end of the day, crows began to circulate throughout the whole region, bearing news of the upcoming Hashira trainings. They would officially start in three days, allowing participants to travel to their location of choice to start. Rengoku’s training was simple enough, though from personal experience, you would never recommend it to anyone you happened to care about. Memories of bruises, vomit, and general trauma whirled around your head as your master hummed a cheerful tune at dinner that evening, stacking fried cutlets onto a plate for you. 

“Something the matter, Kujaku?” he asked, settling himself across from you at the table. You eyed his meal critically. To your surprise, it was a modest amount. 

“Just having traumatic flashbacks of what you’ve put me through over the past year,” you replied freely, crunching into a piece of cutlet. 

Rengoku beamed. “I have always had the utmost faith in you, Kujaku!” His expression was as unclouded as a Buddha’s. “And I will continue to do so! You have a long path in front of you, yet!” 

You slumped over your rice bowl, not looking forward to it nearly as much as your master was. 

To your surprise, Rengoku chose that moment to give you a gift. Reaching across the table, he put a large square of folded white cloth into your hands. A pair of orange and red tassels sat on top, the fasteners for a haori. 

“That’s the haori I used to wear before I became a Hashira!” he explained eagerly. You unfolded it and held it up to the light. It was plain white, and you felt like you’d seen it somewhere before. As you thought this, Rengoku seemed to read your mind. 

“Kanroji has one like it, back from when I trained her. But this one is the one that I used to wear myself!” His smile softened as you put your arms into the sleeves. “This way, everyone will know you are mine!” 

You gave him a desperate look and he immediately laughed.

“My Tsuguko, that is!” 

“Ugh!” You flinched heavily, having fallen for his stupid trap. 

“Could it be, you don’t like it?!” Rengoku teased you, reaching across the table to attach the haori ties to your lapels. They hung down, gradating from gold to scarlet red at the ends, like flames. 

Your hands folded over the ends of the sleeves, which were a little too long for you and you felt heat spread across your cheeks. Your master watched carefully, seeming to enjoy himself. 

“I like it,” you finally said. “Thank you for such a treasured gift. I’ll be sure not to disgrace you, Master.”

“You’re so honest, Kujaku!” Rengoku grinned, leaning back away from you. “I trust you completely!”

“Yeah, that’s the scary part, Master,” you shot back immediately. He laughed. 

“Have faith in yourself!” He paused, sneaking another piece of cutlet onto your plate. You followed his hand that moved like a ninja’s, swiping the slice of meat onto your plate so swiftly and soundlessly that you would have missed it had you not been watching for it. He noticed you watching his hand but did not retract his chopsticks. His smile burned into you. You pulled your plate out of his reach. 

“Have you decided which Hashira you will visit first, Kujaku?” he asked, avoiding your anticipated protests smoothly. 

“Yes,” you said decisively, and even Rengoku looked surprised. He crossed his arms, looking amused. You raised your eyebrows at him. 

“Doesn’t it make the most sense for me to start here, with you?”

Rengoku gave you a smile that made you regret saying anything. “It does!” He immediately agreed and you swallowed thickly, wondering what hell you had just volunteered to be the first to experience. “And since you are already here, we can start as early as tonight!”

You shrugged yourself out of Rengoku’s haori, a chill of dread traveling down your spine.

“Oh? Why did you take it off?”

You sobbed. “I didn’t want to get my blood on it.” You swiped the back of your hand instinctively over your nose, the sensation of sweat and blood trickling from it ghosting up from your memories of the past year as Rengoku had literally ground you into the dirt all day, every day. 

“Don’t worry about it, Kujaku! It is easy to clean! Come on, finish your dinner.” More cheerful than ever, Rengoku took your moment of despair as an adequate distraction to refill your rice bowl.

Some things just never change. 

Sure enough, after you’d finished eating dinner, Rengoku led you out into the training area in the dark. 

“We will be reversing part of your training schedule,” he explained, facing you down with a sparring sword. “Training to fight demons is best done in the dark. We will spar for the next four hours! Ideally, let’s use as wide an area as possible, including the forest! You may even use the inside of the house.” He took a stance and without any further explanation, charged at you, his eye glowering at you like a wild animal’s. 

There was barely any moon that night and you grunted from the impact of his sword as you blocked him solidly, your wrists straining to distribute the force. Heaving him back, you leapt sideways, your mind racing for some form of strategy. What would give you the best advantage in this situation? You barely had time to pose this question to yourself as his sword whizzed past your left ear, barely missing it. Skin prickling, you propelled yourself away again, anxious to gain distance but also afraid to, knowing it would give him more room to gather momentum and deliver a blow hard enough to put you at an even greater disadvantage.

The darkness added a sense of urgency that you’d scarcely experienced before sparring with your master. Your feet skidded along the hard dirt and you assumed a quick draw stance. Flame Breathing had no quick draw forms that you were aware of but you doubted you could confront your master with either of the head-on forms you currently knew. Planting your trailing foot, you waited for him to come for you, hoping you could at least match his speed. 

“Flame Breathing, Fifth Form! Flame Tiger!”

Fuck. 

You found yourself facing a wall of sheer heat that obscured your master’s presence entirely as he bore down on you, his footwork a constellation of steps you knew just by glancing, would be nigh impossible to master. Realizing you wouldn’t win that way, you sidestepped yet again, breaking into a frantic run. You realized as his footsteps pattered after you without missing a single beat, that you were afraid. 

Was it the darkness? You plunged into the tree line, the forest even darker than you’d imagined. You squinted, willing your eyes to adjust faster, but as you did, you felt Rengoku an inch from your back. His weight impacted you hard but you reacted instantly, twisting under him to maneuver both your feet under his torso, shoving him off of you as hard as you could. 

Why didn’t he strike you with his sword? You didn’t have the luxury to wonder this for long as you heard him get up and start after you again. 

How could you gain an advantage?

Memories of the early days with your master resurfaced unexpectedly. One of the first things he’d ever made you do was swap your old wakizashi for a full length katana, insisting the shortened length of the wakizashi would reduce your reach too much. 

He probably had not been wrong. Wakizashis were mainly for combat in close quarters, risky for fighting demons. You turned around abruptly, adjusting the sparring sword in your hand so the blade portion of it was shorter. 

Unceremoniously, you sprinted back toward the house, your eyes squinting again, this time in the light, as you threw yourself through the open doorway. Close behind you, Rengoku pressed himself low to the floor and aimed a well placed sweeping blow that would have taken your legs off if he’d been wielding a real katana. But in the small room, you watched as your expectations surprisingly came true and his sparring sword caught part of the wall as he brought it around, reducing its momentum dramatically. You pivoted on your heel and mimicked him exactly, your shortened sword going straight for his shins. He leapt, his head brushing the ceiling, and you aimed a thrust upward toward his chest. 

He caught the end of your sword in his fist and hurled you across the room. Thankfully, the doors were open, or else you would have crashed through one, adding a broken door to the gouge in the wall from Rengoku’s swing. You skidded across the mats on your back, teeth gritted. Your arm knocked over the lamp and the room plunged into darkness. Making out Rengoku’s outline just barely, you rolled out of the way of a blow that, had it struck, would have probably broken your collarbone. You swallowed down your fear and realized that he was being serious. 

Throwing all caution to the wind and beginning to panic, you found every single one of your limbs now engaged in their own separate fight as you worked your way around Rengoku’s moves that seemed to take up the whole room. The closet door broke open with a loud crash as you ducked his blazing First Form, Unknowing Fire. 

You tackled him like a sumo wrestler, forcing him back with all your strength and you heard the breath get knocked out of him from the impact, his foot slipping on the tatami. He landed on his back with a heavy thud with you on top of him. Finding his sword arm in the darkness, you pressed your weight against his wrist but it was a mistake. With all your weight in one place, he easily flipped you over, pinning you against the floor, his sword coming in horizontally for your neck, as if you were a demon in his grasp. You raised your own sword just in time, but met his attack with the flat side instead of the edge. Immediately the wood splintered and snapped, the edge of his sparring sword now pressed hard against your throat. 

You let out a choked sound as his weight continued to bear down on you, the sword cutting off your airflow. Legs pinned under him, you found yourself completely immobilized and you realized that he was probably teaching you how to effectively pin an opponent since you had done it wrong, but he was also choking you and you felt lightheaded as the air left your lungs. 

As if realizing a moment late what he was doing, Rengoku lifted his arm and the pressure relieved itself from your throat. You coughed once, scrambling with your fingers until they closed around the broken-off half of your sparring sword. Gripping it as tightly as you could, you brought your other hand in front of you to force him off of you. He went to grab your wrist but as his weight shifted back even more on where he had your legs pinned, you winced, twisting your shoulder across your front to hit him as hard as you could across the face with the back of your fist, clenched hard around your sword. 

You were sure neither of you were counting points any longer, your spar having turned into an all-out brawl. You felt his teeth clench under his cheek as you struck him and he staggered to the side, giving you just enough room to escape from beneath him. Narrowly, you missed a thrust from his sword that came out of nowhere, and you wondered for a moment if he was trying to kill you. Then again, you wondered this frequently and you always survived. Barely. 

Still gasping for air, you gripped the end of your broken sword, the splinters digging into your rough palms. As your master straightened up, you assumed a stance a split second before he could. 

“Flame Breathing, Second Form! Rising Scorching Sun!”

For what was probably the five-thousandth attempt, all those coming before having failed, your arms swept skyward, the tip of your sword arcing out. To your shock and surprise, you connected, and a sickening crack resounded through the room. The end of your sparring sword snapped off again, spinning out into the darkness and you heard Rengoku let out a grunt of pain. 

“Shit,” you cursed, fumbling around in the dark for the discarded lamp. It took far too long to find a match to light it, but when you finally did, you were met with a surprising sight.

Your attack had put him on the floor. Blood dripped from Rengoku’s bottom lip. As you knelt, you reached out and he flinched as your fingers touched his chin where you had struck him. Dark blotches were quickly spreading under his skin.

When the doctor finally arrived, not in the best mood for having to come out in the middle of the night, he was most displeased with you.

“Broken jaw,” he confirmed, throwing you a dirty look. On the contrary, Rengoku looked so proud that you stifled a smile.

“Well done, Kujaku!” he exclaimed the moment the doctor finished cleaning up the split on his lip. He winced and the doctor frowned with disapproval.

“You’re going to need to keep your mouth pretty much closed for at least two weeks,” he instructed sternly. “Liquids and soft foods only.” The unmistakable look of an existential crisis flashed behind Rengoku’s eye. 

You spoon fed your master some rice soup later to test his reaction. If his moods had the range between “Encountered demon, displeased, to Ecstatic, jackpot of sweet potatoes,” he was definitely nearing the demon territory. 

“Let’s send you to Kanroji’s house first, he suggested.” Watching your face fall, he stifled a laugh, trying not to move his mouth too much. “It’s not that I don’t want you here! It’s just that you’ve already done all of the things that will be in my training and if you come here last…” He paused, watching you carefully, and you noticed he tended to do this when he was about to tease you. 

“... If you come here last, I can give you special training, just for you!” 

You didn’t react and he looked disappointed. Trying one more time, he raised his eyebrows at you in a way you guessed was intended to look suggestive.

“I promise, it’ll be extra special!”

“Master,” you interrupted placidly, coming at him with another spoonful of bland soup. “If you want to ****, just say so.” 

Finally, it was your turn! You allowed yourself a hearty laugh as you watched the smile on his face freeze and his cheeks turn bright red.

Chapter Text

Your journey to Kanroji’s house the next morning only started after you faced down the most intense breakfast you had ever seen in your whole life. It consisted of whole grilled mackerel, winter squash, and, inexplicably, a mountain of daifuku. Their heavy, squishy bodies spilled over the breakfast table, spreading the sweet smell of pounded mochi and red bean through the small space. 

Your crow, Lawrence, appeared to explain. 

“Daifuku for great luck!”

You glared at him petulantly. “I don’t care what they are. Why are they here?!”

Lawrence pecked you and you flinched. “It’s a gift from Shinazugawa-sama! Show more respect!”

You stared. Why would that asshole send something like this? 

Uncharacteristically, your master had not yet appeared for breakfast, though the sun had risen a while ago. Your mind traveled on its own back to the events of the previous night and you eyed the daifuku, wondering how to turn them into a liquid so your master could eat them. You piled one into your mouth promptly, the sweet filling nearly choking you.

After breakfast, you found your master in the bathtub, seemingly lost in thought. You let yourself in to take a closer look at his face where you’d hit him. He peered back at you through the steam. You hadn’t seen him without the patch he usually wore over the eye he’d lost before now, but there wasn’t much to see. His eyelid, now forever closed, bore no scar. 

The cut in his lip where you’d struck him was mostly gone, but a bruise remained on his jaw. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, reaching out to angle his chin so you could see it better. “I really didn’t think my attack would connect. But even then, I shouldn’t have been so rough.” 

Rengoku smiled at you gently, conscious of his jaw. “That’s the least of my worries, Kujaku,” he murmured. “I’m just so proud of you. Your Second Form was perfect! With a short sword.” He pressed your hand to his cheek affectionately and you felt gratified. 

“I won’t give up trying to do it with the katana,” you promised. “I’m about to leave for Kanroji-san’s house. Do you want some daifuku soup?” 

Rengoku frowned. “Daifuku soup?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Shinazugawa-san sent some daifuku as a gift, but since you can only eat liquids, I boiled some in water to make daifuku soup for you!” 

He coughed forlornly. “Give me a moment, Kujaku. I’ll find a flint to send you off with.” 

Dressed in your uniform and haori, you faced Rengoku a few minutes later as he stood at the entrance with a chunk of flint, his face shining with pride. 

“You are so dignified, Kujaku! Here, don’t forget lunch!” He produced a huge stack of bentos, wrapped in an extra large wrapping cloth. Holding it, you looked like a lunch delivery service. As you stepped out over the threshold, he struck sparks after your back for good luck. 

“Good fortune to you, Kujaku! Be well!”

“You too, Master.” Somehow, you felt very sad, like a little bird leaving its nest. Though, you’d just be going to Kanroji’s house. 

“Goodbye, Master.” You turned back and reached up to kiss his cheek. “Don’t eat anything you shouldn’t.”

He swept you into a warm and tight hug. 

“I’ll miss you!” 

“Master, you’re gonna have a crowd here pretty soon,” you replied, patting his back awkwardly. “You won’t be lonely at all! But I’ll miss you, too.” 

“Good!” He let you go, grinning, and then wincing. 

“Well, then…” You shuffled anxiously, the weight of ten bentos heavy in your hand. “Bye.”

“Yes, farewell, Kujaku! We’ll meet again soon!” Your master waved after you as you trotted down the path, the ends of your white sleeves fluttering. You turned your head to glance back. He was still waving at you cheerily, the flint still gripped in his hand. 

Thankfully, you remembered where Kanroji’s house was located because Lawrence had disappeared to who knew where. He was notoriously unreliable, caught up so much in his own personal life that he couldn’t be bothered with you half the time. As you ran, you realized that tomorrow would be the New Year and you regretted leaving so abruptly. But Kibutsuji Muzan wouldn’t be taking off a day for the New Year, so neither would you. 

You entered Kanroji’s estate at midday, thankfully, since you knew you’d likely be able to unload some of the bentos you had carried the long way. But you barely made it through the front gate before you heard an enthusiastic voice you didn’t recognize calling…

For your master?

“Rengoku-san!!!” You turned to see a boy wearing a checkered haori dashing toward you. He wore a uniform, too, and as you came into view, his expression turned confused but not upset. The boy stopped in front of you and bent into a rigid bow. He had kind eyes and a large and noticeable scar that stretched over his forehead. You bowed back, also confused as to how you could ever be confused for your master. 

“I’m so sorry!!” he apologized, straightening up only to bow again, three times in succession. Not knowing what to do, you copied him. 

“I, er, it’s fine,” you replied awkwardly. “I’m Kujaku _____. I’m Rengoku Kyojuro-sama’s Tsuguko.” 

“Ohhh!” The boy looked like he suddenly understood something with that, though you weren’t in on the revelation. “That explains it! You smell a lot like him.” He smiled at you and a million questions ran through your mind. 

“I’m so sorry for my rudeness. My name is Kamado Tanjiro! It’s nice to meet you, Kujaku-san.” He bowed a fifth time and you raised your arm to surreptitiously sniff under it.

Kamado Tanjiro…

Kamado Tanjiro!!!

You jumped and so did he. “Kamado Tanjiro!!” you exclaimed, reaching out to grab the boy by both shoulders. “Oh, God! You’re really alive! You have all your arms and legs! I’m so surprised!” It was his turn to look confused as you remembered his name from Rengoku’s reports. This boy had somehow encountered four whole Upper Ranks. You scrutinized him closely. He didn’t look that special. Frowning, you wondered what it was the Upper Ranks liked about him. You supposed he was kind of cute-looking, in an innocent way. 

Hmm. 

“Can I call you Tanjiro-kun?” you asked, looking into each of his ears as if expecting to find demon bait there. “You can call me _____ if you want!” 

“Okay, _____-san!” He was all smiles again and patiently allowed you to finish inspecting his ears. He wore strange earrings that looked like small playing cards, each painted with a rising sun. 

“Erm…” As you circled around him, Tanjiro gestured to your luggage and you realized you were still carrying the ten bentos from earlier. “Can I help carry your things? They look heavy. How is Rengoku-san doing?”

“Oh?” You glanced down to the tall package in your hand. “No, I can carry this. Actually, you want some? He sent me out with ten bentos this morning and I can’t possibly eat them all.” You started to walk toward the front door, Tanjiro trailing behind you, a polite smile still on his face. You had neglected to tell him how Rengoku was doing. 

As you stepped over the threshold, a blood-curdling scream echoed down the hallway and you jumped, looking around frantically. Tanjiro just let out a nonchalant laugh. 

“Hahaha, Kanroji-san really can be tough! We’re so lucky to be able to train with her! She’s so strong.”

What the hell is she doing?!

Unfortunately, you were about to find out. 

“Yaaaahh!!!!” you cried as Kanroji greeted you enthusiastically. Instead of a hug, she immediately tried to fold you in half.

“Wow, _____-san! You’ve become more flexible than last time! You’ll be able to pass my training quickly! Here, put on a leotard!”

Nice music filtered through the training hall and as you peeked in, two other Demon Slayers gave you a terrified look as they danced in their leotards. You gulped. 

“Kanroji-san, what in the…” 

Already dressed in his leotard, Tanjiro walked past you and immediately started his own little dance sequence to the beat of the music. Delighted, Kanroji praised him.

“Tanjiro-kun, you’re doing great! Do you want a baton?”

“Yes, okay!” 

She handed him a long baton and he started twirling it expertly, a tranquil smile on his face. Though, as Kanroji turned to forcefully stretch one of the other participant’s legs, he couldn’t hide his horrified reaction when he screamed. 

Somehow, you felt like you remembered that scream. You put on your own leotard, just glad your master wasn’t around. The outfit showed your whole legs and was skin-tight. You returned to the training hall, feeling self-conscious. 

“Hey, Kujaku?!” The two other Demon Slayers trotted up to you as Kanroji gave Tanjiro his turn to get stretched. It took a moment but when you recognized the two faces, your eyebrows almost popped off your face.

“Hosoi! Hasegawa!” You stared, shocked. Both of them had grown over the past year, so you barely recognized them, but you definitely remembered both of them. Along with your deceased training partner Ito, the four of you had started training with Rengoku together after being summoned for special training under a Hashira. Hasegawa hadn’t even lasted the first day. Hosoi hadn’t done much better, dropping out before the first week was over. 

“I’m surprised you two are alive!”

Hosoi hung his head and Hasegawa looked offended. “Hey, that’s cold, Kujaku! Fighting demons is infinitely easier than… than…” They both looked traumatized. You frowned. 

“Hasegawa, my friend, you lasted three hours. You have no idea.” 

Both of them broke out laughing. 

“Yeah, we were pretty lame back then,” Hasegawa conceded, handing you a wand with a ribbon on the end of it. They started to demonstrate the steps of Kanroji’s dance for you and you followed along awkwardly.

“But after we left Master Rengoku’s training, we decided that we should do something to get stronger, so we appealed to Himejima-sama, and he allowed us to train with him in the mountains. Honestly? I think it might have been worse than what Master Rengoku was asking, just without the crazy rumors. But he doesn’t force you to do anything. It was too tough, in any case. We left after about a month. Gave up on Hashira training, but here we are.” Hosoi laughed. “We can’t escape.” 

“At least Lady Kanroji is pretty,” Hasegawa added. 

“Hasegawa, have you seen Tanjiro’s sister?? She’s definitely my type.” Stars sparkled in Hosoi’s eyes and you frowned.

“Tanjiro’s sister?” You remembered what Rengoku had told you. “Isn’t she a demon?” 

Hosoi nodded. “Yeah, and she’s super cute.” 

You twirled the ribbon wand in your hand, not really understanding the point of the whole exercise. “You have terrible taste, Hosoi.” 

“Nezuko was the prettiest girl in our hometown!” Tanjiro appeared behind you and you jumped, grasping your heart. He looked at you with the same patient smile as before and you found yourself feeling bad for him. His sister was turned into a demon. To you, that meant she would have been better off dead, frankly, and you couldn’t imagine what Tanjiro must have gone through to travel with her. 

Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes and you hugged Tanjiro, uninvited. 

“Huh? _____-san, someday I’ll introduce you and you’ll definitely think she’s pretty!” 

“Waaahh…. I’m sorry, Tanjiro-kun…”

Kanroji came over and gave you an appraising look that sent a familiar chill down your spine. It was the same chill as when your master was about to have you do something impossible. 

“_____-san, I have a special training for you and Tanjiro-kun! Come on!” Wearing a disarming smile, she gestured you down onto a mat. 

“Hehe! So, _____-san, I’ve heard from a little birdie that you’ve been having some trouble getting the hang of the Second Form of Flame Breathing!” Her crow squawked behind her. “So, you should do some push-ups!” 

You looked perplexed. “Just push-ups?” You propped yourself up over the mat. 

“Yah! Okayyy and… Tanjiro-kun, you sit on _____-san’s back.”

“Waattt???” You choked as Tanjiro climbed onto your back, looking concerned. 

“I don’t know, is this okay?” he asked, carefully folding his legs under him. You trembled with the weight, slowly lowering yourself to the floor onto your face. “I might be too heavy!”

Kanroji patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, _____-san has to be at least able to do this much!” You groaned, your face still pressed into the mat.

“How many, Kanroji-san?” you asked, your shoulders already aching. 

“Two hundred!”

You sighed with disappointment but put in your best efforts. The weight of Tanjiro on your back couldn’t be compared to the weight of wearing Rengoku’s white haori. You had to do your best!

It took so long to finish doing two hundred push-ups that you apologized to Tanjiro over and over for making him waste his precious training time. But he didn’t seem to mind at all. 

Later that day, you learned more about Tanjiro’s sensitive sense of smell. But not much more.

“So, what does a ‘strong sense of justice’ smell like?” You frowned, Tanjiro having described Rengoku as having the scent of a strong sense of justice.

“Hmm. It smells like Rengoku-san, I guess?”

“.....”

“It also smells like you, but I’m sure that’s confusing, too…” Tanjiro looked confused at his own explanation but then he brightened as he seemed to have a revelation. 

“It kind of smells like… boom! And then, bahhh! Like that! And then, kind of a whooshing smell, too!” He looked so proud of his explanation that you couldn’t react. 

“Yup, sounds about right,” you agreed, not knowing what you were agreeing to at all. 

That night, Kanroji assembled everyone for a special midnight feast in celebration of the New Year. But, like all things having anything to do with a Hashira, there was a catch.

Five places were set in a circle, each with its own set of savory osechi. You noticed immediately how wide the circle was, with lots of room between each seat. A feeling of foreboding settled in your stomach. 

“Hiyahh!” Kanroji set herself down on one of the cushions, her legs split to each side. With an innocent smile, she pointed to Tanjiro. 

“Ow-ow-ow-ow…” He managed himself with some strain and encouragement from Kanroji. 

You were next. Side splits were harder than forward splits, but thanks to your earlier training period with Kanroji, you remained limber enough. Hamstrings aching as they acclimated, you struggled to control the look of pain on your face. 

Hosoi and Hasegawa couldn’t manage it yet, so after some wrangling from Kanroji, along with some crying, they were forced to settle for a wide straddle position. Satisfied, Kanroji pointed her toes, touching Hosoi’s and Tanjiro’s.

“Now, let’s link toes and share a collective prayer for the New Year! Hehehe!! Better yet, if you have any love confessions! Or, we can share what we were grateful for in the past year. Either is nice!”

Link toes…

All of you touched toes, looking confused as heck. But to your surprise, Hasegawa went first.

“I heard Shinazugawa-sama is making everyone dig their own grave today in preparation for the New Year.”

Hosoi piped up next. “And I heard that Rengoku-sama had a huge bear sent down from Hokkaido for everyone to spar against for good luck.”

Hasegawa didn’t hesitate to pick up where Hosoi left off. “I also heard that Iguro-sama tied up all the Demon Slayers who went to his training and hung them overnight from trees.”

“So,” they said in unison. “Thank goodness for Lady Kanroji!” 

You raised your cup and took a drink. Kanroji’s eyes glistened with tears. 

Tanjiro joined in next. “My prayer for the New Year is to defeat Kibutsuji Muzan and turn Nezuko back into a human!” 

Kanroji raised her cup, her eyes still glistening. “Beautiful sibling love!” she cried, taking a drink. 

You paused, not sure what your New Year wish should be. You didn’t really want anything. 

“I’m thankful for my master,” you said slowly, “I’m glad he survived.” You thought back to earlier in the year when Kanroji had woken you so early, Rengoku on the verge of dying. “I’m really glad you are alive and safe, too, Kanroji-san.” You remembered from the reports that she’d fought an Upper Rank not that long ago. 

Kanroji started to cry in earnest. “Yes, I am soooo glad! That was so scary!” She downed the rest of her cup in one go. 

It turned out that Kanroji couldn’t hold her drink that well. In short order, she ended up draped out on the floor with Tanjiro frantically putting water and fried prawns in her mouth to try to get her back to normal. Hosoi and Hasegawa gave up on their splits exercise entirely, opting to instead have a contest over who could eat more rice cakes. 

As you fanned Kanroji’s red face with your sleeve, you wondered what your master was wishing for in the New Year.

Chapter Text

You moved on from Kanroji’s training after about a week with sore arms and a growing appreciation for Kamado Tanjiro. He was The Perfect Person. You’d never met someone so undeniably nice, without even a hint of an ulterior motive anywhere. 

“Oh, _____-san, you forgot your wrapping cloth!” 

There he was now, running after you down the road, clutching the violet wrapping cloth that had contained Rengoku’s ten bentos. In good faith, he’d agreed to eat three of them, sharing a story about how your master had appeared for their joint mission, surrounded by about twenty station bentos that he was eating with great enthusiasm. You could picture it exactly. 

“Thanks a lot, Tanjiro-kun,” you said, tucking the wrapping cloth into your trouser pocket. He gave you an unclouded smile and you bowed in thanks. 

“I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, _____-san, but good luck with Iguro-san’s training! You’re going there next, right?”

You shuffled nervously. “Yeah, anything I should know about him? I haven’t really talked to him before…” You knew what he looked like but other than that, he just seemed like he could be unfriendly. 

“Hmm… I think he’s mysterious! He has a complicated smell. But I heard that he and Kanroji-san exchange letters, so he must be a good person.”

“Hope so,” you agreed. “Best wishes, Tanjiro-kun. Let’s meet again soon.”

He waved after you as you continued down the road. “Say hello to Rengoku-san for me!” 

You waved back at him. 

Quite to the contrary of Tanjiro’s assessment, you did not think Iguro was a good person as you approached his training area. His home was surrounded by a dense grove of trees and as you stepped into it, you could hear voices.

“Hellllppp… Helppp meeee…”

Startled, you looked around. While you never put much stock in Hasegawa’s and Hosoi’s ridiculous rumors, you were shocked to discover they had been right. 

Countless Demon Slayers had been bound up in ropes and were hanging from various tree branches, swaying back and forth as they squirmed around. 

“What the actual fuck?” You started running, their voices growing louder as you moved further away.

“HEELLPPP USSS GODDAMMIT”

“No!” you shouted back, slamming your hands over your ears. “You must have done something to deserve it! That’s the story we’re going with!” Now fully gripped with fear, you considered running back and skipping Iguro’s training entirely, but you weren’t sure you could face your master if you did so. You slammed the door to what you assumed to be his house open, revealing a cramped dojo. 

Not another Demon Slayer was in sight. Were they all outside, then, hanging from the trees?! You tightened your hand into a fist, prepared for a fight.

“Hey.” A placid voice came from your right side where there had been nothing a moment prior. You leapt back, hand on your sword. 

Iguro stood there, watching you with judging eyes. “Not a bad reaction, but still too slow,” he decided. He tossed you a bamboo sparring sword. 

“It’s simple,” he explained, assuming a stance. “If you don’t land a point on me, you get strung up from a tree. There’s no time limit.”

In reality, things were never that simple. There were two problems with this situation. First, as you rapidly discovered a split second later, Iguro’s technique somehow allowed even the straight wooden training sword he used to seemingly bend in impossible ways. Only exaggerated movements that spent a lot of energy would guarantee a successful dodge. 

Second, the sparring ground turned out to be the grove of trees you’d passed through earlier with other Demon Slayers hanging from the branches. Many of them dangled at eye-level, and they kept begging not to get hit when you drew near. Some of them even wiggled at you out of spite since you’d refused to help them, making your struggle that much harder. Jerks. 

In short order, you had bruises up and down your forearms from where you’d failed to fully dodge but were able to at least block. But if he’d been using a real sword, you would have been in serious trouble. His sword slithered around a hanging Demon Slayer’s waist and as you tried to counter, it hit him, eliciting a series of angry expletives. 

“Sorry, sorry!” you apologized, sprinting away. 

Two hours later, you still hadn’t landed a point while Iguro had landed plenty on you. You dropped to one knee, panting.

“Giving up?” he asked, producing a length of rope. Peering closer at your face, he frowned.

“Hey, you’re Rengoku’s Tsuguko, aren’t you?” 

“You just realized?” you grunted, pulling yourself back to your feet. “We just met a week or two ago.” Gripping your practice sword with renewed zeal, you spat out a clot of blood from the inside of your cheek. You’d bitten yourself by accident and it stung. 

Iguro’s sword couldn’t be really bending like that, so you guessed it must be an optical illusion that he somehow managed with a combination of his technique and the black and white striped haori that he wore. It wouldn’t do to rely on your sight alone to pinpoint his attacks and work your way around them. In fact, it wouldn’t work to rely on your sight at all. You took a deep breath and let your eyes close. 

“Let’s keep going,” you invited, darting forward to seize the initiative. 

It took a few minutes to finish opening your other senses in the absence of your vision, but after a few blows to the gut, you recognized how your body reacted when Iguro’s sword was coming. You started being able to block him with your own sword, his cuts relatively straightforward in truth. 

“Interesting. But, can you strike me back?” His voice interrupted your concentration and you winced as he landed another hit on your upper arm. He didn’t have as much power as Rengoku, though, and your endurance remained strong. You strained to listen through to his footwork as he moved, weaving around the dangling Demon Slayers. Conversely, you were crashing around by feel, shoving them out of the way as you moved, earning several angry shouts. Honestly, you did not care that much if you accidentally hit one of them at this point. They could take it, though you regretted your rudeness. 

A soft hiss of breath by your left ear caused the hairs on your neck to stand up and by instinct, you lashed out with much more strength than you’d intended. 

“YOWWWW!!!”

Your eyes popped open as you skidded along the fallen leaves, head whipping around to see the damage you’d caused. 

To your surprise, Iguro stood there, a hand grasping his side where he’d been hit. But, swinging back and forth rapidly, was also a Demon Slayer who had taken the brunt of your attack, a huge welt blooming on his face. 

“Don’t just bumble around with your eyes closed!” he cried, wriggling around wildly. 

Technically, you’d passed Iguro’s training through sheer ruthlessness alone. He let you go but you weren’t that satisfied with it.

Later, through some gossip, you learned that Iguro had changed the structure of his training after that, instead tying the Demon Slayers to boards to use as an obstacle course. In hindsight, you were glad you got the tree-hanging version. 

Your next stop was Shinazugawa’s dojo, since it was the closest one to Iguro’s. A curious mix of apprehension, irritation, and eagerness was brewing inside you. However, you weren’t at all prepared for the reception you received when you arrived.

“AAAAAHHHH!!!” Desperate screams emanated from Shinazugawa’s property– you started to hear them while still a whole kilometer away. When you poked your head into the yard, a boy wearing a bright yellow haori darted past you, screaming bloody murder. You turned away just in time to miss Shinazugawa himself from crashing into you as he dashed after him, a wooden sparring sword raised angrily over his head. It had blood on it. You gulped. 

You let yourself in on your own, revealing at least a dozen other Demon Slayers slumped in various positions on the ground, each covered in horrible bumps and bruises. Just by looking at them, you could tell that Shinazugawa was not holding back. 

“Tsuguko-chan!!” A familiar voice chanted after you and Shinazugawa returned, dumping the boy in the yellow haori unceremoniously at your feet. You stooped down and lifted one of his eyelids. Unconscious.

“Shinazugawa-san, good to see you again…” you managed precariously. “Are you… trying to kill them?!” 

He laughed and it was an oddly innocent and lighthearted sound. Handing you a sparring sword, he assumed a stance.

“No, that’s why we’re using wooden swords,” he said plainly, a grin stretching across his scarred face. “Let’s go!” 

Without even a second to think, he lunged for you and you barely blocked him, your arms trembling to absorb the power of his strike. He put more force into it than you could remember Rengoku ever doing and you worried the wooden practice swords you were using wouldn’t be able to take it. Pushing him away with all your strength, you watched him closely.

“Why’d you send all those daifuku?” you asked immediately, the question having been wearing on your mind for several days at this point. “A token of affection?” You couldn’t help yourself, though you knew he probably wanted to kill you at least a little bit. “For me? Or for my master?” 

“Haaaahh?! It was to wish you luck, little Tsuguko-chan! All the luck you could ever need because you need to land a hit on me to get out of here and you won’t be able to for a million fucking years!” Shinazugawa lashed out with a spinning slice that kicked up dust like a little tornado. Your feet dashed under you to gain distance but despite the impending danger, you couldn’t help but snort with laughter. 

“Wait, those daifuku were supposed to be some kind of sick burn, Shinazugawa-san? That’s so lame…” You dodged around him, in a good mood that surprised even you. Parrying another of his spinning slashes upward, you entered inside his reach and pivoted on your heel. No holding back for you, either.

“Flame Breathing, First Form! Unknowing Fire!”

Your attack sizzled over Shinazugawa’s head as he ducked and you noticed he wasn’t smiling any longer, a look of focus materializing in his eyes. The other Demon Slayers slumped around the yard began to murmur.

“Hey, wasn’t that a Flame Breathing technique? That must be Rengoku’s Tsuguko…”

“Rengoku’s Tsuguko?! That’s crazy, then. I just came from his training and his face was broken! He said his Tsuguko broke his jaw! … Also, he was weirdly excited about it.” 

“Whoa, maybe we stand some chance then, if Shinazugawa finally gets the beatdown!” 

“Go, Flame-Tsuguko!”

Chants of “Flame-Tsuguko!” filled the yard and Shinazugawa twisted his head around, looking pissed. “Shut the fuck up, losers!” he shouted, easily fending off what you’d thought was a nice surprise elbow to the face. “You’re interrupting the nice atmosphere!”

“What the hell do you mean by ‘nice atmosphere,’ Shinazugawa?!”

“Yeah, beat his ass, Flame-Tsuguko!” 

You pressed yourself low to the ground again, trying again to get up in his face while moving under his attacks. But it was a mistake.

“Wind Breathing, Fifth Form! Cold Mountain Wind!”

Caged in by a flurry of hits, you dove away headfirst, thankful you’d done all those somersaults in practice earlier. Rolling yourself up in a tight ball, you endured several brutal slashes, wincing as a particularly hard one slammed against your ribs. The wind knocked out of you, you coughed violently as you stood up, but Shinazugawa spared no time in lunging for you again, this time with a straightforward slash aimed directly for your throat.

He’s about to seriously kill me!

“Flame Breathing, Second Form! Rising Scorching Sun!”

Afraid for your life, you managed the Second Form in your desperation, reacting on pure instinct. The upward slash sent his arms flying skyward again and you rushed to get close enough to miss his downward swing as he brought his sword hurtling down. 

Tackling him head on, you brought him toppling to the ground. Your legs moved to pin him the way Rengoku had taught you but he thrashed so violently that you were nearly bucked off of him. One foot half-hooked around his shin and the other scrambling to find his other leg, you started just randomly smacking him with your sword, producing a series of horrible cracking noises. 

“Damn! You don’t give up, do you, Shinazugawa-san?! Hold still and let me beat you into submission!” There was no point to it at this time. You’d already landed your required hit on him. But somehow, teeth gritted and your eyes staring down into Shinazugawa’s crazed ones, you couldn’t stop.  

“Fuck you, Tsuguko-chan! I’ll kill you!!” He seethed, punching you square in the face. It was no longer a sword spar, not that you really thought it was before. 

“Gooo, Flame-Tsuguko!”

“Shut up!” Both you and Shinazugawa shouted in unison as you continued to beat the crap out of each other. 

“Next time, send ohagi, asshole! I don’t like daifuku!” You smashed the handle of your sparring sword into Shinazugawa’s nose, earning an angry grunt. 

“What’s the fucking difference?! They’re the same fucking thing, just reversed!” Shinazugawa punched the other side of your face and you clenched your teeth, your brain rattling around in your head. 

“They’re not the same!!” you insisted, running out of different places to hit Shinazugawa with your sword. You settled for his whole stupid head, bringing your sparring sword down on him like a reckoning. “Ohagi is better!”

To your surprise, Shinazugawa started laughing. He relaxed under you, arms and legs spread out on the ground in defeat. 

“Yeah, you’re right, Tsuguko-chan, ohagi are better.” 

Bemused but exhausted, you flopped onto the ground next to him. It was over and you felt much better, somehow. 

“Glad we agree on something.” 

From that point on, Shinazugawa’s treatment of you improved. It wasn’t great, but it was fine. He even lent you his crow after Lawrence failed to show up even after calling him three times. 

Since your next destination, which would be the home of the Stone Hashira, Himejima Gyomei, was a long distance away, you stayed the night in Shinazugawa’s home. There was a dormitory of sorts for the Demon Slayer trainees, and you stayed up late, helping to treat bruises and wash clothes. You had garnered an informal little fan club that had counted seven total hits you’d apparently landed on Shinazugawa earlier that day. Together, they planned to join you at the Stone Hashira training after finishing with Shinazugawa’s training. As they crowded noisily around you, you prayed that you’d finish it before they showed up. 

Late in the night, you wrote a letter to your master by the light of the moon. Shinazugawa’s crow, whose name was Sorai, waited obediently while you tied the paper into a knot for him to take. 

“Duly accepted, Kujaku-sama. I will deliver this with great haste. Good night.”

Wow, he was so polite. You watched his dark form rise into the air, blending in with the inky black night. 

Master,

Please stop telling all the other Demon Slayers about how I broke your jaw

How are you? I am hearing some rumors from other Demon Slayers who went to your training but the other Hashira are so tough that we don’t get many chances to talk because everyone is on the verge of death. Shinazugawa-san actively tried to kill me

Shinazugawa-san kindly lent me his crow to send this letter. We seem to be getting along better, somehow. I am staying at his home tonight before moving onto the Stone Hashira training tomorrow. 

Hoping we can train together again soon. Once your jaw is healed, let’s roast more sweet potatoes in the yard. I’ll try to buy some good ones. 

Thinking of you
Missing you and wanting to cross blades aga
Yours,
Kujaku ______

You tucked yourself into your futon late, the moon high in the sky. As you drifted off to sleep, Sorai returned, a note in his beak. Was he unable to deliver it? But you noticed the one he had was different from the one he sent you with. You frowned. 

“Seriously, a reply? So fast!” 

The crow puffed his feathers out with pride. “At your service, Kujaku-sama.” 

You unfurled the paper, squinting to read it in the darkness. 

Good evening Kujaku,

I hope you are well, too. Training here with so many people has been a very different experience, but it has been great fun. Also, I am only going to respond to the redacted parts of your note because I think those are the things you really wanted to say but couldn’t be totally honest about! After all, you are my Tsuguko and I know you well. 

I am so proud of how you broke my jaw! I will tell anyone who will listen about how glorious you were. Prepare to be admired! I have spread word of your skill and strength to every Demon Slayer I have encountered so far. 

If you are writing to me, I am glad to find that Shinazugawa-san did not, in fact, kill you! I am sure that your battle was magnificent. I am predicting that you landed seven hits on him. Call it intuition!

I am thinking of you, too, Kujaku, always. I am missing you, too, Kujaku. Always. Let’s cross blades again soon. I would like that very much. 

Good night to you. 

Yours, 
Rengoku Kyojuro

There was something very intimate about reading a handwritten letter, in the sender’s handwriting, the way they formed the sentences on the page, and in how the name was signed at the bottom. You traced out the characters for Rengoku’s given name on your pillow, feeling warm all over. 

Chapter Text

“But…”

“Nope.”

“BUT–”

“No.”

“BUT CAN YOU EAT IT?!”

“No! He’s not food!” For the sixth time, you snatched Lawrence out of the grasp of a strange boy you’d just met. He wore a boar’s hide over his head and he’d been chasing you up the mountain road for the past hour, seemingly crazed with hunger. You jogged away from him, your crow held over your head, out of his reach. 

“Lawrence, couldn’t you help a little here and fly away or something?! Why do you choose to only appear when I don’t have any use for you?”

“Hmph,” was his only response as he allowed himself to be pleasantly ferried away from getting plucked and eaten alive by Boar Boy behind you.

“HEY! WAIT! There’s no way you’re getting to that old man’s house before me!!” He sprinted after you, huffing and puffing, and you picked up the pace, looking dubious. 

“Catch me if you can, Boar Boy, but it doesn’t really matter. We’re going to the same place.”

“It’s Lord Inosuke-sama to you! King of the Mountain, Hashibira Inosuke-sama!!”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, gradually increasing your stride length. “If you can catch me, Boar Boy, I’ll call you whatever you want.” Lawrence still held aloft in your hands, your white haori streamed behind you as you ran. You’d noticed about twenty minutes ago that the path was getting steeper but according to Lawrence’s instructions, it wouldn’t be much further to the Stone Hashira’s home. Glancing back, you chuckled. 

“Bye!” you called, breaking into a sprint. 

“WAIT! Come back and FIGHT ME!!!”

“Hahahaha!” You dashed away, your mood improving considerably. For once, you weren’t the loser of the race, and it didn’t feel at all bad. 

Sure enough, you reached an encampment after a manageable run the rest of the way up the mountain. A dense forest enveloped the Stone Hashira’s home and you could hear the sound of rushing water. Surely it would be freezing cold at this time but your heated blood warmed you to the tips of your fingers and toes and you could barely feel the winter chill. 

Chanting rose over the tree line and you frowned. 

“Welcome to my training ground, Demon Slayer.” 

You remembered him from the Hashira meeting, but up close, Himejima Gyomei was easily the largest person you had ever beheld. His presence could barely be felt in spite of his size and you knew in your bones that it was the product of intense ritual and discipline, not by mistake. You bowed deep with respect.

“It’s an honor, Stone Hashira. I’m Kujaku _____. I’ll be in your care.”

“My training is simple,” he explained. Somehow, all Hashira trainings were always described as “simple,” though in reality, there was never much simplicity about them. “First, you must let the waterfall beat you. Then, you will lift logs. Finally, you will push a boulder across the distance of a town. That is all.” Hands clasped before him, he rubbed a rosary of beads back and forth. 

“Namu Amida Butsu.” 

You bowed again, his impossible instructions deflecting off of you effortlessly as you procrastinated thinking about the level of human misery it would take to actually achieve any of it. “Hashira-sama, if I may ask, is there a place to prepare food? There is a boy coming up the mountain behind me who is very hungry.” 

Tears coursed down Himejima’s cheeks and you wondered for a moment if this was also a starvation training. But it wasn’t the case. 

“What a poor soul. You are kind. Go to the other side of the encampment. Bales of rice and vegetables arrive every morning. Catching a fish is also possible.” 

You bowed again, excusing yourself. He was easily the most mysterious Hashira and you were intrigued about his strength. As you walked away, he began chanting a prayer. 

Only a few other Demon Slayers remained in the encampment, the others presumably in the midst of their training. Those who were there looked frozen and mentally beat, so you tried to be quiet as you put on a new cauldron of water to boil over an old fire. There was another cauldron of rice already cooked, so you started packing it into rice balls, filling them with mountain vegetables. Mountain King Lord Inosuke-sama would have to be satisfied with this for now. 

As if on cue, you heard him before you saw him. Panting loudly, he stumbled into the encampment, crashing head first onto the ground. 

“Y-You!!” he puffed, his whole body covered in perspiration. “Fiiighttt meee!!”

“Boar Boy, life is all about priorities, my friend,” you said calmly, setting a third rice ball onto a straw mat. “It’s January, you’re naked on top, sweating like crazy, and starving. Eat, dry off, warm up, and let’s train together.” You held out the rice balls. “Come on, eat up.” 

He ripped off the boar hide he wore over his head and immediately stuffed two rice balls into his mouth. Your eyebrows shot up so fast that they almost launched off your face. Boar Boy not only had the face of a girl, but the face of the prettiest and most delicate girl you’d ever seen. But his torso was so muscular and rough looking that the contrast was laughable. He looked up at you, mid-chew, and his eyes sparkled at you prettily. Now just unnerved, you looked away. What a weird guy.

“When you’re done, don’t forget your boar head.” You wanted him to hurry up and put it back on. 

“Heh heh heh. The Mountain King never neglects his crown!” 

The two of you hiked to the waterfall together and almost witnessed a drowning. 

“Oh my God! Pull him out, pull him out!”

You ran toward the commotion and grabbed under the arm of–

“You again?!” 

It was Hosoi. Blue in the face, he coughed up a stream of water. Boar Boy heaved his legs out of the water and together with another Demon Slayer, you hoisted Hosoi over to a large rock, draping him over it. 

“Th-Thankssss,” he chattered, giving in to another series of violent coughs. “I think I passed out for a minute and the next thing I knew, I was facedown on the riverbed.” He gasped for air, shivering. “This is way tougher than what we did before.” 

You shaded your eyes, peering up into the sky. Fortunately, the sun was strong, but it was still mid-winter and the water was frigid cold, dangerous to stay submerged in for any period of time. You shrugged out of your haori, draping it over Hosoi’s bare torso. 

Boar Boy wasted zero time, plunging directly into the river, positioning himself under the waterfall and promptly letting loose a giant scream.

“IT. IS. NOT. COLD!!!! HAHAHAHAHA!! You losers! I’m gonna win, you see!!”

“This isn’t a contest!” you retorted, watching him closely. It would be hard to tell with the boar pelt on his head if he got into trouble. 

“I remember that loud guy,” mumbled the other Demon Slayer, also looking in Boar Boy’s direction. “He was on Mount Natagumo.” 

Hosoi’s shivering calmed. “Hey, this haori is super warm,” he remarked. 

You shot him a scathing look. “If you’d stuck around to learn Flame Breathing, you’d probably be nice and toasty right now. And what’s Mount Natagumo?”

Hosoi and the other Demon Slayer shared a knowing glance. “I was on the Mount Natagumo mission, too,” Hosoi said, his voice grim. “Murata here and I were super lucky to survive. Most got wiped out. Turned out that the whole thing was the work of Lower Rank Five. In the end, they had to send two Hashira in.”

Murata shivered, remembering. “I had to give the report afterward to the higher ups because I was the only survivor of the advance squad. It took over three hours! I thought I was going to die of fear. The Hashira are so scary!” He wiped his face on his discarded jacket. “If you’re good now Hosoi, I guess it’s time for me to get back in the waterfall. Also, sorry.” He bowed quickly in your direction. “I’m Murata. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before?”

“Kujaku,” you introduced yourself, bowing your head. “I’ve been in training. Nice to meet you.” You followed him into the water and instantly regretted being born. 

Breathe! Damn, that’s cold!! Breathe, breathe!!”

You had no choice but to rely on Total Concentration Breathing now. Wading to the waterfall, you shouldered into it beside Boar Boy. The weight of the water bore down on you steadily and you squeezed your eyes shut, in agony. 

“Let’s do a chant or some prayers!!” Murata shouted over the crashing water, pointing to the stone Fudo Myo-o statue by the shore. “So if one of us passes out, it’s obvious!” You nodded, panting hard. Faintly, you heard Boar Boy grunt, to your great relief.

Though you chanted along, all your focus swirled around the core of your body. You imagined it as a flame, flickering in and out as you fought to keep yourself from being dashed into a million pieces by the freezing pressure. Counting the seconds turned into counting your breaths, and that turned into a sensation of being far away, the chanting so far in the background that you could barely hear it. 

“Man, Kujaku’s been in there for hours.”

“Hey, it’s Flame-Tsuguko!” 

You fought to maintain your focused state as other Demon Slayers cycled into and out of the waterfall around you. 

“If you get in by Kujaku, it’s kind of warmer.” 

“Hey, make room!” 

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the waterfall, but when you finally got out, the sun had migrated to the other side of the sky and all the other Demon Slayers in the encampment stared at you like they’d seen a ghost when you returned. 

“Time to lift logs?”

“Nah! Time to eat, you crazy monster!” 

You wrung water out of your clothes morosely. “Well, that’s a rude thing to call someone…” Murata handed you a bowl of soup, a concerned look on his face. 

After the soup, you were shuffled off to join the fish-catching team, where you found Boar Boy making a ruckus. You helped to haul in a handmade basket trap, full of wriggling mackerel. 

Everyone could cook their own fish on skewers. You roasted a few in the sand around one of the many campfires, Hosoi seated quietly beside you. 

“What happened to Hasegawa?” you asked him, handing him a serving of pickles. He crunched on one thoughtfully before responding. 

“He’s still at Kanroji’s. Kanroji wouldn’t let us leave until we were able to do this thing called the Reverse Kitty Paw Screw Kick.” 

You laughed. “Yeah, I had to do that, too.” 

The fire crackled and Hosoi looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. You checked the fish, hoping the skin would get crispy. 

“Hey, Kujaku…” he managed, looking uncomfortable. You leaned back next to him, ready for whatever it was.

“Yeah?”

“What happened to Ito?”

Alright, you were not ready for that. You must have looked stunned and horrified because Hosoi immediately started backtracking.

“No! Sorry, I mean… I heard that he, well, umm…” Hosoi gripped the fabric of his trousers tightly. “I heard he died. But no one really heard much besides that. We weren’t sure what happened but he was a cool guy, really well-liked. There were some unsavory rumors about Rengoku-sama after it happened, too, since he was under his charge at the time.”

Grief turned to indignation in an instant. “Master had nothing to do with it,” you retorted angrily. “Ito went on a mission and just didn’t come back.” You bit your lip, scowling hard. “Master even went to try to find him and his squad when they didn’t report, but it was too late. All that the crow was able to say was that they ran into Lower Rank Four.” 

“The Lower Ranks have all disappeared, did you know?” Hosoi’s voice was quiet, knowing he’d struck a nerve. “No one has seen a single one since Ito’s mission failed.” 

“I don’t know,” you said shortly, wanting this conversation to be over. You felt slimy and angry and still regretful with the knowledge that of the two of you, Ito had been the stronger one. His life had been cut short too soon.

“If he had survived, he would have become the successor to Flame Breathing, not me,” you said quietly. “So, don’t speak ill of Master. I’m sure he wishes every day that Ito hadn’t died.” 

Hosoi sighed loudly. “I don’t necessarily agree, though I didn’t stick around long enough to say how strong Ito really was,” he said, glancing at you from the side. “You were in that waterfall for six hours. No one else has been able to stay in there for even just one hour yet, and some of them have been here for weeks. You’re so far ahead of everyone here that your abilities are probably closer to a Hashira’s than to ours and it’s been less than a year that you’ve been training under Rengoku-sama. Do you know how insane that is?” 

“It’s a testament to Master’s strength, not mine,” you responded, plucking the skewered fish up from its spot. You blew on it to cool it off. 

“Nah, Kujaku, that’s probably part of it, but it’s mostly you blazing away under there. I lasted four days. You’ve gone on for a year. I even heard you struck Rengoku-sama in a sparring match. That man is a monster, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“He’s just a human, like you,” you mumbled, cowed by Hosoi’s misplaced confidence in you. 

“To you, maybe, but to the rest of us? He’s one of the nine leaders of the Corps, eight now that Uzui-sama’s retired, and we do insane work to begin with. Rengoku-sama might as well be a fairy tale to most of us. I still can’t believe sometimes that I’ve met him, much less tried to train under him. Have faith in yourself, Kujaku. The rest of us do.” 

You looked at Hosoi, eyebrows raised. He laughed. 

“When they call you a crazy monster, it’s a compliment.” 

Days rapidly turned into weeks and your training settled into an unpleasant routine. Himejima’s training was not required and other Demon Slayers dropped out in droves around you. One cold night, you realized that it was just you, Hosoi, Murata, and Boar Boy left, all the others having given up. 

The waterfall was manageable. The logs were enormous, but you could work your way up to carrying more of them. But the boulder remained there, unmoved, and as the days wore on, winter turned into early spring, but no one had moved the boulder so much as a tiny inch. 

As spring deepened, more Demon Slayers came up the mountain, word having spread that the river was starting to warm and the waterfall training would be less agonizing. The encampment swelled in size and you realized that while the various ranks of the Demon Slayers were passing the other Hashira training sessions in waves, not a single one had yet passed Himejima’s. Morale around the camp was low and people gave up quickly when they arrived to learn no one had passed. 

Was it even possible to move the rock? Conspiracies floated around that the rock was actually anchored to the ground, and that it was some horrible Buddhist metaphor for suffering. Himejima remained cryptic on the matter, only fueling the discouraging rumors. 

Then, as the cherry trees started budding, everything changed. 

“Aaarrghh!! C’mon! Rengoku’s doing it, he’s doing it!”

“Doing what?”

“Pushing the rock!”

“Wait, Rengoku’s here?! Badass!!! I wanna see!” 

A small crowd had gathered to watch as your master slowly pushed the rock along the ground, leaving a deep groove in its wake. You watched a vein throb in his forehead as he continued to shove against it, his teeth visibly clenched. 

“Hey, Ol’ Goggle-Eyes!!!” Boar Boy flopped onto the ground next to you. “I’m not gonna lose, you wait!!!” At that, Rengoku appeared to notice he had an audience and he waved back, laughing. 

“Ugh, he can laugh like that?! What an asshole!”

“Ey, don’t call him that. He’s awesome!”

Nearly the whole camp forgot about their training for the next hour while Rengoku finished pushing the rock along the distance. As he finally moved it across the finish line, an explosion of cheers erupted, sending flocks of birds scattering into the air. 

“Yeahhh!!! I’m gonna do it, too, you just watch!”

“Hahahahaa! Fat chance, Rengoku-sama just makes it look easy! It’s gonna take a million years for you!”

You stared, a disgusted expression on your face as you descended slowly back down to reality. And that reality was that you still had a long, long, long way to go. 

“Kujaku!” Rengoku wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand as he strode over to you. His jaw looked like it had fully healed and he wore a huge grin on his face. You froze, suddenly warm all over. He’d still neglected to cut his hair and it had grown longer than ever. Glistening with perspiration in the spring sunshine, he looked so beautiful that you spun on your heel and ran away. 

“Nope!” Laughing, Rengoku seized you by the back of your collar and you fell backward, right onto your ass. Covered in sweat and mud and still drenched from the waterfall, you looked like a drowned rat. 

“Let me go, Master! I can’t face you like this! My heart isn’t ready!” you screamed, scrambling away from him into a shrub. 

“Wow! Good to see you, Kujaku! It has been so long! I am ready for my reunion kiss now!” Laughing even harder, he loomed over you like a sunshine-filled curse and you glanced around nervously, the commotion drawing some stares. You sobbed, covering your face with your hands.

“Not here, Master! People are watching! Just please, wait until we go back!! I beg you! I’ll do anything!!” You curled yourself into a ball, your sobs probably attracting the bulk of the unwanted attention. 

Rengoku’s laughs settled into a kind smile. “That’s a deal, Kujaku!” There was something highly dangerous about that line, but you’d manage it later. 

Rengoku’s successful move of the boulder lit a fire under the other Demon Slayers and they got to work on trying to do it themselves. You faced down your own boulder, still incredulous. 

“What’s the trick?” you asked, slapping it. Yes, it was very solid. 

“Hmm! Well, you have to push it until it moves! Try putting more strength in with your legs!” Rengoku folded his arms in front of him. “Give it a try!” 

You heaved your shoulder against it but it didn’t budge an inch. Your feet slid backward in the dirt and, every muscle tensed with the effort, you shoved and shoved, but got nowhere.

“Right!” Rengoku looked you up and down, nodding. “You’re doing it right, but also not!” 

You frowned, sighing. He laughed. 

“I’ll explain, so don’t look so sad, Kujaku. Do you know Lao Tzu? He said, ‘A journey of a thousand li begins under one’s feet!’ And that applies here very nicely!” He stood beside you and anchored his shoulder against the rock. It moved just a tiny bit and he smiled.

“You have to do that, over and over, until you reach the finish line! It doesn’t take one huge, long sustained effort. It is the culmination of a thousand little efforts. Use your Total Concentration Breathing and try it.” 

You tried and to your utter surprise, the rock moved ever so slightly. 

“Good! Now, again!” 

It took you eighteen hours to move the rock to the finish line. To his credit, your master stayed with you as you inched along and remained silent, allowing you to focus. But as you inched the rock across the finish line, cheers erupted behind you and you noticed that the rest of the camp had joined in to watch you finish. 

Unfortunately, you couldn’t hear what they had to say to you because you collapsed at that moment, every muscle in your body having turned into mush. 

“Time… to go… to Uzui-sama’s house,” you mumbled into the dirt. You couldn’t so much as manage to twitch, much less walk, and Rengoku shook his head as he slung your limp arm around his shoulders to help you stand. 

“Why are you here, anyway, Master?” you finally asked. Your feet dragged behind you as he led you back to camp. 

“The Hashira can participate in the other trainings, too! But mainly, I came to get you.” He plopped you down onto a stump by a fire. You glanced around. Most of the other Demon Slayers were hard at work, trying to push their own rocks out in the distance. Rengoku handed you a canteen, which you accepted gratefully. 

“I still have two more Hashira to go to,” you admitted sheepishly. Himejima’s training had cost you almost two whole months. “I haven’t been to Uzui-sama’s or Tokito-sama’s trainings yet.”

“Hmmm. Well, Uzui’s training is mostly for endurance running, and Tokito’s is for sword reflexes. I am confident that you would have few challenges, but regardless, it is not an option for you to continue.” He smiled at you faintly as water dribbled down your chin. You were so exhausted you could barely swallow. “You are being ordered to return immediately.” 

Orders? You sighed. “Do I have a mission?”

“Not in that way. The Master is now fully bedridden. He seems unlikely to live much longer.” Rengoku’s voice was grave. “You are being ordered back to try to complete your training with me as quickly as possible. So you can carry forward my techniques, and my legacy.” 

You blinked slowly at Rengoku, tired of everything, but mostly tired of the constant looming idea that he was about to die. “Are you going to die, Master?” you asked for the umpteenth time, knowing he was about to laugh and brush you off.

“It is certainly possible!” he immediately replied and you stared at him, mouth dropping open. He laughed disarmingly and you shook your head. 

“The Master has shared that it is likely we will be fighting Kibutsuji Muzan head on in the coming weeks. He is working to ensure the cooperation of an individual who, if they can complete the needed preparations in time, will increase the chances of our success. But as of now, it’s predicted that… Hmm.” He regarded you with a careful look and you frowned. 

“It’s predicted that every one of the Hashira, and more than nine out of ten of our combat ranks will be killed. Also, it’s anticipated that Kibutsuji Muzan will escape alive.” 

“Well,” you said, leaning back on the stump and feeling more futile than you ever had in your whole life. “I should probably go on a vacation, then, not train with you. Sounds like we’re all just going to die in short order, so I should probably greet my parents and go find myself a beach.” 

Rengoku shook his head, the faint smile on his face not going away. “That’s not really necessary, Kujaku. You’re not going into battle.” 

Your hand, too exhausted to do anything, migrated on its own toward your katana anyway. 

“How dare you, Master!” you snarled, stumbling to your feet and almost falling into the fire. “Fight me! And if I win, you’re taking that back!” Over the past two months, you’d learned some bad habits from Boar Boy. 

“These aren’t my orders,” he said quietly but still with a smile. He made no move to draw his weapon. “Currently, the Master’s orders are for all active Tsuguko to fall back in the event Muzan resurfaces. There is a hidden rendezvous for each of you. You’ll wait there for further orders. And if orders do not come, you will presume to replace us. You will need to show strength, leadership, and patience. And you will become the next pillars that will support the Demon Slayer Corps for the coming generations.”

“So, you’re just going to go off like that, then?!” you snapped, your foot sliding around in the ashes. “Going to go off and die, along with every other person here, and all for nothing?!” 

Rengoku rose to his feet, danger flashing in his eye. “Will you disobey your orders, Kujaku?” he said calmly. There was a threat in his question, though. “Muzan is regrouping his forces now and his aim is to wipe us out. Not just me, not just you, but every single remnant of the Demon Slayer Corps’ existence. Your orders are to ensure the Corps’ survival. That is the highest mission above all. It does not matter if I die. It does not matter if any of the Hashira die. If we have done our duty, protected what matters, and ensured there is a future for our cause, we will gladly die!” No longer smiling, his expression turned to a pleading one. 

“If you refuse to accept, I’ve failed in my duties as your master.” His expression was pained and you knew what he meant to say but didn’t want to. 

If you didn’t accept these impossible orders, he would die anyway, leaving behind nothing. 

Trembling all over, you leaned against him, trying to commit everything about him to your memory– the way he breathed, the way he smelled, the sound of his pulse beating under your ear. He placed a hand on your back, permitting you your moment. 

He stared out into the distance, seeming to see something you just couldn’t, and though you were there, surrounded by his warmth, he already felt far away. 

Chapter Text

You spent another day at Himejima’s camp, recovering your muscles and bidding your farewells to the other Demon Slayers. You even hugged Boar Boy, who screamed so loudly that you punted him into the river with your surprise. As you bowed to Himejima himself, thanking him for the training, he imparted some words to you.

“In the ongoing cycle of death and rebirth, each turn of the wheel is filled with more challenges and temptations than the last. Want for nothing, and you too can break the cycle and transcend beyond the suffering.”

You looked down, thoughtful. “I don’t want to be reborn, so I’ll keep your advice in mind,” you said, turning away from him with a final bow. “Thank you, Hashira-sama.” 

You rejoined Rengoku at the foot of the mountain, where he handed you a deep, square box of lunch. You weren’t even remotely hungry. 

“The first order of business will be to learn the Fourth Form of Flame Breathing,” he described, looking thoughtful. “Flame Breathing leans heavily on its offensive techniques, physical power, and gaining the initiative in battle for an advantage. The Fourth Form is one of our few defensive techniques, so it’s very effective to fend off a wide range of attacks.” 

“Master, how many forms do I need to learn?” you managed weakly, wrapping a violet cloth around your lunch so you could carry it with you.

“Three,” he replied simply. “But there is a rite of passage for the last one that will take most of our time.” 

“Diving into a volcano?” you suggested only half jokingly. Rengoku laughed. 

“No, you will see!” 

“Fantastic, I love surprises,” you replied, sarcastic. 

“Good!” Rengoku was in high spirits again but you weren’t. Quite frankly, you could imagine being in a bad mood for the rest of your life like this. 

Upon your return to the training ground, your master wasted no time. Demonstrating the Fourth Form, Blooming Flame Undulation, he swept his real katana through the air in an elegant arc, the blade seeming to shift in and out of your vision, rippling with heat. 

“Come at me with your katana,” he invited, beckoning with his hand. “You won’t cut me, so don’t hold back.” 

As requested, you lunged for him, opting for the fastest sword draw your sore arm could manage. Your blade flashed diagonally before you and as your master’s sword arced around, you feared he’d missed blocking you. But then, suddenly, you were on your ass, your katana airborne. You watched it tumble away, landing with a loud clang on the familiar rock you’d always sat on after losing a match. Rengoku walked over and retrieved it for you. 

“Now you try.” He took a stance. “Defend yourself, Kujaku.”

“Why are we using our real swords?” you asked, gripping the handle of yours tightly. If this didn’t work, you could be in real trouble. 

“The Fourth Form can only be used with a Nichirin Blade. It harnesses the specific defensive properties of the Nichirin steel in your katana.” Rengoku planted his foot in the dirt and your breath caught in your throat. “Here I come!” 

You cursed, parrying him instead of attempting the form, your heart in your throat. 

“Have faith in your katana, Kujaku. It will protect you if you let it. Again!” 

Eyes tightly closed, you blocked him again, arms quivering with the strain. 

“Again!”

After more than a dozen lost attempts, you sheathed your katana. 

“I can’t raise my blade against you, Master,” you insisted.

Rengoku smiled knowingly, sheathing his own sword. “Very well. Let’s take a short break.” He left you alone and you sat on the rock, wondering what was wrong with you. Were you afraid? Rengoku’s presence was like a wild animal’s; having him coming at you with a real sword wasn’t the easiest thing. But it wasn’t like you to be afraid of a confrontation. Smashing Shinazugawa’s face hadn’t been exactly hard. You hadn’t even flinched when he’d punched you back. 

You were trapped and you knew it. Was that your fear? You hugged your knees to your chest, frothy cherry blossom petals blowing in from the trees. An ephemeral life, just like the flowers. In the grand scheme of everything, did you matter? Did Rengoku matter? Would it make a difference, knowing how to do the Fourth Form?

“Want for nothing…” you repeated Himejima’s words aloud. “And break the cycle.” You closed your eyes, the warm breeze brushing you softly. Fears, and wants. Those were the things that didn’t matter. 

Rengoku reappeared with a cup of hot tea. He sat quietly on the rock and handed it to you. 

You wanted Rengoku to survive. You feared that he would die. You wanted to love Rengoku for the rest of a long lifetime, the sun setting many more times on a world without demons. You feared that you’d lose him in the process of that world taking form. You feared the responsibility that was being abruptly forced on you. You wanted your master to say something that meant that he wanted and feared the same things as you. 

The steam from the cup rose into your eyes and the weight of your fears and wants was suddenly too much to bear. It would be best, easiest, if none of these things mattered any more. 

Detaching yourself with the right mindset had never been a problem for you. You stood up from the rock, the tea forgotten. From now until the end, you’d press forward with a single mind. 

“Let’s continue, Master.” 

Rengoku faced you, his stance as familiar as everything else about him and you let those attachments flow away with your breaths as you gripped your katana. As he raced toward you, brows furrowed, you ignored the resolute look in his eye that reflected the flames inside of him that you’d admired so much. You’d never been able to stoke that kind of passion in your own heart, but admiration was just another brand of desire and it flowed away with everything else as you braced yourself, katana gripped tightly. 

“Flame Breathing, Fourth Form! Blooming Flame Undulation!”

Though you weren’t sure where your swords actually clashed, Rengoku’s blade ricocheted away from you as if it had hit a solid wall. Recoiling from the impact, his feet skidded backward and, steadying himself, he smiled. 

“Very fast, Kujaku! I am impressed! You’ve successfully managed the form and you took much less time than I took to pull it off when I learned!! How admirable you are! I am so proud.” He sheathed his katana and gave you a beautiful smile that brought a hollow ache to your chest. You struggled to let your attachment to his smile flow away, too, tears filling your eyes on their own. You bowed your head and they dripped straight to the ground. 

“Kujaku, are you crying?”

You wiped your face on your sleeve, raising your eyes to his face. You shook your head.

“I’m just sweating, Master. I feared you were going to cut me down,” you lied, sheathing your own katana. “There are two other forms and no time. I’ll do my best to learn, so please.” You bowed to him, your whole expression struggling to stay neutral. “I’m in your hands, Master.” 

He smiled at you again and you turned away from him so your heart would stop breaking. 

“I agree there isn’t much time, but let’s not sacrifice depth for breadth. We’ll spend the next few days ensuring you’ve fully mastered the four foundational forms. While the other two forms are important, the first four form the basis of Flame Breathing and you must be adept at each of them before attempting to go further.” Rengoku assumed a stance again and you drew your sword once more. 

Three days passed with barely a break, and even after enduring the other Hashira trainings, you struggled to force your body to keep up. Reaching your physical and mental limits was a familiar feeling for you, but as the hours pressed on, you perceived Rengoku as more of a constant force of nature rather than as your master, and you realized that he was feeling desperation in a different sense. Realistically, he should have been preparing and training his own body and techniques with these last precious few days but he was training you, and the meaning of that fact wore on you despite your efforts. 

But to your surprise and devastation, there was a feast at the end of the third day, complete with a bonfire into which your master had pre-loaded countless sweet potatoes. It wasn’t the right season for it and you curled yourself into a ball on the ground outside the house, knowing that he probably just wanted to have another sweet potato fire before the end. Simple wants, simple gestures. All you could think of was that your master was cheerfully preparing to die and you couldn’t stand it, no matter how you tried to detach yourself from the truth. 

It was like he was dangling it in front of your face but you could never blame him for doing as he wanted. 

Aggressively, you forced down a dozen sweet potatoes that night, trying to keep him from talking to you. It didn’t really work; you just couldn’t respond, but he talked at you anyway, about anything. He not only visited Himejima’s training, but also Tokito’s. Tomioka and Kocho didn’t host any training and he admired their unusual friendship. Uzui had three whole wives, could you believe it? Why would any man need three wives? You could think of a few reasons, but thankfully your mouth was too full of sweet potato to share. 

When the sweet potatoes ran out, you got up, brushing your trousers off. 

“I’m going to sleep,” you said shortly, turning to go. “Good night.” 

“Kujaku!” His smile was brilliant as he twisted around to look at you. “You’ve been working so hard.” Expression softening, he looked almost sheepish. 

“Thank you, Kujaku.”

You couldn’t help the look of horror that crossed your features, so you turned away without another word, sequestering yourself away in the bathhouse. You had to let it go, let it all go away, like the petals after a rainstorm in the early spring. 

“Break the cycle,” you repeated, lowering yourself to your knees and burying your face in your hands. Overcome with uncontrollable sobs, you just couldn’t let it go. His smile stuck in your mind like it lived there now and, curled against the side of the warm bathtub, you struggled to compose yourself, terrified that Rengoku was eventually going to come looking for you and find you like this. 

As you were thinking this, the door slid open and you flinched, scrubbing at your face aggressively. 

“Kujaku, don’t get in the bath with your clothes on…” 

“I wasn’t,” you immediately retorted, sighing. “I just felt cold.”

“By the fire?” He approached you and you flinched again, your knees held tightly to your chest. You didn’t answer. 

“Want to bathe together?” he asked, seemingly content with your cold shoulder. “I need to wash my hair. It’s rather smoky.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t want a bath,” you said, standing up.

“You’re in the bath house, though?”

“I just wanted to be alone. Sorry. I’ll go to bed properly.” You went to the door but Rengoku clasped his hand around your wrist and you squeezed your eyes shut, knowing things were never easy or simple the way you wanted them. 

“Let’s take a bath, Kujaku! I’ve always liked how big the bathtub is here. It’s a lot bigger than the one at my house.” He smiled at you innocently and you took a deep breath, emptying your mind. 

“Yeah, fine,” you finally agreed, voice cracking. 

You helped your master wash his long hair. You washed his back dispassionately, wordlessly, as if you were washing a window. You let him wash your back, too, imagining that his hands were anyone else’s. 

Submerged now in the bathtub, you faced him, your knees drawn to your chest. Inexplicably, he started laughing. 

“Kujaku, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Am I bothering you? I’m sorry to insist since you said you wanted to be alone, but I didn’t want to be alone, so here we are! Perhaps that was rude of me. Sorry.” 

“Master,” you managed, planting your nose between your clenched kneecaps. “Please be quiet.” 

“Oh?” He was quiet then, a smile lingering on his face. 

You closed your eyes against your knees, counting. Five minutes seemed like long enough to stay. You felt Rengoku watching the top of your head. 

Suddenly, you felt warm arms close around you and your eyes flashed open, your heart leaping into your throat. 

“Come here,” he said softly, spinning you around so that your back touched his chest. He held you gently, one arm over your collarbone and his other hand ran along your stomach, raising goosebumps all over your limbs despite the warm water. Extremely conscious of the feeling of his groin pressed against your bare ass, you let out a yelp of indignation. 

“MASTER WE ARE NOT WEARING ANYTHING.” 

“Kujaku, I thought you wanted it to be quiet? Also, we haven’t been wearing anything this whole time, so…” He sighed but you felt him quivering with laughter. 

You started to cry as if a dam had burst. You would be so pleased with this if the circumstances were literally anything else. 

“Master, p-pleeasee… Please just let me forget about my feelings for you,” you sobbed, tears mingling with the hot bathwater. “I can’t do this.” 

To your surprise, he was surprised. “Why are you saying that, Kujaku? Do you hate me now?”

You shook your head but couldn’t say anything. Helpless, you curled up tighter but it only made Rengoku hold you even closer, the heat radiating off his skin making you dizzy.

“... I could never forget about my feelings for you, Kujaku,” he said quietly, his face by your ear. “I would never want to try, either.” Warm lips touched your cheek and he kissed you there, tasting your tears. 

You couldn’t put your grief into words that wouldn’t leave the both of you with the taste of regret in your mouths, so you swallowed it whole, realizing you’d have no choice but to process it later, after everything was over. How could you say no to him when he was right there, loving you? Even if it was selfish of him, you immediately forgave him. 

After all, you just loved him. 

Finally, you relaxed your body, settling into his arms. The best you could do was capture this moment in your memory, just in case. You closed your eyes, memorizing how warm it felt, the tickle of his drying hair dangling by your face, his steady breathing, his hand splayed against your stomach. When he leaned down to kiss your lips, you committed that to your memory, too, raising wet fingers to run along the features of his face. Broad forehead, thick brows, long eyelashes. Soft cheek, small chin, strong jaw. It was enough. 

You stayed in the bath so long that the water grew cold. And after that, you shared your futon with your master, unable to let go of how warm he was and how cold you felt. He kissed you again and again as simply as he breathed. 

You didn’t cry again.  

You’d seen Rengoku execute the Fifth Form once and the footwork was so complex that you’d written it off straightaway, but there you were, having your stance adjusted so minutely that Rengoku was on the ground, his hands gripping your ankles, moving your feet around as if you were a doll. You weren’t sure what to do with your arms or your face, a permanently confused expression having taken up residence there. 

“You just have to imagine where each strike is precisely placed and line your stance up accordingly,” he explained. “The footwork is important, but it will come to you naturally if you know exactly where you want each movement to land.” 

“Where DO I want each to land?!” you asked, swiping your practice sword around randomly. 

Your master went and picked up a rock and started drawing on the ground.

“The Fifth Form is actually the precursor move to the Ninth Form,” he said, etching out a really vague outline of a person. “Let’s talk basics. There are four target zones in kendo: the head, throat, arms, and trunk.” You nodded, still not following.

“The Fifth Form demands that you target each area simultaneously. Twice, the head.” He drew a pair of stupid-looking round ears by the head. “Then, twice the throat. Since our opponents are demons, we use a side slash from each side instead of a single thrust.” He drew two lines on either side of the neck. “A strike to each arm, or flank.” Two more lines. “And a wide sweeping attack to the lower part of the trunk.” A long, curved line was drawn. 

“See, it’s a tiger!”

You squinted. If you looked at it the right way, it kind of looked like a screwed up face, but definitely not a tiger. 

“Yeah…” 

“So first, go slowly and try to hit each mark. Memorize how your feet move as you strike each point. The aim is to move quickly enough so that all seven strikes essentially hit within the same moment.”  

Seven strikes, two arms, and one sword. The idea was impossible but somehow, it could be done. 

Just maybe not by you. 

“Come on, Kujaku! Become the tiger!” 

You wailed. “What the hell does that even mean?!” 

“Hm! You’re right, I also don’t know!! Hahaha!”

Moving faster and faster, you found that your master had been right. The footwork came along on its own, but hitting all seven targets in the same instant demanded the same inhuman upper body strength that you’d always been challenged to produce. 

Overcome with an intense heat, you collapsed to your knees, panting. Three more days passed like this and you felt as though you were burning up inside, your breaths bottled up in your chest as your movements grew tighter and tighter. As the sun set on the week, Rengoku sat you on the rock and rubbed poultice into your shoulders to ease the pain you were in. 

“You’re working so hard, Kujaku,” he said, glancing skyward as a crow circled overhead. However, it didn’t linger for long, taking one look at the two of you before heading westward. 

“Let’s start working on the Ninth Form tonight.” He stood up and went inside, presumably to get something. You leaned back on the rock, exhausted. The Ninth Form was the final form you had to learn and you hadn’t yet mastered the Fifth Form. Unsure, you watched the sun continue its descent below the horizon, draping the training ground in dim shadows. 

Rengoku returned holding a book. Could it be that such a convenient thing existed? 

“The Guide to Flame Breathing?” you asked, frowning. “Seriously? There’s an instruction manual?!”

Rengoku laughed. “Indeed! It was written by one of my ancestors. He feared he would die before the family could produce an heir and he had no Tsuguko, so he spent his final months frantically writing this book. I must admit, it is almost useless if you have someone to instruct you properly, but I had to use it to learn the Fourth and Fifth Forms. Unfortunately, the Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth Forms have been lost to time. No one alive quite knows what they were, and by the time this book was written, they had already been forgotten.” 

He turned to the back of the book and opened it to an elaborate ink painting of a dragon. Clutched in its claws was a rosary of nine pearls. 

“The pictures were added later by a lovely lady named Asagao. I think the wife of the twenty-second Flame Hashira? Or twenty-third? Our family has had portraits done of many of the people who married into our family over the generations. All of the children look almost the same, so unless there are portraits, there is no way to tell what some of our ancestors looked like!” He gave you a gentle smile and you looked away, cheeks hot. 

He turned the page again and though the text was antiquated and hard to read, you slowly made your way down the page. It seemed to describe a rite of passage needed before you could proceed with the Ninth Form. 

“Umm.” You squinted, checking again to make sure what you were reading was right. 

“Are you for real?!?!” You spluttered, rubbing your eyes aggressively. “Seven days?! Of nonstop…”

“Eating.”

“Why?!?!!” You cried, sobs turning into a hoarse scream as Rengoku slid the door to the house open, revealing beyond the entryway that the table had already been spread with every food imaginable. 

“Don’t you usually fast before this kind of thing?! What the hell is this???”

Rengoku smiled, shrugging. 

You turned the page again, but it only contained recipes. In fact, the rest of the book was just recipes.

“Is the Ninth Form just… a giant feast?”

He shook his head, gesturing you inside. “No, it’s not. It’s a real sword form. But it isn’t written in the book because it’s a secret. If this book were stolen, all you’d find out about it is that you have to eat for a week before you can learn it!”

You sobbed, already very slowly eating the corner of a rice ball. If you were going to eat nonstop for a week, you were going to eat very, very slowly. You weren’t sure how you were going to sleep, but you suspected the answer was just that you wouldn’t. 

“Good, Kujaku! I also recommend you eat slowly. When I did it, I was so excited that I ate up everything on the table right away and was sick by the third hour!” 

“This is such a huge waste of food, Master… I’m kind of offended by it.” 

“Well, you’re going to eat it all, so it won’t go to waste!”

“Waaaauuughhhh…”

Over the coming hours, Rengoku cheerfully explained the mechanics of the Ninth Form to you. 

“The Ninth Form, Rengoku, is an attack that pours out your whole life into your blade. Its power can carve out every single thing in this world. More than a few of my predecessors gave their lives when they used it, single mindedly focused on taking down the enemy. You may sacrifice your whole self to use it, but it will ensure your victory without fail.” He paused, looking awfully cheerful for the fact that he seemed to be describing a suicide technique. 

“It isn’t clear if the technique is named for my family, or if my family was named after the technique. But I’ve used it a few times without any particular repercussions, so if you prepare your body and mind in the right way, you will be able to do it without fear of danger!” He gestured at the table and you groaned. 

Apparently, the technique used so much muscle strength and energy that if you didn’t eat enough or condition your body enough, your body would essentially implode on itself. You stuffed the rest of the rice ball into your mouth whole. 

After about twelve hours, you had an acceptable cadence established. Five minute nap. Eat. Repeat. According to the book, short breaks were permitted “to enjoy conversation.” There was no way you were doing that. You strongly suspected that your master had been building you up over the past year to this moment. Before you’d started, you’d had a normal appetite, and now you had little trouble polishing off a dozen tempura on your own. Sighing at how unpractical and uncool you found it, you chewed on a piece of wobbly bean jelly languidly. 

“Here, Kujaku! Try some of the bean jam pastries; they’re great!” Rengoku had joined your feast gladly but you watched him with a skeptical eye. 

“Don’t overdo it, Master… Your stomach.”

He looked really sad and you wondered if he was hoping you’d forgotten. 

After the week was over, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to eat a single thing ever again. Four hours of rest were permitted before the actual training, so you slept deeply, feeling like a cat that had just binged itself into a stupor. 

“I became the tiger…” you mumbled, falling asleep on the floor at the table.

You woke up, cloaked in a haze of heat. Did you have a fever? Your limbs felt steady but you struggled to see straight. As if in another world, you watched as Rengoku demonstrated the form. And even though he was using a wooden sword, he managed to fell ten trees with it. One of them burst into flames where it’d been cut, presumably from the intense speed and friction. You stared, horrified.

“Alright! Now you try, Kujaku.”

Ugh! You were so tired of these ridiculous new highs that you collapsed to your knees, sweating profusely. Your body felt like a stone at the bottom of a lake. 

“Master, did you try that on Upper Rank Three?” You remembered how badly Rengoku had been injured. 

“I did, yes! He didn’t die, though.” 

In despair, you curled into a little ball and let out an indescribable high-pitched noise. 

A crow circled overhead again, calling down at you impatiently. 

“Get up, Kujaku-sama! There’s no time!”

“Shut up, shut up!!” you shouted back, heat wavering in your vision. You staggered to your feet and assumed the unusual stance your master had started with. Taking a deep breath that circulated to the tips of your fingers and toes, you launched yourself forward. 

Chapter Text

If the Fifth Form was a tiger, the Ninth Form was a dragon. 

“Become the dragon, Kujaku!” Rengoku called after you as you made your eightieth attempt. You’d broken more than a dozen sparring swords. Your wrists were swollen. You’d bitten your lip and it hurt. Your Total Concentration Breathing had gone haywire again and the whites of your eyes were red with blood. 

“Again, Master. What does that mean?!”

“I don’t know, but it sounds like the right advice!” 

Great. 

“Alright, become the dragon, Kujaku. Become the dragon,” you breathed, sliding your foot back into the right stance for the eighty-first try. A crow settled onto the protruding ridge beam of the little house to watch you. 

You were the most uninspiring person you knew.

Why had you become a Demon Slayer, anyway?

There wasn’t any special meaning to it, really. 

The reasons for you joining were arrogant and you knew it. You were bored and wanted to get screwed up by something. Overall, your life lacked a sense of trauma. No passion. No drive. No motivation. There was just morning, noon, and night. 

Remembering all your non-reasons for doing anything of consequence, you felt screwed up, traumatized, and driven by the intensity of your utter futility, confused, battered, and beyond all, angry at yourself for… what? Being uncool?

“Flame Breathing!” you bellowed, tears streaming down your cheeks for both no reason and for every reason. 

Why did someone as lost and arrogant as you deserve strength, anyway? It would have been better to have been Ito. Senjuro. Anyone.

“Ninth Form!” 　

You dug your heel in, gasping with the weight of your grief. You’d barely even saved anyone. Why did you exist? Why did you join the Demon Slayer Corps? Did you belong there?

Did it matter?

“Rengoku!” 

A deafening crash echoed through the valley and the crow alighted from the ridge beam, flying west without delay. 

You coughed, collapsing to one knee. Everything was on fire. A tree came crashing down beside you and you edged out of the way, panting heavily. Your vision was glazed with heat and you looked down, finding that you’d broken another sparring sword. 

“Kujaku!” Your master was running toward you but you couldn’t move, your arms and legs failing to respond. He slung your arm over his shoulders and helped you up, supporting your weight. Your whole body drooped like a rag doll and he lifted you easily. 

Back in the house, you watched from the doorway as smoke rose from the forest, billowing high and black into the sky.

“Uhh, should we do something about that?” 

Rengoku stared out at it, an uncomfortable smile on his face. “It’ll go out by itself. It’s not that dry. Probably!” 

Ehhh…

But he wasn’t wrong and it went out by itself quickly, quicker than it took for you to regain the use of your legs. Still seated in the doorway, you slumped against the wall. 

“I’m hungry…” you mumbled, barely believing yourself. Your master chuckled.

“No wonder!” he said. “You put in a lot of effort! I’m constantly amazed by you, Kujaku! I couldn’t have asked for a better Tsuguko.”

“Don’t just say that because you like me, Master,” you groaned, slumping over onto your side. “You’re unbelievable. You won’t win points that way.”

“Hahaha! I really mean it, Kujaku!” He stuck a skewer of rice dumplings in your mouth.

“Mmmgff.” Your only possible reply. 

Your task for the coming days was to continue to master the Fifth and Ninth Forms while sparring continuously with your master. Exhausted to the bone, you pushed yourself beyond your limits, not wanting to miss a single moment. But after just a few days, he ordered you to sleep. 

“Kujaku, you haven’t been sleeping enough. Sleep for at least twelve hours and we will continue.”

“I can’t sleep, Master.” You folded yourself into your futon at his request but did not close your eyes.

He gave you a knowing look. “I’ll wake you if orders arrive,” he promised. 

You rustled around in your covers. “It’s not just that, Master.” you said bitterly. “I want to be with you a bit longer.” There wasn’t any point to lying. Rengoku smiled gently and you soaked him in like a potted plant in the sunshine. 

“Let’s make a deal.” He reached out, putting a hand on your forehead like you were a child. Frowning, you wiggled out from under it. 

“What is it?”

He looked uncomfortable and you wondered what it could be. He folded his hands in his lap politely. 

“You can stay up one more hour if…” He stopped and you stared, shocked, as a deep flush spread up from his neck to his cheeks and ears. 

“It cannot be that bad, Master. You have already felt me up in the bath.” You chuckled as his flush evolved into a flustered, indignant frown and your heart ached horribly. “What is it, Master? If it’s in my power, I’ll do anything.”

“Call me…” 

“Huh?”

“Can you call me by my given name? Just once.”

What a simple, sad request. Your eyes filled with tears against your wishes. 

“Of course I can do that. Kyojuro-san.” The tears overflowed and ran down your temples and your master leaned down, wrapping his arms around you and your covers, gripping you to him tightly, his face buried in your neck. You realized that he probably wanted to imagine that he was living another life where the two of you were just a normal couple, able to fall in love and stay together like that. Spend some lively and peaceful days together doing nothing much. Make your little lives together, maybe even having the privilege of growing old. 

You held him close, whispering his name into his hair again, wondering if he felt sad or comforted. Against your plans, both of you fell asleep in each other’s arms, and it was thankfully dreamless. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed but it was dark when you woke up. Rengoku was still asleep, which you were surprised to find. In the faint light of the moon, you found his forehead and placed a kiss on it before stealthily going to the kitchen to make something to eat. 

The only things you knew how to make were the bland recipes from the home remedies book, so you had to settle for rice soup, which tasted like air and sadness. As you sipped it, you understood why Rengoku wouldn’t want it. In some cases, maybe it was actually better to live for a good time, rather than a long time. You weren’t sure it was worth going on if this was the menu for the rest of your life. 

But you hated to waste food, so you finished it. 

You slid open the front door and sat in the entryway, reminiscing about the night you were about to run away. You’d agonized over it for so long that Rengoku had returned before you’d gotten anywhere further than putting your shoes on.

The sky opened and poured out a steady spring shower over the tiled roof. Clouds hung low, filtering the light of the moon and stars, and you leaned against the wall, wondering what had become of you since that night. Staring out into the mist, a feeling of unease settled over you, as if there was poison in the air and you were unwittingly breathing it in. 

Silent, your master, having awoken, seated himself beside you in the doorway. He draped your white haori over your shoulders, the golden tassels dangling in your view. 

“Come, Kujaku,” he beckoned. “Let’s get dressed. I don’t know how else to put it, but I think something may be wrong.”

Frowning, you followed him inside and dressed yourself quickly. You slid your katana into its place on your belt, apprehension rising in your stomach. You didn’t know how to put it, either, but you agreed, there was something different about tonight. It had grown altogether too silent. 

The minutes passed slowly and silently and as the rain dissipated, it turned into a miasma that clung to the ground eerily. 

“Kujaku, I have to tell you something. There are two ways things could go if Muzan appears. Neither is very good, but if he locates headquarters, then–”

A terrifying shriek pierced the night, lighting your blood aflame. You looked to the sky, Lawrence soaring frantically above, his purple ascot fluttering.

“Emergency summons!!” he screamed, his voice penetrating the eerie silence like a dagger. “Emergency summons!! Attack on the Ubuyashiki estate!! Attack on the Ubuyashiki estate!! Hashira, Rengoku Kyojuro-sama! Tsuguko, Kujaku _____-sama! Make haste!!” 

“We’re going, Kujaku!!” Rengoku roared, seizing you by the wrist and breaking into a sprint with strides so long he seemed to fly. A million questions whizzed through your boiling blood as you ran but you didn’t dare ask any of them, barely daring to breathe. Was it Muzan? Why were you summoned? What had Rengoku been about to explain to you? Had your orders changed? What was happening to the Ubuyashiki estate? 

You swallowed hard, knowing the Master was likely dead. 

You smelled it before you saw it, the stench of burning flesh and thick smoke coercing a gag from your throat. You covered your face with your sleeve and squinted through the darkness as Rengoku increased his pace frantically, his hand still clamped tightly around your wrist. 

And you felt him before you saw him, a fear that squeezed the breath out of you. But your master didn’t hesitate and if he felt the same thing, he didn’t indicate it.

The mansion was enveloped in a cloud of black smoke that parted in a dozen different directions all at once as a rainbow of blades pierced the darkness, a myriad of breaths. Your feet burned under you as you and Rengoku unsheathed your swords in perfect unison. 

“Flame Breathing, Third Form! Blazing Universe!”

Your blade appeared to disappear into the void and just for a moment, his eyes were on you and everything was black except those eyes, pupils slitted like a cat’s and your blood froze, knowing you were looking into the face of evil. 

But then the ground was gone and you were falling for real. Your eyes widened and a thousand doors flew by as you accelerated in the direction you could only guess to be down. Before you had the chance to think, an arm, almost as hard as a rock, caught you by the nape of the neck and the next thing you knew, you were hurtling through a screen door, the wooden frame splintering into a million pieces. 

You winced, finally having come to a stop, but the danger was far from over. Thankfully, you hadn’t lost your katana. Looking around, you observed that you seemed to be in a Japanese-style room. It would have been elegant if you hadn’t just crash landed into it. 

Where were you? It couldn’t be the inside of the mansion. The space was warped and twisted. Staggering to your feet, and moving to the doorway, the halls and rooms seemed to go into infinity. Instead of a courtyard, the veranda looked out into an endless abyss. You withdrew back into the room, unease prickling on the back of your neck. 

Amply lit with many lamps, you immediately noticed that you had been separated from the other Demon Slayers. 

But unfortunately, you weren’t alone. 

“Don’t die such a lame death,” said a voice that you didn’t know. It came from outside the room and you braced yourself, your hand gripping your katana tightly. As his footsteps approached, you felt an intense pressure, as if you were being stalked by a huge predator, and sweat beaded up on your forehead. Swallowing hard, you felt a strong premonition that death was near. 

As he rounded the corner into the room, the only thing you could see was his eyes and your stomach seized up, every nerve in your body lit on fire with a mix of fury and terror. 

“Upper Three…” you whispered, your body automatically assuming a stance. Your face contorted into an expression of pure, unadulterated hatred. 

“Upper Three!!!” you roared, your blade alive in your hand. You were at his throat in a second, teeth bared, mind blank. 

“Whoa?” He didn’t even flinch backward, instead moving forward to meet you directly. Your sword was stopped an inch from his neck and his eyes, as if goading you on, were an inch from your own. His eyelashes were pink and fear squeezed you as you tugged your blade free from where he’d caught it with his fingers. It took a huge effort to wrench it free, even though he’d just gripped it in his fingertips. 

Glaring, you sheathed your sword and tensed your legs and hands for a quick draw, trying to keep yourself composed. 

“Do I know you? You’re not a Hashira, but you remind me a little of someone… You’re not so weak, either, so that’s good.” He looked you up and down with interest. “Let’s talk a bit! I’m Akaza. Who are you?”

You clenched your teeth, brow furrowed. “Fuck you, Upper Rank Three. I’ll never give you the pleasure of knowing the name of the one who slew you.” 

He laughed and it lacked any malice, which sent a shiver down your spine. He almost sounded human. 

“That’s fun, I like it!” he laughed, raising his fists. “Well, mystery human, let’s fight. I’m glad I found you!” 

You didn’t even blink and he was in your face again, his fist already an inch from your chest. Time stopped for a moment and you stared at it, knowing it contained the force of a cannon ball. You remembered how your master had returned that morning and you realized in less than a single moment that if this monster struck you even once, it would mean your death. 

Panicking, you stumbled backward, his fist missing the center of your chest by a hair’s breadth. But the next hit came faster than you could manage your quick draw and you had no choice but to retreat, your katana still firmly in its sheath. Only your reflexes and will to survive would pull you out of this, and you were afraid to even breathe, knowing that the movement of your breaths could let his fists connect with you. 

Your breaths. 

Your breaths. 

Somehow, you had to breathe. 

“Come on! Weren’t you going to slay me? You haven’t even drawn your sword again,” he called, stopping his barrage of fists to assume a new stance. A breath finally flowed into you and though you knew in your gut that you stood no chance against this demon, you had to try. You took the opportunity to draw your sword. If you could somehow stop his arms… 

“Now you can easily cut off both your opponent’s arms like that.”

The First Form. That had been an odd observation at the time you’d first learned it, but you were glad for it now. Akaza, looking entertained, dashed for you again head on and you grounded yourself, watching his fists intently. The moment it came for you, you spun on your trailing foot and his punch grazed the skin of your cheek but you didn’t stop, your blade flashing out in a perfect arc as you came back around to face him.

“Flame Breathing, First Form! Unknowing Fire!”

As hoped, he raised both forearms to block you and you were grateful to watch your blade sizzle straight through his hard skin. Now you could have a moment without worrying about his stupid arms—

They grew back in less than a second and he aimed a fist directly into your side. You flinched backward but it wasn’t enough. You gasped in agony, the air forced from your lungs as your chest compressed, and you felt the distinct sensation of your ribs breaking. Staggering backward and shuddering with pain, you watched as a look of realization crossed over Akaza’s face. 

“I’m going to make a guess here!” he said cheerfully, looking more excited than ever. “You’re Kyojuro’s disciple!” 

He called him fucking Kyojuro.

Grimacing with anger and pain, you gripped your katana hard. 

“Flame Breathing, Fifth Form! Flame Tiger!”

It was no good. Your broken ribs stopped you from moving as fast as you wanted and you failed to connect. Dropping to one knee, you stabbed your katana into the tatami and leaned on it heavily, panting. You struggled to breathe.

You guessed that this was almost the end. 

How pathetic. 

“I hate you,” you spat, shoulders heaving. “Why do you exist? I wondered about you all the time. Someone who could bring him to the edge of death.” Pathetic tears dripped down your face, mixing with the blood from your grazed cheek. You were bursting from the inside, your frustration and anger seething out like a pot slowly boiling over. 

“I had to make that stupid nasty rice soup because of you. I had to eat it, too. I can’t even kill you. I hate you.” 

You dragged your sorry self to your feet and tugged your katana out of the tatami, drawing it back over your shoulder, digging your heel in behind you, preparing yourself for the Ninth Form. 

If you were going to die, it was going to be doing something cool. You couldn’t handle the idea of dying, curled up on a tatami mat like a coward. Your breath flowed through you as if it knew it would be your last. 

“That’s not bad,” Akaza observed, “But it isn’t nearly as good as Kyojuro’s!” 

You chose your last words carefully. 

“Nothing is as good as Kyojuro.” 

Chapter Text

“Haha! You’re weak after all. But out of respect for Kyojuro, I’ll kill you properly.” Akaza cracked his neck and you dug your foot in harder, willing your breath into every nerve and blood vessel in your body. 

“Technique Deployment, Crush Type.”  

You braced yourself, knowing your only chance to connect was to seize the initiative. 

“Flame Breathing, Ninth Form! Rengo–”

“Flame Breathing, Fourth Form! Blooming Flame Undulation!”

Flames burst in your face and you were abruptly knocked to the ground, Akaza’s fist barreling over you like a ramrod. His laughs were all you could hear as a hand clamped your arm, dragging you to your feet. 

“That’s insane, Kyojuro, you’re alive!! You’re crazy strong! Amazing!!” Akaza’s limbs parted the wave of flames in an instant and you held your breath, just then realizing that you weren’t dead. 

“My offer stands, Kyojuro! Become a demon!”

“Flame Breathing, Third Form! Blazing Universe!”

Stumbling in the direction you were being dragged in, you suddenly had no choice as the floor crumbled under you. Through the flames, you glimpsed your master’s haori flapping as he continued slashing the floor open, trying to gain distance between you and Akaza. With a great swing and a terrible cracking noise, the entire room gave in and you dashed after him, breathless, your katana still poised above your shoulder. 

As Akaza fell through the floor, presumably to the room below, his voice rang out again and your blood ran cold. 

“Kamado Tanjiro—!!!!!”

Fuck! You reached out and grabbed Rengoku by the back of his haori, feet already turning back.

“We have to go back! Master! When he fell through, Tanjiro-kun was down th–”

He wrenched your arm so hard you felt it shift in the socket. “We’re escaping, Kujaku!” he bellowed and for the first time ever, you sensed fear in your master’s voice. “I passed Kamado on the way up here; Tomioka was with him, so they’ll handle Upper Rank Three! You’re no match!” He glanced back at you and his face, contorted with a mixture of panic and determination, reminded you that he probably hadn’t expected to be with you at this moment, in this situation. 

You knew you hadn’t been a match for Upper Rank Three, but your pride took a hit anyway and it hurt. Or maybe it was your broken ribs. You struggled to get a breath in through the pain. Rengoku led you down a brightly lit hallway. Over the chasm, you watched countless crows spiraling, searching for your comrades without delay. Most of them wore a peculiar seal with a pattern that looked like an eye. 

“They’re reporting back on our locations so that we can better coordinate,” your master explained, also keeping his eye on the crows. He reached out, beckoning one down. 

“Have any rendezvous points been secured yet?” he asked, glancing back at you. “Kujaku needs to get first aid and join up with a squadron. Upper Three has engaged with Tomioka and Kamado.” 

The crow steered both of you down several corridors and as you approached a room that looked like a storage area, you started to hear voices. 

“Team Two! Team Two!” the crow called. “First aid! Tsuguko, Kujaku _____, injured in battle with Upper Rank Three!"

Two Demon Slayers rushed over, already brandishing a medical kit. You let your breath out gently, trying not to jar your ribs. 

"Upper Rank Six, Kaigaku, was defeated! By Agatsuma Zenitsu! Upper Rank Three engaged with Hashira, Tomioka Giyu! Kamado Tanjiro! Upper Rank Two, engaged with Tsuguko, Tsuyuri Kanao! Hashira, Kocho Shinobu is dead! She was killed by Upper Rank Two!” 

The crow rattled off his news briefly and took off again as the room burst into a flurry of panic. Cold sweat broke out across your whole body at the news of Kocho’s death. Rengoku’s arm was the only steady thing as he eased you down onto the tatami mat, as the two with the supplies worked on cleaning your bleeding face and binding your ribs into place. The pain kept you fastened to the moment but as your ribs were bound, breathing became easier. 

“Flame Hashira!” Another Demon Slayer trotted up to report what they had learned so far. 

Muzan had not yet been located but was surely somewhere inside this warped space. The space itself appeared to be the product of a Blood Demon Art. From certain locations, the demon who seemed to be creating it was visible, but not physically reachable. It was a long-haired female demon wearing a kimono and playing a biwa. There were currently two teams of various rank tasked with locating Muzan and finding a way to approach and slay the biwa woman. However, the place was teeming with strong demons and Upper Ranks Three and Two had been encountered by various individuals or small teams who got separated from the others. Upper Rank One had not yet appeared. 

“What of Muzan?” Rengoku asked, brow furrowed. “Did the demon woman conspirator manage to confront him?” 

“Tamayo-san was able to pierce him with her fist, which contained the poison. However, Muzan dragged her in with him when this space appeared. She may be dead.” 

“Who is that?” you asked, buttoning your jacket back up. Your ribs hurt, but it was a manageable pain. “Tamayo?”

Rengoku gave you a sharp look and you couldn’t tell if it contained regret or relief. “She’s probably the reason you were called here tonight, Kujaku. She was able to create a poison that will weaken Muzan enough for us to have a chance against him. Without it, the original plan I described to you would have been used. We never anticipated she would cooperate or be able to finish the poison in time, so this is an unexpected situation to say the least!” Visibly struggling to summon his usual confident cheer, you watched as he finally sheathed his katana and looked out. 

“Can you, sorry, what is your name?”

“Takeuchi, sir!”

“Takeuchi, let’s find a place where we can see the biwa woman. The rest of you, stay here and defend this position until you receive orders from headquarters.” He turned to go, beckoning after Takeuchi. Frowning, you started to rise to your feet. 

“Kujaku, you’ll remain here and stand by for additional orders. Recovery Breathing, like you’ve learned. Sunrise isn’t for some hours, so you will need to hold out with your injuries in order to pull through this.” His expression was stern but also pleading. You sank back down to your knees, feeling utterly useless. 

“Master, don’t die,” you said quietly, looking away. 

“You, as well.” 

Rengoku left without additional comment and you focused on breathing, concerned now about Tanjiro. But almost like an answer to your prayers, another crow hurtled into the room, screeching fresh news.

“Hashira, Tomioka Giyu, Kamado Tanjiro! They have defeated Upper Rank Three, Akaza! They have collapsed from exhaustion! Team Two! Head to their location now! Make haste! Make haste!”

Barely daring to believe it, you pulled yourself to your feet. You went to the door, following the crow out into the corridor. 

“Come on, we have to follow it!” you shouted, dashing after the crow. It didn’t seem to care to wait, so neither did you, but looking back, eight or so others straggled out after you, already gripping their swords. What had they been through already? Blue in the face from fear, one of them trotted up beside you and you increased your pace, panic settling into your own nerves. If both Tomioka and Tanjiro had collapsed, they were defenseless. 

Rounding a corner, you marveled at how vast the place was. Rooms sprawled in every direction and as far up and as far down as the eye could see. It was like an enormous maze and though well-lit with lamps, you could tell it was impregnable by any kind of sunlight. Were you underground? Something about the coolness of the air told you that you were, but it was impossible to tell what time it was or how far below ground you were. 

The only chance you had was that this fortress was the product of a demon who wasn’t Muzan. If Muzan could only be defeated in the sunlight and if he was also the source of the fortress, you knew the entire Corps had already fallen into his death trap. You prayed that slaying the biwa woman would bring him above ground. 

The crow you were following began to speak again. 

“Hashira, Kocho Shinobu, Tsuguko, Tsuyuri Kanao, Hashibira Inosuke! They have destroyed Upper Rank Two, Doma! Destroyed!” 

“Boar Boy?! Damn!” You sped up again, ignoring the kite string of puffing Demon Slayers behind you, struggling to keep up. But you couldn’t help but tighten your fist over your katana, fresh resolve flaring. Three Upper Ranks, previously thought undefeatable, had been defeated. Maybe, just maybe…

As you turned another corner, you smelled smoke. 

“Hey, you’re up!” Both Tanjiro and Tomioka sat there in the corridor, having started a campfire. Ominously, Tomioka was heating a broken-off katana in the flames and you noticed the air smelled of burned flesh. 

“Uh…” You poked your head back around the corner, watching as the rest of the group huffed and puffed down the corridor. 

“Hurry it up, snails!” you shouted, scowling. “Who has medical supplies?!” 

“W-Weee dooooo!” 

As the two who had bandaged your ribs started working on Tomioka, you turned your attention to Tanjiro. 

“Got some bruises?” you asked, taking a tin of ointment from your pocket. “This stuff works well for the pain.” You opened the lid, comforted by the familiar smell. What you wouldn’t give to just be nursing a bruise on the rock at the training ground right now. You reached out and stopped Tanjiro from bowing to you, wondering if his ribs were broken, too. 

“Sorry,” you said meekly, dabbing the paste onto a huge, dark welt on his side. “I wasn’t able to do anything against Upper Three. Maybe I even made things worse.” 

“I think you were admirable, _____-san,” Tanjiro said plainly, that unclouded smile not even flickering despite the fact that he was covered in bruises. “Like Rengoku-san. Akaza was really strong. We almost lost, except I think he just gave up in the end. If he hadn’t we wouldn’t have made it.” 

You thumped one of Tanjiro’s bruises and he yelped with pain. “Sorry, Tanjiro-kun. Does it hurt to breathe? Are your ribs broken?” You didn’t want to respond to his compliment. You knew you weren’t like Rengoku. And if you hadn’t been there, Rengoku would have been able to assist with the fight against Upper Rank Three. All you’d accomplished so far was to distract a Hashira from his duty. 

“Maybe it would have been better if I’d stayed behind, after all.”

“I don’t think that, _____-san. Besides, Rengoku-san would have tried to meet up with you first, anyway. You’re really close, right?”

You started binding over the places you’d applied ointment to with bandages.

“Sorry, Tanjiro-kun. I didn’t mean to say that aloud. I’ll try to be of more use from now on.” You stood up, offering a strained smile. You couldn’t let your thoughts of doubt get the better of you. You remembered something Tanjiro had just said and frowned.

“Why did you say that Upper Three gave up?”

Tanjiro looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure. He was trying to regenerate his head after it had been cut off. But then, he crumbled and he gave off a smell of deep regret. … Maybe he remembered his human life at the end.” 

What kind of person would Upper Rank Three have been in his human life? You couldn’t fathom it. 

After patching up Tanjiro and Tomioka, the crow returned, accepting some water from someone’s canteen. 

“Team Two!! Team One has located Muzan! Reinforce them now! Make haste!!”

Mind spinning, you tossed Tanjiro the rest of the ointment. “Hold onto that, Tanjiro-kun, you’re in worse shape.” You turned to the others.

“Let’s go.” 

The crow didn’t spare a moment, so you leaped after it again, the corridor seeming to narrow as you ran. It went on and on for what felt like an eternity. Without any other information, you started to assume that no additional reports had come back from the advance team, and that meant…

“Hashira, Tokito Muichiro, Hashira, Shinazugawa Sanemi, Hashira, Himejima Gyomei, Shinazugawa Genya! They have defeated Upper Rank One! Hashira, Tokito Muichiro, Shinazugawa Genya! They have been killed!”

You swallowed your fear. Tokito was just a child, but he gave his life. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, gathering your will. Why had you become a Demon Slayer, anyway?

More importantly, why did you stay?

Your mother, who fussed over your sunburned cheeks. Your father, who fantasized about reincarnating as a hot, young twenty-two year old ghost. Your brother, who was a student at Waseda and wanted to become a politician. None of them knew that you were a kilometer underground, facing certain death. They didn’t know about Rengoku or demons or anything. They were just living their peaceful lives, not worrying about anything when the sun went down at night, nor counting the minutes left until the sun came back up. 

Wasn’t that worth protecting? You strained, trying to decide at the last moment how you actually felt about it. 

Putting that aside, wasn’t it just true that people didn’t deserve to get brutally and suddenly eaten in the night for no apparent reason?!

Yeah, that was something you could get behind without thinking too hard. 

“I don’t know about any of that other stuff, Master,” you muttered aloud, a light starting to appear at the end of the dark corridor. “But screw this!! I want to have a peaceful life, too! We’re gonna kill you, Kibutsuji Muzan!!”

Behind you, a cheer erupted. Ahead of you, a cacophony of panicked screams. 

“Muzan, he’s emerged! Stand down, stand down!! There’s orders to stand down!!”

“We can’t, we’re going to–”

“Team Two, retreat immediately!! CAW! Team Two, retreat!” The crow soared back around but there was a horrible squelch and its blood sprayed down on you as its body burst in mid air. Three Demon Slayers from the advance team in front tumbled past you and, your heart in your throat, you watched as they were slain as they ran, their blood soaking your trousers. Screams filled the corridor and your hand moved to your katana as if in slow motion, your eyes not daring to blink.

I’m in hell. 

“Flame Breathing, Fourth Form! Blooming Flame Undulation!!”

Your reflexes saved you, katana flashing through the air in a moment. Something was fended off, though it was too fast for you to see with your eyes as you squinted through the flames. Someone scrambled past you, slipping and tripping over the spilled blood on the floor. You stood your ground, rooted in place half from fear and the other half from being too stubborn to be anyone but the last to retreat. 

“Flame Breathing, Fourth Form! Blooming Flame Undulation!!”

Flame Breathing only had one defensive technique, so it had to be a good one. You staggered backward as something struck you hard across the face and you tasted blood in your mouth. Forcing back another blow aimed at your left flank, you reached out with your other hand, grabbing the last survivor of the advance team by the collar and tossing him behind you. 

As their frenzied yells faded, it was just you and Muzan, surrounded by a dozen dead, their severed limbs and blood piled on the floor in a horrible, sticky mess. All you could smell was blood and you stifled a gag. The floor was too slippery to get a good foothold. You knew that if you turned tail, you’d just lead Muzan back with you, and you weren’t fast enough to outrun him, anyway. Your legs gave out from the strain and nerves and you fell where you stood. It was enough if the others were able to escape. 

But nothing happened. 

Instead, you heard his voice and you realized that he wasn’t alone with you, after all. 

“After all of that, Tamayo, the poison you used to turn me back into a human had no effect.” His voice stilled your heated blood immediately and you barely breathed, facedown in the blood of your allies. 

A woman’s voice, seething with hatred, interjected.

“Go to hell, Muzan.”

But Muzan just chuckled gently. There was almost affection there. “So many people have said that to me, but it hasn’t happened yet, I’m afraid.”

The woman started to sob and you could hear her tears dripping onto the mats below. 

“Give me my husband and children back… Give them back.”

Muzan laughed again. “If you want to see them again, then feel free to go to them in death, Tamayo.” A horrible crunch followed, and you glimpsed her blood, splattering to the already drenched floor. 

So that was Tamayo… You weren’t sure if you could be grateful to her or not, yet. But you heard Muzan retreat back into the direction he had come from. 

It pissed you off. 

Against every single morsel of your being screaming at you not to, you dragged yourself back up to your feet again, bracing yourself. But you immediately recoiled, forcing down yet another gag.

He was eating the dead bodies. 

Demons were truly horrible.

“Kibutsuji Muzan!!” you growled, posting your katana up over your shoulder, your foot tensed as you slid it behind you. But he just sighed and footsteps came pounding up behind you as Tanjiro and Tomioka arrived. Their horrified expressions mirrored your own as they beheld Muzan, surrounded by carnage, and you heard Tanjiro panting as he took it in. 

“Calm down,” Tomioka said, but his face was contorted with anger, too. 

“You’re too persistent,” Muzan sighed, with no emotion contained in his voice. “You’re boring, too. You just talk about avenging your family, or your friends, and it makes me sick. Just be glad that you survived and move on already.”

Stunned into silence, the three of you stared with disbelief. 

“Think of it like this. If your family got killed by an earthquake or a typhoon, you wouldn’t think about revenge. You’d just move on with your lives. You don’t need to think so hard about it. It’s not like they’ll come back to life, so what’s the point? That’s what normal people do.”

But then Muzan gritted his teeth and his emotionless tone switched to one of increasing anger. 

“But you people are a company of deviants. And I’m sick of dealing with it. I’m the only one here who actually wants to end things.”

“Muzan,” Tanjiro interrupted. “You shouldn’t be allowed to exist.”

In an instant, the whole area was filled with flying blades. You leapt out of the way, eyes darting about to find Tanjiro and Tomioka. They had also managed to weave out of range, but Muzan’s reach was enormous and able to find even the smallest of openings. You edged forward but it was a mistake and one of his blades caught your shoulder. Grimacing, you watched as Tanjiro entered in close, but then he was on the floor and you shouted as Tomioka dove in to grab him out of the way, a blow coming for the back of his neck. You barely reached it with the tip of your katana, struggling to parry it back as Tomioka backed off with Tanjiro tucked under his arm. 

“Flame Breathing, Second Form! Rising Scorching Sun!!”

Only breathing techniques had enough strength to force Muzan back, but your cut failed to deal any damage, only sending his attack flying off in the wrong direction. You leapt backward twice, trying to gain distance again now that Tanjiro and Tomioka had retreated. 

“Don’t go in close; we don’t need to get in his face!” Tomioka shouted from afar. “He can’t be compared with an Upper Rank!” 

But then whirling blades filled the whole space again and you were sent scurrying, your katana held in front of you to hopefully catch anything you were too slow to react to. Fresh cuts appeared on your arms, since you couldn’t defend your sides. 

“There’s no cover,” you observed, glancing around. “We’re completely exposed here like this!”

Muzan looked around between the three of you, considering.

“If you’re trying to buy time, it’s no use,” he said calmly. “The sun won’t reach into this fortress. Can you really manage to overcome me with just three Hashira?”

Your eyes quivered but there was no time to stop or think. It took all of the strength in your body to block even one strike from Muzan’s blades. 

“There were three others, weren’t there? The striped haori, the woman, and the one with the flame pattern. They seem to have already been killed by my servant.”

Against your will, a paralyzing numbness pervaded your senses and your limbs stopped moving, all the strength having left your body. You watched as Tomioka lost his grip on Tanjiro and he tumbled straight into a wall, Muzan’s blade hurtling straight for him. And as for you, you felt it before you noticed it with your eyes, every hair standing up on the back of your neck as another blade, razor sharp, approached your throat. It was too late to block or dodge, not that your limbs were cooperating anyway, and you cursed yourself for not being better, cursed your master for inflicting your final moments with such grief, and cursed Kibutsuji Muzan for ever being born at all. 

“Love Breathing, Sixth Form! Kitty Paw Love Breeze!”

“Flame Breathing, Second Form! Rising Scorching Sun!”

Muzan’s blade, severed a hair’s breadth from your neck, dissolved into ash, and a firm arm grasped around your shoulders, forcing your retreat yet again. Your eyes sought out Tanjiro and found Iguro’s striped haori; he was holding Tanjiro under his arm, similarly leaping away to buy some distance. Kanroji sailed through the air, a look of surprise on her face as she watched her attack fail to cut Muzan’s hard skin. She landed at a respectable distance, though, and you finally breathed, realizing that everyone was alive, yourself somehow included. 

Finally, you looked up into the face of your master, his arm still tight around your shoulders. His hand dug into where you’d been cut across the shoulder and you winced, the blood soaking through to the surface of your white haori. Noticing it, Rengoku let you go and you panted with pain, muscle fatigue and the sting of a dozen cuts across your skin finally setting in. 

“Glad you are alive, Master.”

“Until death do us part, Kujaku!”

You grimaced, wondering if you were about to pass out. “What does that even mean?”

He smiled at you fondly even though it wasn’t an appropriate time. “I don’t know! But it sounds nice, doesn’t it!” 

To the contrary, Muzan’s expression had turned furious. 

“Nakime!!!” he roared, his expression seething with rage.

Chapter Text

As Muzan screamed, the floor lurched under your feet. Suddenly, it looked different, like a wall of doors. Then, it turned into floating platforms made of enormous cupboards. Ominous creaking and crashing echoed from somewhere and your eyes traveled everywhere, following Muzan as he appeared to be locked in some internal struggle. Something, somewhere, was breaking down, and you hoped it would be the chance to corner him. You leapt forward.

“Flame Breathing, First Form! Unknowing Fire!”

Blades reached out toward Muzan desperately but he didn’t miss a single beat, lashing out again. Something impacted you hard where your ribs were broken and you were blinded by the pain, unable to react even as you smashed into the floor, skidding into the scattered corpses of the initial advance team that had been unfortunate to discover Muzan. You fought down a mouthful of vomit, staring directly into the wide-eyed face of a corpse you recognized well enough. It was Hosoi. 

You fought to get onto your knees, panting and overwhelmed by the smell of blood. Everything trembled and you felt the sensation of rising with great force. Clinging to a beam tightly, you glanced back at Hosoi. You closed his eyelids with your fingertips. 

Then, everything burst into a million pieces and you tumbled into the air like a limp doll. Dismembered limbs drifted past you and you closed your eyes, counting and praying. You were in hell for sure, and, already overcome with pain, you barely even felt it when you crashed back down to earth, landing in a pile of splintered wood and rubble. 

The air smelled fresh and you realized as you fought to cling to consciousness that you were outside. Myriad shouts converged and you blinked slowly, your master’s face swimming into focus above you. His flaming hair grabbed your attention immediately. He was bleeding a little from the lip, but seemed otherwise fine. 

“How’d you get off so easy, Master,” you groaned, trying to sit up. Your ribs were hurting again and you wondered if you’d broken them twice. Glancing around, you started to panic.

“Master, we’re in Tokyo City?!” The pile of rubble you were seated on was parked neatly in front of what looked like the national bank. “This isn’t good!!” 

A crow circled overhead, screaming. 

“There is still an hour and a half left! Until sunrise!!”

Now you were in hell. 

“Kujaku, don’t move. You need care,” Rengoku urged, gesturing to someone in the distance. You shook your head. You didn’t want to say it to him but you weren’t exactly expecting to make it to sunrise at this rate. Your breaths started devolving into short wheezes as you moved and a sharp pain in your chest made you suspect your rib was piercing a lung. If you could just get the pain under control…

An explosion burst and the windows of the bank shattered in perfect unison. Muzan emerged from the wreckage, glowing with fury. 

“All Hashira, assemble on Muzan!” A crow swooped out of the range of Muzan’s blades, commanding the survivors to their feet. There was a hand on your shoulder and then there wasn’t as Rengoku charged, his katana already steadied in front of him. A Kakushi, sneezing in the dust that swirled in the air, ran up and you looked her up and down quickly.

“Do you have any morphine?” you asked immediately, not waiting for her to assess you before you grabbed her kit and started rummaging through it. 

“I’ve been ordered to evacuate you immediately, Kujaku-sama,” she said shortly and you noticed she was the same Kakushi you met at Kocho’s home the day your master had almost been killed by Upper Rank Three. You frowned at her, still not liking the fact that she had held you back from seeing him that day. You filled a syringe with the contents of a vial and injected it into your own arm. 

“No one’s evacuating,” you sighed, the effect of the morphine taking you quickly. You snapped the kit shut and tossed it into her lap. She tried to get you to stand but you wouldn’t, closing your eyes and focusing on breathing through your nose. 

“Victory for the fallen! Victory for all people! May there come a night without demons! Destroy all evil demons!!”

As your comrades rallied themselves into battle around you, all you could think of was the fact that your last meal had been totally flavorless. You suddenly understood why your master appreciated good food.

“Kujaku-sama, you need rest!” The Kakushi urged you harder, pulling your arm. Light in the head from the morphine, you tugged it away harder than you’d meant to, sending her tumbling forward onto her face. 

“Sorry…” you said, placing a hand over your ribs. The pain had receded significantly, though you were aware that something seemed to be missing in your mind that had been there before. A sense of caution? Better to be without it. 

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” you muttered, stumbling back up to your feet. All things considered, you felt alright. “This is going to end tonight.” 

Maybe your good deeds would keep you from reincarnating. You watched Himejima hurling his weapon in the distance, crushing part of Muzan’s back. It regrew in the blink of an eye. You drew your katana, watching as the six Hashira circled in and out of Muzan’s reach. Beyond the fray, you glimpsed Tanjiro’s checked haori. Someone was hauling him off, but it wasn’t clear if he’d been struck by Muzan or had been injured in the journey to the surface. But you supposed that if he was being carried, he was still alive. 

The acrid smell of gasoline invaded your senses and Muzan abruptly burst into flame. You glimpsed Shinazugawa’s back, but for a moment, Muzan’s countless whipping blades just became countless whipping blades that were on fire and in the brightness and heat, all six Hashira recoiled. You burst forward finally, your face wet with something hot and you realized that tears were coming out of your eyes, the strain on your body too much. 

But it didn’t really matter, if you could be of some use.

“Flame Breathing, Third Form! Blazing Universe!”

Amid the searing heat, you entered inside Muzan’s attack range and brought your katana down blindly, severing what seemed to be his arm from his socket. But it reappeared instantly and you realized you’d made a mistake as he struck you across the chest with his regenerated arm, sending you flying back several paces. There was a cracking sound when he hit you but still under the spell of the morphine, you didn’t feel it. You righted yourself, skidding back on your feet and assumed another stance right away. If you couldn’t deal a proper wound, you needed to fend off his attacks somehow, make an opening for the others…

“Kujaku!” Your master’s voice burst through the confusion and his tone was warning, but you ignored him, gripping your sword tightly. You dove after Tomioka, but that was a mistake, too, as you watched Kanroji, on your opposite side, lose her footing. In less time than it took to blink, her blood burst from her chest and you cursed, pivoting on your heel. 

“Flame Breathing, Second Form! Rising Scorching Sun!”

Somehow, you severed the blade as it swerved in to deal the final blow, but she collapsed anyway, draped in Iguro’s arms, who had arrived as well. Wordless, you each seized one of Kanroji’s arms and dragged her back, outside of Muzan’s range and into the cover of an alley. 

Quickly appearing to go into shock, Kanroji gasped for air, but words were coming out. 

“Wait,” she breathed, sweat beading up on her cold skin. “I can still fight. I won’t hold anyone back next time.”

“You’ve done enough,” Iguro replied. “It’s fine.” His voice sounded cold but when you looked at him, his expression was full of concern. 

Kanroji panted and you supported her back firmly, holding her in place as she seemed to be trying to stand. Devastated tears filled her eyes.

“No, I can’t die like this,” she gasped. “I wasn’t of any use at all.”

Iguro turned to you. “Take care of Kanroji,” he ordered. He didn’t look back as he ran, returning to the battle. 

You found yourself wrestled suddenly to the ground and you grunted, shocked at how much strength she still had. Your eyes teared as you watched her try to get up. 

“Wait!” she cried, her eyes screwed shut. “Iguro-san! I’m going, too!” 

You grabbed her around the waist, holding her down. Blood leaked heavily from her chest and you shouted toward a passing Kakushi medic. Kanroji’s words broke your heart as she slackened in your hold. 

“No, please…” she sobbed, her whole body heaving. “Don’t die, Iguro-san! I don’t want anyone to die anymore!” 

As you held her down, the Kakushi started applying pressure to the gashes that spanned her whole chest and you felt like a hypocrite. 

She finally relaxed, having been given a sedative, and you returned yourself to battle, gripping your katana tightly. 

“Watch out for the mouths on his arms!” someone shouted and you stared, Muzan’s arms moving so quickly that you could barely make out that they had mouths. “They’ll suck you in!” 

As if to prove an unfortunate point, Tomioka lost his sword, one of the gaping maws sucking it straight out of his hand. Shouts echoed as the others fought to get his sword back and he looked totally lost for a moment until thankfully, Shinazugawa flung the eaten katana at Tomioka’s feet with an irritated shout.

“Don’t lose focus! Or I’ll murder you, asshole!” 

In the distance, you watched Rengoku collapse to one knee, panting. He wiped blood from his nose and you started running, fending off flying blades left and right. Some of them cut you anyway, ripping through your sleeves, bleeding you mercilessly. Welts rose along your skin and as you stumbled along, you realized that each time you were hit, you were being slowly poisoned. Your vision wavered and by the time you reached your master’s side, you were in no better condition. 

Something stabbed you hard in the thigh and you grunted, the painkiller wearing off to your dismay. A small vial stuck out of your leg and you watched blurrily as it injected itself. Glancing above you, the strangest sight unfolded. 

A calico cat wearing a rucksack was being dismembered by Muzan’s tentacles and you realized that the cat had just somehow medicated you, costing its little life. Your vision steadied and Rengoku reached for you. You helped him to his feet, grimacing. 

“That was weird,” you gritted out, and Rengoku seemed to agree, sparing a glance back to the cat, whose legs were still twitching somehow. You gave him a proper look and noticed something that hadn’t been there before. A flame-like mark reached up the side of his neck and his katana seemed to glow in the darkness, a bright and radiant red. 

“Kujaku,” he said quietly. “I think he has several brains and hearts inside of him. Hitting just one won’t hurt him at all.”

Breathless, it was all you could do to focus on fending off Muzan’s attacks, much less strategize. But your master’s eye followed his body intently, his katana seeming to move on its own. 

“Can you manage the Ninth Form?” he asked you, slicing through one of his flying tentacles as if it was soft rice cake. It didn’t regenerate right away and you stared intently, wondering how he was doing that. 

“If you can, we should try at the same moment,” he suggested, still staring straight at Muzan’s body, as if he could see through him. “If we can slash all of his brains and hearts at once, he may die. It’s like how we practiced. Cut hard, quickly, and as many times as you can. You do it the way I taught you, and I will strike in the opposite sequence.”

You could only manage a tiny nod through your focus. 

“Let’s go!”

“No matter how many times we cut him, he regenerates right away!” Iguro’s voice burst through the din and you and Rengoku sprang forward, each of you poised to attack with everything you had. 

“Flame Breathing, Ninth Form!! Rengoku!!”

In the space of a single instant, you connected every point on Muzan’s body in your range but you couldn’t see what Rengoku saw. As your blade went through his skin, it healed so quickly that you were afraid your katana would be sealed into his body. As Muzan glowered down at you, you realized that while your attack had connected, you’d missed his vital organs, and you and Rengoku, nearly in his arms, were sitting ducks. 

The other Hashira closed in, yelling your names. Shouts rang out around the battlefield as the remainder of the Demon Slayers started to converge.

“Rengoku-sama! He’s too close! He’s too close!! The Hashira are all too close!”

“Keep advancing! Don’t be afraid to fight!”

“Become human shields for the Hashira! How many times have they saved our lives?!”

As if in slow motion, you saw it, one of the thinnest whips that protruded from Muzan’s back, razor sharp, an inch from your master’s throat…

Reaching out, you seized it in your hand, the whole thing slicing the inside of your hand from every angle, and Muzan’s gaze was on you as you threw yourself into Rengoku’s chest. 

You tucked his face into the hollow under your throat, and, crashing toward the ground with you on top of him, you only felt glad that you were on top and it wasn’t the other way around because, with a sickening thump, Muzan sank another of his blades square into your back, this one the size of an ax. You couldn’t help but to choke, blood seeping up into your mouth. 

With every ounce of strength you could muster, you pinned Rengoku’s arms beneath you and you were glad he’d taught you how to pin someone properly. 

Another sliced between your shoulder and neck. Another across your shoulder blades. Another at the nape of your neck. Again and again, in the space of a second that felt like several minutes, he punished you, your blood spurting freely. And then, finally, he struck you hard enough to send you flying. 

Thankfully and painfully skidding out of range with the force of his blow, you clutched your master to you as tightly as your numb limbs would allow, squeezing your eyes shut. A whimper of pain escaped you as you finally came to an agonizing halt, and everything started to fade. You wouldn’t have minded another bit of morphine. 

After that, he was shouting your name so loudly that you would have liked for Muzan to have taken out your eardrums for you, too. 

It felt like you were watching everything from behind a thickening veil, like cotton was being stuffed into your nose, mouth, and ears. Your body felt heavy. Nothing moved and you felt cold inside but warm outside. As if you were watching the whole thing from outside your body, you observed that you were bleeding out from somewhere around your neck or shoulder and the warm blood gushing out felt nice on your cold skin. 

Rengoku’s voice was growing far away and you vaguely perceived that he was getting dragged off by someone.

Guess I’m a lost cause. But that’s fine. 

I wanted to protect you with my life. I just didn’t want you to die, Master.

If we win this battle, you won’t need a successor. So, win, and put an end to all of this!

Chapter Text

The sunlight… It hurt so bad but felt so good. Your eyes struggled to adjust to the light as you opened them. The skin of your eyelids was so chapped and scraped that it hurt to do even that. You sighed, and that hurt, too. 

You tried to move your arm but it wouldn’t budge and you wondered if you’d been restrained. Unable to check to see if your katana was there, your mind spun up into a panic. But as your eyes finished adjusting to the light, you saw the future. 

“Ahhh…” you murmured, closing them again. “Master, you’re so old now…” While your body couldn’t move, you seemed fully able to talk, though not too intelligently. But it was true that your master was leaning over you, and he’d aged at least a couple of decades, though, you had to admit to yourself, not very well. He looked pretty haggard. 

You sniffed the air delicately. He also smelled like stale booze. Not what you would have expected, but you guessed time could do some things to people. 

“I’m not your master,” he said gruffly, and you heard him settle into a chair next to you. A chair… Were you in a bed? If that was the case, where were you?

“I get it, it’s been a while,” you replied stiffly. Your throat felt like it was full of dirt and you swallowed, which also hurt. “You probably don’t want me as your student anymore. But let’s still be friends.” Wincing as consciousness returned to you in waves, you became aware of a growing sense of agony in literally every single part of your body. 

“Damn, everything hurts so bad. Did no one turn me over in twenty years?” 

He sighed and you heard him stand up. 

“Wait here, I’ll get someone.” 

You frowned, but that hurt, too. “Wait, Master, sorry. Did I–”

You heard the door close and that was that. 

You guessed twenty years was a long time to wait for someone to wake up. 

But he came back in a minute with a familiar face and she hadn’t aged twenty years at all, so you were confused. 

“Hello, Aoi-san,” you said pleasantly. “Please put me out of my misery.” The pain had grown so intense that you were starting to shiver. Silent, she took out a mighty syringe, and there was a prick. You glanced toward your aged master, not really minding that he’d grown some patchy stubble. But then everything was dark and, cradled in waves of soft nothingness, you returned to the void again. 

When you next awoke, you beheld the Buddhist trinity. Three heads of fiery hair, three similarly concerned expressions, but three different stages of life, and assuming you were having a bizarre vision of the afterlife, you guessed that you were about to be offered a riddle in exchange for being able to cross over to heaven. 

“Alright,” you breathed, your eyes failing to stay open consistently. “I have to admit it, I’m not that devout. Which one of you is, well, the real one?”

All three of them looked at each other, confused. And then, Aoi appeared next to your left arm again and with another prick, you were whisked away once more. 

You weren’t sure how long it took to wake up again, but when you did, Aoi was there with a teapot of water. You let her water you like a plant and you struggled to sit up, a dull pain still echoing through your body. More urgently, your arms and legs felt odd, tingling, and heavy. With surprising strength, Aoi propped you up, careful to cushion your heavily bandaged back with several pillows. She watched as you struggled to raise your hand up from the covers. It didn’t feel right at all. 

“You may never be able to fight with a sword ever again.”

Aoi held your hand, which felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. A constant dull buzz ran through all four of your limbs. It felt like your arms and legs were asleep all at once. You struggled to close your hand around hers, sighing and chuckling.

“I guess I deserve it.” 

Aoi patted your hand but you could barely feel it. “We’ll try to rehabilitate you as best as possible after you’re healed.”

You were in the Butterfly Mansion. Countless injured had been taken there after the battle. Aoi informed you that Muzan was defeated, but there were many casualties. Among the dead were Himejima, Iguro, and Kanroji. Many of the other ranks had been wiped out. Only three Hashira survived the battle, Tomioka, Shinazugawa, and Rengoku. But Tomioka had lost his arm, and Shinazugawa was missing fingers. 

Rengoku had woken up quickly but seemed to have some short-term memory loss, quite unexpected. He had forgotten that the previous Master, Ubuyashiki Kagaya, was dead, and had to be reminded. His grief was so great that he’d slept for three days. 

You couldn’t raise your hands to wipe your tears, so they just dripped out everywhere. Conflicting feelings flooded your heart, grief at the loss of your friends, and relief at the defeat of Muzan. And you were at a loss, because you hadn’t expected to survive. 

A day later, he came to visit you. He was in a resentful mood. 

There was rice porridge boiled in water for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Seated at your bedside, Rengoku’s mouth was set in a tight line. You clutched the bowl in both hands with more strength than necessary so he wouldn’t see you struggle. Truthfully, you hadn’t been able to grip anything heavier than a pincushion Aoi gave you to squeeze since you’d woken up. 

“You know, Master, my injuries are on my back, not my stomach. I can probably eat normally.” Afraid to eat while he was watching, you waited for him to excuse himself. 

“Kujaku, you…” His voice broke and you focused on putting the bowl onto the bedside table. You hid your arms under covers quietly, watching a million thoughts stirring behind his expression. 

“Kujaku, you can stop calling me that.”

“Master?”

Looking lost, he paused for several seconds to digest his thoughts. 

“The Demon Slayer Corps has been dissolved. Muzan is gone. And you are no longer my Tsuguko.” 

You felt your eyebrows raise themselves up your forehead. “Then… I guess this is the end. Um. Rengoku-sama.”

He visibly flinched. You frowned, sensing you’d dealt him some invisible emotional damage.

“I’m sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “What shall I call you from now on?”

“Kyojuro,” he replied quickly, a grimace still etched on his face. “Just that.” 

“Alright, Kyojuro-sa–”

“Just Kyojuro.”

You let out a tense laugh and winced as your cracked ribs shifted. “Alright, Just-Kyojuro. We’ll go with that.” All you could feel was nothingness and you realized you hadn’t expected to survive. You weren’t sure what to do with yourself. Impressed at your own resolve, you noted that you’d fully accepted the fact that you were going to die. You didn’t wish you’d died, but you weren’t sure what to do now, either. You offered Rengoku, no, Kyojuro, a placid smile, hoping he’d say something. 

You really didn’t expect him to start crying. 

There was one tear and then another, and then a whole bunch of them, silently running down his face. Your lip trembled. You didn’t know what to say. 

“You tried to die for me,” he accused, and you were confused. 

“Yes…?” you said, wondering what was so unclear. He seized you by both shoulders hard and you realized you still had an open wound there under your clothes. It hurt. 

“I thought you were dead!” he shouted, and you frowned, shushing him.

“Calm down! Kyojuro! This is a hospital. And I thought I was dead, too, so that makes two of us surprised here! But could you seem a little less upset?! You’re hurting my feelings.”

And me! Ow.

“You can’t do that,” he said next, shaking his head. You sensed that he wasn’t sure what to say but wouldn’t let that fact keep him quiet. Kyojuro wasn’t a quiet person, ever. 

“I am an independent free person and I can do whatever I want,” you replied petulantly. You wanted to cross your arms but they felt like two lead weights and you couldn’t. “I didn’t want you to die, Kyojuro.” 

He gripped you again and you winced. “I didn’t want you to die either, Kujaku! Admit your wrongdoing and maybe I can start forgiving you!”

You were taken aback. “Forgiving me?” you spluttered. “For what?!”

He scowled. “For trying to die for me!”

You scowled back. “I’d never regret that, you jerk! If you died, I’d regret my whole damn life!” 

You hadn’t imagined surviving and you hadn’t planned for this, either. You wished you could pry his hand off your shoulder. 

“Don’t you know how much I care about you, Kyojuro? And stop calling me by my last name if this is how it’s going to be from now on. Call me literally anything else. I’m going to be sick if I hear you calling me ‘Kujaku’ ever again. I’ll never regret a thing, even if you resent me.” Your eyes filled with tears, hoping very much that he would stop resenting you anyway. 

Somehow, that shut him up. He stared into your face, utterly lost, and with tears still dripping from his chin, he embraced you tightly. You sighed into his hair. It really hurt.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

He pulled himself away from you and you sat in awkward silence for a while. You glimpsed Aoi peek her head into the room but when she spotted Kyojuro there, she walked away. 

“I didn’t expect this, either,” Kyojuro finally remarked, staring down at his hands. “So many people died. It almost feels wrong to not have. If you’d died, I…” He trailed off but you sensed his meaning. With enormous effort, you reached out and laid your hand on his. 

“How did Muzan die? There was still an hour left before sunrise when I blacked out.”

“It was the sun,” he immediately replied. “But mostly Kamado’s efforts, in the end.”

“Tanjiro-kun?” Your eyebrows raised incredulously. “He took out Muzan?”

“He almost got killed, but yes. Until sunrise, he did the most to fend him off and prevent his escape.”

“Damn,” you murmured, hardly daring to believe. “That’s crazy.”

“Kamado is stronger than he seems.”

“Must be.” You tried flexing your foot under the covers but it only twitched, refusing to move the way you wanted it to. “What about his sister?”

“She was turned back into a human. It was like a miracle.”

“No way.” You shook your head, really thinking he was pulling your leg this time. “If demons could turn back into humans, none of this crazy shit would have ever happened.”

“It was like a miracle,” he repeated. He still looked uncharacteristically solemn and you wondered if he’d ever smile at you again. Maybe he hated you. At the least, he resented you, that was for sure. You felt uncomfortable in every possible sense of the word. 

“Mrrrp?” 

Suddenly there was a cat.

“Hey…” You recognized this cat and its calico patterned fur. “I thought you were dead!”

“Mrrrp.” He climbed onto Kyojuro’s knee and peered at you intently. 

“Uh…”

“Apparently, his name is Chachamaru,” Kyojuro placed him on the bed next to you. “He’s been in mourning, so he has been circulating the rooms to collect prayers. But each time he came in here, you were asleep, so he wasn’t able to collect yours, yet.”

You weren’t sure what the weirdest part of that explanation was but you weren’t about to deny him.

“Who exactly is he mourning?”

Kyojuro sat back in the chair and glanced out the window. “He was Tamayo’s cat, that demon woman. She died but her poison made Muzan’s death possible. We owe her our lives, as much as that is hard to admit.”

You bowed your head. “I was there when she died,” you said. “She just wanted her husband and children. Hopefully they are resting peacefully together now.” 

Satisfied, Chachamaru rubbed his head on your arm. He hopped down onto the floor and walked away, out the door. 

What a respectful fellow. 

But then you and Kyojuro just returned to your awkward, silent stand-off, and you wished he’d go away so you could at least clumsily eat your bland, cold lunch in peace. 

You willed him to leave for a couple of minutes but he didn’t budge. 

“Soooo…” you said, glancing at him warily. “How are you?” 

He sighed. Wrong question. You shrank down in the covers, the silence pricking your skin like a thousand needles. You wished Chachamaru would come back so you wouldn’t feel so ashamed. But you had nothing to be ashamed of. Regardless, Kyojuro thought you did, and if he thought you were a shame, then you just were. Feelings of love didn’t go away that easily. The thought that he’d be forever disappointed in you in spite of all the times he’d neglected that you’d actually really been a disappointment… It stung you hard. 

“Well, I’m good,” you continued, trying to summon a smile but only managing a grimace. “But I’m not sure what to do with myself… “Demon Slayer” was kind of my chosen occupation, you know. Not that I’m not glad it’s over! Really…” That was right. What were you going to do with yourself now? Go home? The thought made you less than excited. You played with Aoi’s pincushion, unable to carry on the small talk. 

“Well, you could do anything, Kujaku. I believe in you.” Kyojuro still wasn’t smiling but at least he was looking at you now and saying something that didn’t hurt your heart. You made a face as he called you by your family name again. Maybe he just wasn’t ready to see you as a friend. 

Yeah, that hurt, actually. 

“Maybe I’ll become a ronin like my brother said. I’ll travel all over Japan and eat all the regional delicacies.” You didn’t really believe in it but maybe it wouldn’t be bad to travel. 

“Or, maybe I’ll try that subsistence living idea and disappear into the mountains. You know, that’s what my fallback plan was? If the whole Demon Slayer job didn’t work out. Heh.” It probably wasn’t a good idea to remind Kyojuro that you’d been on the verge of running away from him and his tutelage more than once but you did anyway, hoping for some kind of reaction. It didn’t come. 

“Master, will you be going home?” You forgot to call him by his name. Old habits were hard to get rid of.  

“Yes, I think I’ll go home. We’ll have to find a new way of life, but in a world without demons…” He looked up and the fact that demons were no more seemed to finally occur to him. 

“I’m sure we’ll find happiness.” His expression turned soft. He put his hand on your arm and your face heated up as he gave you an earnest look. 

“Thank you, _____. For saving me.”

You shook your head. “You’ve got it backwards,” you said. “You’re the reason for why I survived.”

You remembered all the hell you went through. The 4444 Purgatory Routine. Grueling sword exercises that left you more bruised than not. Ito and his untimely death. Struggling to learn sword forms. The Reverse Kitty Paw Screw Kick. Rescuing Arai. Busting your master’s jaw when you’d finally gotten the hang of the Second Form. Facing the other Hashira. 

Missing even a single moment of all of it might have resulted in your death. 

“Thank you, Master.” Straining hard with the effort, you forced your legs under you and got to your knees on the bed. And for the last time, you gave him a bow of the utmost respect. For the indomitable Flame Hashira, and your honorable master.

You raised your face and he finally smiled at you, the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

“You’re officially dismissed.”

Chapter Text

It took three whole months of hard rehabilitation before you could definitely say that you could use your limbs again. Even so, you would never swing a sword for the rest of your life. Running would be difficult. You had sustained nerve damage and Aoi thought it was lucky that you could move at all. 

It also took three whole months for Kyojuro to go more or less back to normal. He helped you rehabilitate but, stubborn, he never said that he forgave you. Still, his steady hands on your noodle arms were welcome as you practiced using them. The weird tingling in your limbs never fully went away and Aoi warned you that it would be hard for you to feel heat, cold, or pain in them, so you would need to be cautious. But you were at least able to eat, walk, and go about your daily business, so you were grateful. 

The shaded halls of the Butterfly Mansion looked dim and odd without Kocho there. You’d heard that the large property had been left to her Tsuguko, Tsuyuri Kanao, and the other girls who lived there. Knowing that they would be able to live peaceful days from now on in the house, you were a little envious of Kocho. You were glad that she was able to pass on with seemingly nothing to regret. 

You weren’t the only one who had to go through rehabilitation training. Tomioka had lost an entire arm, so he had to learn how to manage with just one. Shinazugawa had lost some of his fingers. He was the last to wake up and everyone had worried he might never wake up. The day he finally opened his eyes was scented with sweet rice flour and red bean paste. 

“Let’s hurry, Shinazugawa is awake,” Tomioka urged you in his quiet way. Since you did a lot of exercises together, you became friends. He was awkward and quiet but you quickly learned that he was a good person. You gathered up a paper package of handmade ohagi that you planned to give to Shinazugawa. But when you reached his bedside, it was too late.

There were already at least a hundred ohagi piled on his bedside table and Shinazugawa was glaring at them like they’d assaulted him in his sleep. You quietly pushed your own offering behind the others but he saw.

“Tsuguko-chan!” he demanded, pointing straight at you. His hand was missing some of its fingers, producing a terrifying effect. “Did you…?!”

“No! No! These are all from someone else!” You frowned, staring at the tower of ohagi. They seemed to all be the same type, so did a single person leave them all there? 

Oh. It was definitely Kyojuro. 

“Here, Shinazugawa,” Tomioka interrupted, placing a hand into his pocket. He produced a single, naked ohagi from it, sporting a visible piece of lint on its surface.

“For you.”

A vein popped in Shinazugawa’s forehead. 

“Are you fucking with me!?? You’re definitely fucking with me!! I’m gonna murder you!” 

Tomioka looked genuinely crushed, like he’d been planning this for a long time. You patted his shoulder gently. 

“Come on, Tomioka-san, he’s not in the mood. Let’s try again later.” 

You walked back out of the room, passing Tanjiro in the doorway. He waved his own single naked ohagi in the air looking extremely excited, and you watched, horrified and in slow motion, as he got punched right in the gut.

“That’s… that’s unfortunate,” you said, and you and Tomioka made your escape, Shinazugawa’s enraged voice fading as you went to go find something else to do. 

The two of you found a place in the courtyard to sit that wasn’t loud and you started to talk. 

“I think Master hates me,” you finally admitted aloud. Tomioka was a good confidant. 

“Why?” He also didn’t use very many words when he talked, which wasn’t bad at all.

“I think he’s still mad that I protected him during the battle with Muzan.” 

“Oh.” Tomioka stared out into the sunlit garden, squinting. “I saw that.” He seemed to think carefully before speaking again. 

“It’s awful to have someone you care about die for you,” he said simply. “You always think it would have been better if you’d died yourself. Every day, you think it. The weight of it never goes away.”

“I just didn’t want him to die,” you said, shaking your head. “I didn’t want him to owe me or feel bad or anything.”

Tomioka pulled a second ohagi out of his pocket. He split it in half and gave you a piece. You accepted it morosely, picking off a piece of fuzz.

“Even so, it’s painful,” he replied. “Did you think about how you would feel if Rengoku died to protect you?”

You thought for a moment.

“Yeah, he’s my teacher, so he’s welcome to die for me if he’d like to.”

He dropped his ohagi into his lap. 

“I’m joking. You’re right, I would feel awful. I bet he’d do it, too. Like a jerk.”

Tomioka brushed a piece of red bean off his trousers. “I’m sure he feels the same way about you, except you actually tried it.”

You sighed. “Great, he thinks I’m an asshole, then.” You were beyond redemption. 

“He doesn’t think that at all. He keeps asking everyone about you.” 

“Asking?”

“Yeah.” Tomioka looked like he was going to say something else but thought the better of it and kept quiet. 

“If he has a question, he can ask me himself. It isn’t like him to be shy.”

“Maybe he isn’t ready to talk yet.” Tomioka’s reply came quickly. You stood up, irritated. After all you’d been through, now you had to go through Kyojuro’s awkward shy phase. Maybe Muzan had affected his head more than everyone thought. But at least, maybe he didn’t hate you.

“Thanks for talking, Tomioka-san,” you said, putting your red bean-smeared thumb in your mouth. “And for the snack.” 

He just nodded at you and you went back to check on Tanjiro, hoping he was alright. Tomioka watched your back as you walked away. 

“... He just loves you, you know.”

You didn’t hear him. 

You went to the room Tanjiro was sharing with Boar Boy and Agatsuma and poked your head in. None of them were there, but there was a young girl sitting on Tanjiro’s bed, looking at a sparrow perched on the windowsill. You immediately noticed how pretty she was. Looking at you with clear, round eyes, she smiled.

“Are you looking for Big Brother?” she asked. The sparrow hopped onto her finger when she beckoned it and she walked over to you. 

“Are you Kamado Nezuko…?” you asked, frowning. The girl who had turned back into a human after having been a demon. Nothing about her seemed demonic at all, so you guessed it must be true. She was so pretty and petite that you felt like you might break her just by standing there.

She smiled widely at you. No pointed demon teeth. 

“Yes! Though, I’ve been asleep the past two years, so… I don’t remember much at all!” 

“That’s alright…” you said slowly. She gave off the same aura of unadulterated goodness that Tanjiro had. Where did people like this come from?? You bowed, almost forgetting yourself.

“I’m Kujaku _____. I just came to check on Tanjiro-kun but I’m not sure where he went.”

Nezuko looked perplexed but then her cheeks turned pink. “I think he went to that man’s room! The one with the cut-off fingers. He was really nice to me earlier. I’m glad he is safe. He didn’t wake up for a really long time!” 

You frowned. She couldn’t possibly be talking about Shinazugawa. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s what I was afraid of…” 

Nezuko blinked up at you and, charmed by her sweet expression, you started to feel warm. 

“I’m glad you woke up,” you finally said. “I never saw you while you were, erm, asleep, but Tanjiro-kun was really worried.”

“Thanks, _____-san! I’m glad, too. But I still feel sleepy all the time! I love sleeping.” She let out a tiny laugh like she was revealing an embarrassing little secret. “Hmm… _____-san? Sounds familiar… Oh! You’re with the flame man, right? Rengoku-san!”

“I guess so?”

She laughed in earnest and it sounded like tinkling bells. “He keeps asking everyone about you! Even me! He asked me… hmm… Well, he asks about you a lot! I’ve talked to him a few times about you. How nice… I hope I can meet someone gallant like him one day, too.” 

What in the world was Kyojuro asking all these people?!

“What…” You couldn’t ask. The girl had gone through a lot more than you, asleep or not. Besides, it was Kyojuro who owed you an explanation, not Nezuko. You shook your head, changing direction.

“What do you like to eat, Nezuko?” 

She didn’t even pause.

“Sweets!” 

Well, that was good. She hadn’t said “people.” You mentally scolded yourself for being a cynical jerk. 

“I like konpeito!” she continued, her expression hopeful. You smiled back at her, bowing.

“I’ll send some,” you said. “Where are you and Tanjiro-kun from?”

She explained that it would be hard to send it to their house, but you would be able to get it sent to their Uncle Saburo’s house at the base of the mountain they lived on. She made very sure that you remembered the address. You’d have to send konpeito for sure. Ideally, a lot of it. 

When you finally made it back to Shinazugawa’s room, Tanjiro was gone and so were all the ohagi. You decided not to ask. 

“How are you feeling, Shinazugawa-san?” you asked, pulling a chair up to his bedside. 

“Better now that Rengoku’s gone.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “What did he do?”

His face twitched. “He tried to stuff the ohagi in my mouth. And he wouldn’t shut up.”

You pursed your lips, afraid of what was next. “Did he, um, make you eat them all?”

“Yeah, even that weird one that was in Tomioka’s pocket. It was gross and warm.”

“Wow.” You could empathize. 

“He kept asking me about you. How the fuck am I supposed to know?! I just woke up and he literally comes in here to force feed me and ask me all these questions. Who fucking gives a shit?”

You held a hand to your heart. “You don’t give a shit about me, Shinazugawa-san?”

“Shut up, Tsuguko-chan, you know what I mean.”

Not really, but you felt gratified anyway.

“So did he ask you yet?” Shinazugawa blinked at you and you observed that he looked very… weirdly gentle. Did he have a nice side to him, after all? Maybe Nezuko was onto something. Maybe he was only an asshole to fellow Demon Slayers. 

“Ask me what?”

He tried to slap his forehead but without some of his fingers, he kind of just ended up punching himself in the face. You snorted. 

“Shut the fuck up. And I don’t know, you go figure it out with him. Not my problem.”

“Thanks, Shinazugawa-san.” Taking your life in your hands, you reached out and gave him a hug. 

Now sporting a handsome new bruise but satisfied because it had been worth it, you searched high and low for Kyojuro but he didn’t turn up. Finally you at least located Aoi in the kitchen.

“Rengoku-san? He went home.” 

You let out a long, long sigh. “Aoi-san, do you know where he lives?”

She shook her head. “No, but he said he’d be back in the morning. He was visiting his family. Can you hand me that big radish on top of that rice bale over there?”

You reached over and grabbed it wordlessly. Maybe he really did hate you, after all. In the time since you’d known him, it occurred to you that you were rarely ever apart. Lonely, you supposed this was how things would be from now on. 

“He kept asking about you earlier, though.”

You spluttered, finally at the end of your rope. “Why?! I think he hates me!!”

“Huh?” Aoi produced a cleaver and started to peel the radish. “He doesn’t hate you. He wanted to know if you had plans for after your rehabilitation training is over.”

You sighed, shaking your head now. “He could have just asked me…”

“Hmm… Well, you’ll probably be ready soon. Do you have any plans? No one knew what to tell him.” She finished peeling and started to cut the radish into thick rounds. 

“I guess I’ll go home,” you said reluctantly, not loving the idea, but not knowing what else you’d do. “My family lives in Hachioji.”

Aoi hummed, dropping the radish pieces into a boiling pot. “That’s a nice area. Good for you.” 

“Yeah…” You felt uneasy but didn’t want to worry anyone. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me, Aoi-san. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You’d gotten used to her unsmiling demeanor but she smiled at you finally. “It’s the least I can do,” she said. “We’re looking forward to living peacefully from now on. Come visit anytime.”

“Sure!” The thought cheered you up. 

As expected, Kyojuro returned to the Butterfly Mansion early the next morning, around sunrise. He gave you a manju from a lacquered box and you sat on the veranda to eat it, watching the horizon turn bright. 

“One day, do you think you might ever forgive me, Kyojuro?” You finally took a step toward getting your worries off your chest. 

He looked surprised. “Forgive you for what?”

You laid down on the floor, exhausted. Too much thinking.

He just laughed and you wondered if he was an idiot the whole time or if this was a recent development. 

Another week passed with relatively little fanfare. You were finally well enough to leave the Butterfly Mansion. Your ribs thankfully no longer hurt, and the vicious slashes on your back had settled into shiny scars. Your limbs still radiated a strange numbness, but you were strong enough now to do most normal things. In a way, it was like your life had been reset, and you had never learned how to fight or wield a sword. That door was now closed for good. 

It was finally time to go home, but you were at a loss. Going home sounded like such a foreign concept. You imagined your mother. She always worried. Explaining to her that you had lifelong injuries would probably give her an aneurysm. You imagined your father. He always judged you for your life choices, so you’d have to prepare yourself. No explanation could be accepted. You imagined your brother. He always just thought he was better than you. Having nothing to say for yourself would just be proving him right. 

You sighed, daydreaming in front of the window. You only had a few personal belongings, all of which were already bundled in a violet wrapping cloth on the bed. Unfortunately, it included your poor haori, which had been shredded during the battle. 

Regardless of how you felt about it, it was time to open the next chapter in your life, whatever that meant. Your katana, also wrapped in a cloth, was slung across your tingling back, sheathed for good. 

As you headed out into the yard, you spotted a familiar purple ascot. 

“Hey, Lawrence,” you said, holding out your arm. He landed on it gladly, spitting a note out into your palm. 

“If it hadn’t been from the Master, I wouldn’t have delivered it,” he harrumphed, ruffling his feathers. You smiled at him ruefully. Some things never changed, including Lawrence’s attitude. 

The note was very short but it changed your plans. It announced the dissolution of the Demon Slayer Corps, as you’d already been informed. Your part in the final battle had entitled you to some specific compensation, so the Ubuyashiki family was giving you an eye-popping sum of money and, most surprisingly, the property that your former training ground occupied, including the little house you’d lived in. Your eyes filled with tears. 

“Lawrence, can you send a note back for me?” you asked, sniffling. 

“No can do! You’re not my master any more. Hmph!”

You folded the paper carefully into your pocket. It contained the precious deed to the land and you didn’t want to lose it. 

“Then, if you see the Master again, please just express my gratitude,” you said, wiping your face on the back of your sleeve. It was the answer you had been looking for. At that moment, you decided that you’d grow some sweet potatoes there. Your thoughts of going back to your family’s home dissolved immediately and with great welcome. 

But that wasn’t the last unexpected blessing to get bestowed on you in the yard of Butterfly Mansion that day. 

You changed direction, heading to the other side of the estate so you could access the northbound road. 

“Kujaku, are you leaving already?”

Kyojuro wore a look of surprise on his face and you felt embarrassed, not wanting to get caught leaving without saying goodbye. Nothing felt like a real goodbye any more, so long as you were still alive. You gave him the first unburdened smile you had ever been able to offer him and were satisfied with the blush that crossed his cheeks. 

“Can I have your address, Kyojuro?” you asked. “I’ll bring you and your family some steamed buns.”

He just looked confused. 

“Kujaku, aren’t you coming home with me?”

You stared, now also confused. 

“What?”

At your deadpan confusion, Rengoku turned dark red on every visible part of his body. 

You made an indecipherable angry noise. “Kyojuro, don’t you dare try to pick me up, I swear, I’m not like that! And stop calling me by my last name already! It’s weird!!”

He flinched, his eyebrows twitching. “What do you mean, not like what?! I’m not trying to do anything, I–” His expression turned into one of sinking realization. “I… didn’t ask you.”

“Didn’t ask me what?! I swear, Kyojuro, I was just about to move into my own place and have a sweet potato farm! Are you going to stop me?!” 

Unbelievable. He sank to his knees, covering his face with both hands, and you watched, horrified. You’d never seen him like this, ever. Kneeling, you reached out to try and pry Kyojuro’s hands away from his face, but he wouldn’t budge. 

“If you’re not going to tell me, I’m going to go. I want to get there before nightfall without having to run.”

He finally looked at you and you stumbled backward, afraid. Bright red and sweating, he looked like he was having some indecent daydream. You knew it. He was a pervert the whole time. 

“_____-san.”

“J-Just _____, Kyojuro! We’re even!”

“_____, you’re not my Tsuguko any longer, so I understand if you would like to go have a peaceful life growing sweet potatoes. Actually, that sounds really good! Really good!” His expression turned tortured and it looked strange on him. Your whole face twitched and a genuine fear for your life bubbled in your chest. Was he about to offer you a job?! No! You wanted to be free! Free!!!

“You’re not my Tsuguko, but I still think of you as my family.”

It was your turn to blush and you felt heat spreading across your face, your heart genuinely touched. He’d just been concerned you didn’t have a place to go? That was so–

“_____, please marry me.”

You choked. 

Boom. Your hand balled itself into a fist and you did everything it took to stop yourself from punching him in the face out of sheer shock. 

“I don’t have much to offer you, _____, especially if you’re going away to have something as enviable as a sweet potato farm!! But I’d just be so glad if…” 

Ugh, you were such an idiot. Of course, this was the solution. The perfect happily-ever-after. You just hadn’t bothered to think about it. When was the last time you really thought that hard about the future? Your long-term happiness? Maybe you were a bit easy, after all. The thought made you grimace with shame. You really needed to learn how to take better care of yourself. 

“... and I can ask your parents for their acceptance, but I wouldn’t think of doing that before consulting with you–”

He was going on about something but hadn’t stopped yet to hear your response. You reached out and put your hands on his cheeks, stopping him. Suddenly very hot, your vision wavered, unbidden tears forming.

“Let’s get married, Kyojuro,” you said, leaning forward to finally kiss him. It felt almost too good to be true. 

Hand in hand, you headed north together, toward home. 

You arrived back at the training ground just as the sun started to glow orange on the horizon. Seated side by side on the rock, you watched the sunset together, welcoming a dark and peaceful night on a world finally without demons. 

You chose tempura for dinner that night and you learned, to your great shame, that you had a cook and she had been there the whole time. She always cooked while you were out training and you had never seen her. But she had seen you countless times and she bowed low, her eyes crinkling with gratitude. 

“Thank you for your efforts, Kujaku-sama,” she said, aged knuckles folded on the mats. “I look forward to living out the rest of my old age in this demon-free world.” Taken aback, you struggled to respond, glancing at Kyojuro desperately. He laughed.

“She already shook my hand a lot, so please accept her feelings!” 

You were still reeling from the fact that you’d had an invisible ninja cook the whole time. Frowning, you thought about how much work she’d had to have done, catering to Kyojuro’s whims. And that rite of passage! Seven days of nonstop food! You prostrated yourself on the floor, your nose touching the mats.

“Thank YOU for your efforts, ma’am!!” you shouted. “I love your cooking!”

She chuckled and patted your head softly. 

“Tempura for dinner tonight,” she hummed, tying a coverall over her clothes. “What do you like the best, Kujaku-sama?”

“Kabocha!” you immediately responded. Kyojuro looked disappointed. 

“... And prawns…” you added slowly, taking a wild guess. His face lit up.

A quiet night followed and you sat up late in your futon, mind still reeling. You had a home of your own. And…

Sprawled out with a look of peace on his face, Kyojuro slept soundly beside you. You listened closely. Total Concentration Breathing.

Some habits would never die. You found his hand under the covers, clasping your fingers around his warm ones. A sunset colored eye cracked open to watch as you pulled his hand out of the futon and to your lips, a secret smile there. 

Holding Kyojuro’s hand to your cheek, you finally laid down and closed your eyes. It dawned on you at last how thankful you were to have survived.

Chapter Text

Planting was really hard work. 

“Blergh…” you huffed, collapsing into the ditch you’d just finished digging out. Terrible flashbacks of the early days of your training played in your mind. Kyojuro leaned over you, a huge, cheerful smile on his face. Some things really, really did not ever change.

“You’re going to be all dusty if you lay there, _____!”

“Too late,” you groaned, rolling in the hard, hot dirt. Kyojuro dropped a seedling onto your stomach, still beaming. 

“Well, while you are down there, here are the seedlings for this row! Aren’t they great!” He sounded extremely proud as he put four more seedlings on top of you expectantly. 

Unexpectedly, Kyojuro was really into this. He was also really good at it. And he even looked good while doing it. You peered up at him as he shimmered happily under the sun. Rippling muscles. Suntanned skin. Glistening sweat. You turned your face away into the ditch, trying to keep your thoughts decent. 

By the end of the day, a hundred seedlings were in the ground and you were covered head to toe in dirt, completely worn out. 

“Haha! That was fun. I’m really looking forward to the harvest!” Kyojuro wiped sweat from his brow, a hand tiller propped on his shoulder. You eyed the little seedlings warily, hoping they’d produce lots of sweet potatoes. They’d have to if you wanted to sell any after Kyojuro finished eating his fill. 

After a long bath, it was time to talk about more serious matters. 

Kyojuro wanted to bring you to his family home to properly introduce you to his father and brother. Apparently, sending Senjuro skidding across the ground on his face didn’t allow the first time you’d met him to count. 

Despite everything you’d learned about him during your time training under him and his eccentricities, you were finding that Kyojuro was unexpectedly traditional. You sent a letter to your family to notify them of your intentions. You wouldn’t have minded skipping some of the formalities, but there was something exciting about the preparations.

Every day brought new well wishes from everyone you knew and some who you didn’t, and you quickly came to realize that every one of these people had known that Kyojuro intended to marry you. Only you had been left out. Even Tanjiro knew. Even Nezuko, who had been asleep the whole time, knew! She sent a set of beautiful handmade cords with hers and Tanjiro’s message, and you wondered if you were too self-absorbed to have noticed something so apparently obvious. 

“What is this…?” A strange contraption dropped out of the letter sent by former Hashira Uzui Tengen and his “three whole wives.” You picked it up, frowning and turning it over in your hand. It looked almost like a…

“Hmm!” Kyojuro crossed his arms over his chest, smiling. “A… prophylactic?”

“A what?”

He laughed and you shook open the letter, squinting. There was no salutation.

Hey! Look at you, going off and marrying your Tsuguko! Real flashy!

Here’s a present from us. Had to guess on the size, SORRY IF IT’S WRONG. (hahaha!)

Tengen
Suma
Makio maki MAKIO
Hinatsuru

You hadn’t made it to Uzui’s training but suddenly had a very specific idea of what kind of person he might be. Flamboyant. You looked down at the odd thing that had fallen from the letter. It had a strange texture. 

“Is it a… snack???”

Kyojuro laughed even harder and, bewildered, you watched him and wondered if you’d said something funny. 

“It’s a prophylactic, my love,” he said in a low voice, his face suddenly very close. Heat flashed across your cheeks as he stared directly at you, looking extremely happy. His lips drew very close and he placed a teasing finger under your chin, his smile widening. 

“For intercourse!”

Your shocked screams echoed through the valley and you took another steep step down into the grim bowels of adulthood. 

A valet arrived from the neighboring town to help you dress in preparation to meet with Kyojuro’s family and you struggled to control your nervousness under the layers of fabric, afraid you might damage the precious garments if you sweated too much. Never having worn something so fine, you couldn’t help but feel your nerves. 

“Don’t worry,” Kyojuro said, poking his head into the doorway. He looked very handsome himself, his hair gathered high behind his head. “It’s just Senjuro and my father.” His eyebrows rose as he took you in and you twitched with discomfort. Stiff and polished, you stood there, sweating profusely under your clothes in spite of your efforts. His face lit up and you took an unconscious step backward, inordinately shy. 

“You look great, _____!”

You could barely contain your embarrassment. “It doesn’t suit me, but I get it... I’m looking forward to seeing your family, but hopefully there will be a chance to see them again soon, in less formal circumstances.”

He smiled tenderly at you and fresh sweat broke out across your smothered skin. 

“We’ve all seen you in your sleeping clothes, so it’s perfectly alright, _____!”

You shook your head. “I don’t even want to know…”

The Rengoku house was not very far at all. In fact, you wondered why Kyojuro hadn’t just lived there while he had been training you. He led you through the front gate and you looked around curiously as you stepped up into the cool shade of the house. 

It was an old home and well-kept, traditional, and sparse, hinting at a long history of the swordsman’s discipline. The scent of Japanese cedarwood came from nowhere in particular and you were settled into a room that overlooked a small courtyard to wait. 

Kyojuro joined you shortly, his excitement starting to visibly bubble over. He reached out to smooth a crease out of your collar affectionately, his expression so filled with love that you forgot to breathe, captivated and anxious that you were some kind of fraud, because how could you be engaged to marry someone you admired so much? 

Kyojuro’s father, Rengoku Shinjuro, was instantly recognizable, and with a single glance, you put your face down onto the floor so swiftly that you felt your nose smart. You heard him sigh and that was a familiar sound, too, and you remembered what you’d said in your delirious stupor. Even though you had been heavily medicated, you remembered it clear as day and cursed yourself for your stupidity. 

He’d been there when you’d woken up in the Butterfly Mansion and you’d mistaken him for Kyojuro, aged by approximately twenty years, and not very well. 

“Raise your face,” he said in a tired voice, and you sat up jerkily, your cheeks bright red. You had to clear the air immediately. This was going to be your new father-in-law. 

“I am so sorry!” you blurted out, failing to even make the proper introductions. “For my rudeness at the Butterfly Mansion!” Your thoughts whirled around in your head and you regretted everything. “Rengoku-dono!”

He gave you an appraising look and you glanced at Kyojuro, who seemed to be holding back a laugh. You almost started to cry. 

His father just shook his head, sighing again. “It’s Shinjuro,” he corrected you. “I’m just pleased that you are alive and intact. I heard about what happened.” He jerked his head toward Kyojuro. “That you protected my failure of a son over here.” 

Kyojuro made a choked sound that could only be described as the sound of despair, and his father folded his knees under himself. To your horror, he bowed low, his forehead touching the floor. 

“On behalf of the Rengoku family and name, thank you.”

You spluttered, now fully panicking. 

“Shinjuro-dono, please raise your head!” you begged, tears now actually running down your face. “My heart can’t take any more.” Suddenly remembering yourself, you started bowing a lot, too, heart racing. 

“I’m Kujaku _____. I’ll be in your care!” 

Shinjuro finally raised his head and regarded you solemnly. 

“That’s right, _____-san, we’ll be gladly welcoming you into our family very soon.” He smiled and he looked instantly younger and softer. An invisible weight lifted off your chest. 

“Kyojuro, show _____-san around the house.” He raised himself to his feet and you bowed your head again, quivering. Something caused you to listen closely and you raised your face, looking up at Shinjuro with an incredulous expression. He was doing Total Concentration Breathing, too, and the tenor of it was even deeper and more ingrained than Kyojuro’s. 

This man is incredibly strong!

For the first time, you felt a longing for your sword and your heart panged, knowing that you wouldn’t pursue strength in that way again. Cowed by the realization of your own helplessness, you felt inadequate and exposed. Shinjuro excused himself and you wiped your forehead on the back of your hand, caught up in your mixed feelings. 

“Don’t cry, _____,” Kyojuro beckoned, pressing your cheek with a handkerchief. “Why are you crying?”

You couldn’t fully tell him why. You were happy to exchange your sword for his life. You would do it again a million times if you had to. 

“I just can’t have your father bowing his head to me,” you managed, shaken. “Just being in front of him, I can sense his strength.” 

Kyojuro gave you a mild look before offering you a hand. You took it and he helped you to your feet. 

“Father is a former Hashira,” he said evenly, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm. “So he is certainly strong, but you will come to know him better eventually, and find that he’s mercurial and prone to bad habits. Being a swordsman damaged him.” Kyojuro led you from the room and down the hall to another. A family altar stood in the corner. 

“My mother died several years ago,” he said plainly, opening a drawer in the base of the altar. He handed you a photograph of a beautiful woman with a mysterious smile. Glancing up at Kyojuro, you noted there was almost no resemblance. 

“When she died, Senjuro asked me a lot if Father was going to heaven with her. It was like part of him died and went away. He never recovered, so he retired as a Hashira and I took his place.” 

“What kind of person was your mother?” you asked, placing the photograph back into the drawer. He closed it softly, appearing to be thinking about the right thing to say.

“I’d say that together, she and Father were one perfect whole,” he finally said, smiling. “She had the swordsman’s spirit and he had the swordsman’s strength. She was a person of strong moral character and she had discipline and values that kept Father always focused and looking ahead. When she died, he wavered and never really got back on the path.”

Seated before the altar, you pressed your hands together.

“I’m thankful to them,” you said quietly. “The perfect whole was actually you, Kyojuro.”

You closed your eyes to offer your silent prayers and missed the dark blush that spread across his face. 

Senjuro greeted you as you moved to the courtyard and you admired how cute he was as he bowed respectfully. 

“I’m looking forward to having you in our family,” he said earnestly and you blushed for the thousandth time that day. He brought tea and sweets and you sat down with him on the veranda, listening to a glass windchime tinkle in the breeze from somewhere. 

“Thank you for saving Brother,” he said, and he mimicked his father, pressing his forehead against the floorboards. You wondered how much more of this you could take. 

“Please raise your head, Senjuro-kun,” you said immediately, flustered. “You don’t need to thank me at all.”

“But I heard that you…” He trailed off, watching your hands. You hid them in your sleeves, frowning. 

“I guess I’m not as good as I once was,” you admitted. “But I could probably still knock you out if I put my mind to it.” 

He finally laughed and you relaxed, smiling. 

Senjuro was an excellent cook. Thoroughly impressed, you talked to him about it at length, glad for a change of pace. The sweets were so good that you’d assumed they had been bought from a shop, but in fact, Senjuro had made them, and to your delight, he seemed very proud of it. While you were talking, though, Kyojuro ate them all. 

“I can’t believe you, Brother.” 

He just laughed. “I’m sure _____ is used to it by now!”

You scowled. “Senjuro-kun worked really hard to make those and you just polished them off right away!”

Kyojuro beamed and clapped Senjuro on the shoulder. You glanced down, catching the way his knees buckled. A familiar feeling.

“Yes, they were really excellent! Well done, Senjuro!” 

Senjuro gave you a sheepish look. “I’ll bring some more next time we meet. I heard that you inherited the training house, _____-san. That’s really great.”

Kyojuro looked surprised. “You own that place now, _____?”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Did you… think I would just start a potato garden on a bunch of land I didn’t own?!”

He laughed again. “I didn’t think too hard about it! But that’s great!” 

You really wondered again if Kyojuro had sustained some head injuries that no one knew about.

“Anyway, I think Father has just left to greet your parents for the yuino ceremony, so that’s exciting! What is four months from today?”

You counted on your fingers. “The first day of October?”

Kyojuro gave you a soft smile. “That’s the day we’ll be wed.” 

The appointed day came and in front of your families, you quietly married, the nuptial cups passing around and finally settling into a lacquered box for your memories. As you rose from your bow of respect for your family, Kyojuro and Shinjuro draped a new haori over your shoulders. It looked just like your old one that had gotten shredded, but also had their family’s crest on the lapels. Unable to hold it in any longer, you started to cry. 

How could you have found such happiness already in your lifetime? 

The blissful wedding wrapped up in a rush though, so you and Kyojuro could hurry home and–

“Aaaaarrgghhh!!” 

“Stake it in, stake it in!!”

Who would have expected a typhoon on your wedding day?! It was hard for you to run, so Kyojuro had unceremoniously hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of rice and sprinted back with you, looking very much like he was kidnapping you. You struggled to stake nets into the ground around your sweet potato plants, willing them to stay anchored in despite the intense rain and wind. 

After the nets were finally in place, both of you stumbled into the house, completely drenched and muddy. Unable to do anything but laugh, you got out of your sopping, heavy wedding outfits, still in the entryway so that the mats wouldn’t be ruined. 

An hour later, finally bathed and dried, you lit a fire in the stove as the storm continued to rage outside. 

“Well…” you said, smiling sadly. “I guess that’s it for the sweet potatoes.”

“I’m sure they will make it! Life finds a way.” Kyojuro was more optimistic than you. He took your hand and rubbed it for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight to his chest. 

“Kyojuro, we’re…”

You felt him smile as he placed a hand on the back of your head, pressing your face into the warm spot between his neck and collarbone. 

“Let’s stay together like this, _____. I want to be close to you.” 

You weren’t sure why you bothered blushing any more but his words never failed to warm your heart. 

“I’m yours, Kyojuro,” you murmured into his neck, his pulse fluttering under your lips. “I’ll be with you always.” Feeling very warm, your fingers found the nape of his neck and as you touched him, working to let down his hair, he shivered. His lips were on yours in an instant and the strength went out of your knees from the intense feeling. But it ceased to matter as he swept you up off your feet entirely, your weight barely seeming to register to him as he kissed you without missing a beat, his hair finally tumbling down around your faces like a warm veil, his mouth so warm and inviting, too. 

Breathless, you wound your fingers into his hair, fresh heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. Something akin to nervousness gathered under your skin as you realized where you were going together and you felt his tongue slip into your mouth as he kissed you deeper and deeper.

The feeling that you should stop evaporated with your disbelief, replaced by the realization that you were married to this man and entitled to everything he wanted to offer you. And as he carried you lightly into the dimness of his room, every sound drowned out by the raging storm outside, you realized there was no reason to hold back, no reason to stifle your desires, your wants, your admiration. 

Kyojuro reached back to slide the door shut behind you, leaving only thin, gray light filtering in through the screen from the outside and you allowed yourself a sigh of pleasure as he sat you softly on his futon, his hands sliding your robe off your shoulders, his lips now focused on your neck. 

And you tried to ignore the fact that he’d had his futon out and ready for you, completely planned, but why wouldn’t it be on your wedding day? Simple gestures like this chased away your disbelief that he wanted you, loved you, and you trembled with the weight of your love for him, gripping him close to you. Between breaths, you worked to get his clothes out of the way, eager for the warmth of his skin on yours in the chill air. 

“I love you,” he breathed into your ear, his voice heavy with desire. It lit you from within, heat spreading into new, unexplored places deep inside you, and you kissed his chest, pressing your forehead above where his heart beat steadily. 

“I love you, too,” you whispered back. You sat up, pushing Kyojuro back onto his knees. Straddling his lap, surrounded by a mess of half-discarded clothes, you faced him, both of you red and breathless, eyes hazy. Your lips met again and your hand gripped his nape as you felt his hand slide up your leg, sparks lighting behind your eyelids. As you parted, you smiled at him contentedly.

“I’m yours, Kyojuro,” you repeated, guiding his hand to your hip so he could finish getting rid of your clothes. He had you on your back again in an instant and you embraced him firmly, your back arching up off the futon to bring your bodies together even closer, ready to accept everything he had to offer you. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmured in your ear, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“Never really mattered before,” you noted drily, referring back to the hell he’d put you through during your training. He gave you an impatient look. You chuckled. 

He was gentle anyway, much to his credit.

Two days later, a man came to the house to take your photograph. 

“_____, you don’t have to be so stiff,” Kyojuro advised, rubbing your hand. “You look very fierce!”

It took a long time for the photograph to be taken and you had to be absolutely, perfectly still for longer than you were able. Your face, frozen into a completely neutral expression, bothered Kyojuro, who wanted you to smile.

The photograph was for the Rengoku family’s collection. It was their tradition to have portraits created of the people who had married into the family over the years because all of the children looked almost the same. Kyojuro’s mother, Ruka, had been the first to have a photograph taken, so you would be the second. 

“Can we take it together?” you asked, beckoning Kyojuro to your side. “Maybe that would be better.”

“Let’s have one of each,” he acquiesced. He placed your katana in your lap so that it would appear with you. The weight of it felt like a lie. Had you carried something so heavy like this with you into battle? Less than half a year had passed, but your time as a Demon Slayer felt like it had happened in another life. 

You wore your training clothes and the white haori with the Rengoku family crest draped over your shoulders. Your weak fingers closed around the wooden scabbard and you grimaced at the camera again.

The photographs returned to you in a couple of weeks under fancy glass frames and you placed the one of you and Kyojuro in the alcove where your katana now hung, a simple decoration now. 

The same day brought another, more unexpected visitor. Chachamaru, the bereaved calico cat, emerged from the forest that evening after the sun was gone. He meowed at the front door and brushed his paw on it, asking to be let in. He wore a curious leather knapsack, and, of all things, a green peddler’s hat with holes for his ears. 

“Good evening…” you greeted hesitantly, sliding open the door just enough for him to come inside. “You sure look fancy, Chachamaru.” 

“Mrp.”

Kyojuro was in the bath, so you received Chachamaru at the table, poking around in the kitchen to see if there was any leftover mackerel from dinner. To your surprise, there was, but he didn’t seem interested. 

He gave you a note and a small wooden box, which you took from his knapsack. The box contained a syringe filled with liquid. The note was long, and it brought tears to your eyes. 

To you, surviving Hashira:

I think even now that perhaps it was a mistake to make this drug, since I am still working to finish the one that I hope will help bring an end to Kibutsuji Muzan’s existence. But in the case that you have survived, I imagine that a certain mark has manifested on your body that resembles a demon crest. 

Over the many years I have studied the bodies of both humans and demons, I have discovered what I believe to be the cause and purpose for demon crests. 

Unfortunately, while these are normal for demons and allow them to tap into physical power they would not have had as humans, they lead to accelerated cell death. A demon regenerates on its own, so for them, it’s of no consequence. But no human to manifest a mark will live for long after it appears. I have heard that death becomes certain once the marked person turns twenty-five. 

The syringe contains a single dose of a drug I have developed to reverse this effect. Please know that while it may stave off early death, it may also weaken you physically. In the case that your campaign against Kibutsuji Muzan was unsuccessful, you will be left vulnerable. I did not have sufficient time to mitigate the weakening effect. 

I also wish to convey my thanks to you for your courage and sacrifice. I cannot express to you how painful it has been, watching hundreds of years pass with little change. While I am not certain this is the end, I would like to spend my final moments believing it is. 

Tamayo

Frantic, you counted in your head how old Kyojuro was, and it occurred to you that…

You had married someone whose age you didn’t even know!!

“I am a stupid idiot,” you berated yourself aloud, and Chachamaru watched you calmly with eyes that seemed to understand you. Grabbing the syringe, you dashed to the bathhouse, slamming the door open with a vengeance. 

“Oh?” Kyojuro was soaking peacefully. “Come to join me, _____?”

“No!” you shouted, far too aggressive. “Kyojuro! How old are you?!!” 

He looked thoughtful. 

“Twenty-one!”

You sighed with relief. “Did you get a mark that looks like a demon crest?” You remembered noticing a mark that hadn’t been there before, but it was in the heat of battle, and you weren’t sure what you saw in the chaos. 

“Hmm! Yes, but it is gone now! It only appeared while we were fighting Muzan! After that, it faded away.” Chachamaru padded up next to you but did not like the wet floor. Irritated, he backed away and licked his paws. 

You allowed Kyojuro to dry off and get dressed so he could read the letter for himself. 

“I’ll leave the decision up to you, _____,” he finally said, his expression unreadable. He folded the letter and placed it under the wooden box quietly. 

Your hands tightened into fists in your lap. “What decision?” you asked, frowning. “You could die, Kyojuro!”

He just shook his head.

“I can’t heed the word of a demon,” he said simply. “Even a dead one.” 

You stared down at your tensed hands, trembling. It was true that you didn’t know much about Tamayo. You’d been lucky to catch her just once, on the verge of death. You hadn’t even seen her face. Chachamaru stared up at you with large, clear eyes, waiting. 

“Give me my husband and children back… Give them back.”

Only you had heard her last words, pleading to be reunited with her family. You tried to remember how her voice sounded. All you could think was that she sounded tragic and she deserved pity. 

You sighed heavily. There was always this open question of whether or not Kyojuro was going to die. You wished you could get used to it, but the more time went on, the more anxious you felt when the question reared its ugly head again. 

“Let’s consult with the others,” you finally said, placing the syringe back in the box where it came from. You didn’t want to do anything rash in a moment of emotion. That being said, you worried. 

It seemed the others had the same idea as you, as four letters arrived just the next morning. You hadn’t slept, too consumed with anxiety, so Kyojuro read them to you while you nursed some strong tea.

Rengoku, 

Do I take this medicine? A cat delivered it last night. It seems ill-advised to inject oneself with a syringe given to you by a cat. 

Tomioka Giyu

“I can’t believe that’s all he wrote,” you muttered. “What are the other ones?”

Rengoku-

I can’t fucking stand cats. 

Shinazugawa

“What the hell?” you asked, now holding your head. “That makes no sense. He’s even more helpless than Tomioka-san.”

“Well, the other two are from Kamado and Master Kiriya, so hopefully…” Kyojuro shook Tanjiro’s letter open next. 

Rengoku-san,

How are you and _____-san? Congratulations again on your marriage! 

Nezuko asked me to remind _____-san about the konpeito. Please don’t mind it too much, though. 

Tamayo-san’s cat dropped off some medicine. Did you get some, too? I used it right away since I’ve had the mark for a while. Tamayo’s medicines are amazing! She even turned Nezuko back into a human. We owe her everything, so we pray every night together that she is resting in peace. I know you never knew her, but she was a really kind person. She even rescued us from Kibutsuji Muzan that night in Asakusa. I don’t know if I ever had the chance to tell you the story, but I will when we meet again.

If you didn’t receive Chachamaru (cat) yet, I’ll send a letter to Yushiro-kun. 

Sincerely,

Kamado Tanjiro

So that was how Nezuko turned back into a human. You’d always wondered but never thought too hard about it. 

“Here’s Master Kiriya’s,” Kyojuro said, unfolding the last letter. 

Kyojuro,

I know it is presumptuous of me to ask, but if you have hosted a calico cat lately that delivered some medicine, will you please take it and respond to this letter after? Of course, you are released from your duties, so this is just my humble request. I am worried about you.

Please also tell me if the cat did not appear yet. 

Thank you,
Ubuyashiki Kiriya

“I, uh, think you’re supposed to use it, Kyojuro,” you said. Two positive affirmations and two idiots being confused. “If you remember, you’ve accepted medicine from Chachamaru before and it worked really well.” Though you hadn’t had a choice back then, in the middle of battle with Muzan. No one had expected to survive, anyway. 

Kyojuro smiled brightly at you and rolled up his sleeve.

“Very well, then, Nurse _____, I am in your hands!”

You gave him the injection and then regretted your whole life because he proceeded to sleep for three days straight and you thought you’d killed him. 

When he finally woke up, you tried to climb a tree together but found that it was no longer possible for either of you. As the two of you stared up at it, unnerved, you remembered chasing Kyojuro through the treetops, trying to catch up with him during your morning runs. He was so fast. Now, the strength stolen from each of you, you just smiled at each other sheepishly, trying hard to feel fine with it. There was no need for strength like that any longer in this world.

You sat together on the rock instead, holding each other’s hands. The sweet potato plants waved gently in a breeze and you thought about washing the laundry. You gauged from the look on Kyojuro’s face that he was thinking about noodles. 

“Kyojuro, what if the medicine didn’t work?” you asked fearfully, your worries getting the better of you. He turned to give you a relaxed smile. 

“Don’t worry, _____! I’m sure it will be fine.” He stroked your cheek affectionately and you looked down, still unconvinced.

“But what if you die?” you pressed further, frowning. 

He just laughed and you wailed, your anxieties overflowing. Kyojuro reached out and embraced you tightly, a smile of pure and unadulterated bliss on his face. You etched his expression into your memories, too familiar with the feeling now of trying to stamp moments like these into your brain, in preparation for the time when Kyojuro would no longer be there.

“_____, whether I die tomorrow or much later, it will be fine because I was able to be with you!” He beamed at you and you suddenly felt grateful. 

“... You’re right, Kyojuro,” you said, leaning your head forward to rest on his shoulder. You smiled into his clothes, his warmth right under you. Somehow, he always had the right answers. 

“I’m so glad to have loved you.” 

“Hm!” He placed a hand on the back of your head, stroking you softly. “Then, until that time…”

He held you close, his voice so tender that your heart ached in your chest.

“Let’s be together.”