Chapter Text
Yuichiro runs the back of his hand on his forehead removing the cold sweat. The winds were soft, hiding, small, yet it didn’t make the cold any less intense.
Yuichiro's shoulders ache from the constant swinging of his axe against the logs. It’s practically winter now, which means heavy snow and freezing temperatures.
Yuichiro took the initiative to start preparing wood to burn to keep him and his brother warm during the season. It was also their source of income which meant he had to do twice the amount of work.
Muichiro offered a helping hand and Yuichiro allowed him to assist but as the days got colder in late October Yuichiro practically forbade him from coming outside.
Of course Muichiro persisted, coming outside pleading to his brother to let him help. Yuichiro often kept his footing, shouting until Muichiro reluctantly went back inside. However, some days as the cold bit at his fingers and the number of cut up wood hasn’t increased significantly he lets Muichiro grab a spare axe and follow him up the path.
It was one of those days however that Yuichiro spent five minutes yelling for Muichiro to stay inside and Muichiro listened only after declaring he’ll be back.
“Yuichiro!”
Yuichiro lifts his head, clicking his tongue while Muichiro comes running towards him.
“Come on time to come inside!”
Yuichiro lifts his axe holding it high above his shoulders before slamming it down on the log only denting it's already wound. “I’m not done yet.”
“You're shaking!” Muichiro protests.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re going to get sick if you keep this up!” Muichiro’s voice rises, carrying an edge of desperation, his breath coming out in visible puffs.
Yuichiro lowers his arm for a moment. His finger throbbing with the chill, his body begging for warmth and rest. But he couldn’t stop—not when their survival depended on it.
“We need the wood, Muichiro,” he says.” “You don’t understand how important this is.”
“I do understand!” Muichiro frowns. “But you can’t take care of us if you’re too sick to stand!”
Yuichiro’s grip on the axe tightens, and for a moment, he just stares at the dented log in front of him. The biting wind seems to mock him, gnawing at his exposed skin as if to prove Muichiro’s point.
“You’re such a pain,” Yuichiro mutters under his breath, though there was no real venom in his words.
Muichiro steps closer, his expression softening as he tugs on the edge of his brother’s sleeve. “Please Yuichiro.”
Yuichiro sighs heavily, finally lowering the axe. He turns to look at Muichiro, who is practically shivering himself despite his insistence. “Fine,” he relents, “but only for today.”
A small smile breaks across Muichiro’s face as he reaches out and grabs his brother’s arm, pulling him toward their home. ”I’ll start the fire.”
Yuichiro couldn’t help but glance back at the pile of unfinished logs. The weight of responsibility still pressed heavily on his shoulders, but as he felt Muichiro’s hand gripping his arm, something else stirred within him—a warmth that the bitter winter couldn’t touch.
“You don’t even know how to.”
“I’ll figure it out!”
“Alright,” he said quietly, letting himself be led away. “But don’t expect me to help if you can’t do it.”
In the end Yuichiro made the fire while explaining it to Muichiro who was sulking beside him from the failed attempts to keep the fire alive.
As the fire blazes Muichiro huddled close to Yuichiro, his head resting on his twin’s shoulder and as Muichiro holds his hand out towards the flame Yuichiro knows the next time Muichiro declares to make the fire he’ll be able to successfully.
Yuichiro finds himself shivering, the freezing temperatures of December seeping through every crack of their home. The sheets are barely able to shield through the thick freeze.
Muichiro is shaking too and making sharp and whirring noises. They latched onto each other subconsciously, their holds tightening every time there’s a sudden whoosh of wind.
Yuichiro has been rationing their wood. Like he expected they barely had enough to get them through winter, having to sell a few in order to even afford food that nature could no longer supply in this season.
“Yuichiro…” Muichiro’s voice is shaky, his teeth clattering between syllables.
Yuichiro just shifts closer pulling Muichiro towards himself. They stay like that for the rest of the night, only falling asleep when they are too exhausted to keep their eyes open.
In the morning Muichiro is still clinging to Yuichiro, his body no longer trembling from the cold but still jolting in random intervals.
Be it from his own exhaustion and the cold or the simple fact that he’s the sole person keeping Muichiro warm at this moment Yuichiro stays under the sheets holding onto Muichiro long after he’s been awake.
Only when Muichiro’s eyes flutter and his mouth parts with a shaky breath that Yuichiro shifts away from Muichiro and sits up.
“I’ll start making food.”
“I want to help.”
“No.”
“But—“
“No,” Yuichiro says firmly, though his voice was gentler than usual. “Just stay here and keep warm.”
Muichiro frowns, his lips slightly pale, “But I want to help.”
“You helping means staying out of the way and staying warm. That’s more important to me than anything else.”
Muichiro’s gaze drops. “But—“
“No.”
Yuichiro rises from the bed. He glances back at Muichiro, whose wide eyes follow him with concern. A pang of guilt crept into Yuichiro’s chest—he hated seeing his brother like this, fragile and vulnerable.
“I’ll make something warm,” Yuichiro adds as he moves towards the small cooking space.
The meager supplies they had left stared back at him—a few grains of rice, and a single strip of salted fish. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
The sound of the winds outside howls through the cracks of the house, and Yuichiro shivers as he works to prepare the meal. He builds a small fire, making sure to not overdo it with the wood and places the pot over the flames. The warmth of the fire is a small mercy.
“Yuichiro?” Muichiro’s Voice comes from behind Yuichiro, soft and uncertain.
Yuichiro turns his head, surprised to see his brother standing there, still wrapped in the sheet like a cocoon.
Muichiro’s bare feet barely touch the cold floor as he shuffles closer.
“I told you to stay in bed.”
“I don’t want to be alone…,” Muichiro admits.
Yuichiro sighs, shifting slightly. “Alright. Come here, but stay close to the fire.”
Muichiro nods with a quick smile and settles down beside his brother. For a moment, the two of them sat in silence, watching the pot as it simmered.
“Do you think spring will come soon?” Muichiro asks, his voice hopeful.
Yuichiro doesn’t answer right away. Instead he reaches out and places a brother’s head ruffling his hair gently. “It will,” He finally says, “We just have to make it through this, alright?”
Muichiro looks over at him, his eyes bright despite the cold, with a small smile. “Okay.”
Yuichiro returned the smile, faint but sincere, as the fire crackled softly between them.
Spring came and it should’ve been a relief—the snow has thawed, the sun shines brightly, and its heat broke away the ice that had covered the river, but it wasn’t.
Spring began the horrible truth that Yuichiro had been dreading all winter—their supplies were almost completely gone, and with the thawing snow came the realization of how fragile their survival had been. The river was free from ice, but it was still too early for the fish to return in abundance. The fields, once lush with greenery, were barren patches of mud, offering no food or resources to gather.
Yuichiro stands by the edge of the riverbank, staring at the swirling currents. His hands are rough and calloused from months of chopping wood, and his body aches.
Muichiro is sitting nearby, poking at the damp earth with a stick. His usual bright energy seems muted, dulled by the long, harsh winter. "Yuichiro," he calls out softly, breaking the silence.
Yuichiro turns. "What is it?”
“Do you think things will get better now?" Muichiro asks, his voice hesitant, as if afraid of the answer.
Yuichiro hesitates. He wants to lie, to offer his brother some semblance of comfort, but the truth weighed heavily on him. "I don’t know," he admits, his tone gruff but honest. "It’ll take time for things to grow back, for food to be plentiful again."
Muichiro lowers his gaze, staring at the ground. "But we’ll be okay, right?”
Yuichiro feels a pang of worry at the faith his younger brother has. He crouches down beside Muichiro. "We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?"
Muichiro nods, his small hands clutching the stick tightly. "Yeah. Because of you."
Yuichiro doesn’t respond, instead turning his gaze back to the river. The snow was gone, the sun was shining, and the world was waking up again. But to him, spring wasn’t a relief—it was a reminder of how much work still lay ahead.
Still, as he looked at Muichiro, he found a spark of determination. Maybe things will get better, after all it’s been six months and they’re still standing. Winter had been the worst of it, and they made it through. Surely, things would start looking up for them.
That’s what Yuichiro wanted to believe and soon enough he scolded himself for even entertaining such hope.
Spring didn’t begin their salvation, no—spring began the horrible moment the woman first appeared and continued to make her presence known.
Her visits started quietly—at first, just a figure in the distance, her pale kimono blending with the early morning mists.
Muichiro saw her when he went to fetch water at the river. He was entranced by her beauty, calling her a ”goddess” to Yuichiro when he brought her to their home. Yuichiro was livid, seeing her standing at their door, and immediately scolded Muichiro for bringing a stranger here.
She arrived with a calmness that unsettled Yuichiro, her voice soft but her presence imposing.
She introduced herself as Amane Ubuyashiki, her name unfamiliar but spoken with the kind of authority that made Yuichiro pause.
She didn’t come with malice, yet her purpose felt heavier than the winter snow they’d just survived.
During her few visits, she offered only a brief exchange of polite words that felt more like a test than a conversation.
She asked strange questions about their lives, their family, and how they had survived the harsh winter.
Yuichiro didn’t like her prying, but Muichiro seemed captivated by her, always standing a step too close and listening with wide eyes.
By the third visit, her intentions became clear.
“You both have great potential,” Amane says. Her tone was steady, as though this were a simple observation. “The Demon Slayer Corps needs individuals like you.”
“Demon Slayers Corps? What’s that?” Muichiro voice questions, his curiosity piqued, while Yuichiro’s jaw tightens.
He stays silent unwilling to let his unease show in front of her. His mind racing of whatever this thing entails.
Amane smiles. “The Demon Slayer Corps is an organization dedicated to eliminating demons—beings who prey on the innocent, causing destruction wherever they go. The corps trains individuals who possess strength, endurance, and the ability to harness specialized techniques for battle. Individuals like you .”
“Demons?” Muichiro questions, his eyebrows pitched in worry.
Yuichiro clicks his tongue. “Get out.”
Muichiro’s head snaps over to his brother with wide eyes while Amane barely shifts her head to glance at Yuichiro.
“Demons? Ridiculous. Get out. I’m done listening.”
Amane’s serene expression doesn’t falter, though the weight of Yuichiro’s hostility hangs heavy in the air. She clasps her hands in front of her, her movements slow and deliberate, as if even her gestures were meant to calm the storm of disbelief brewing within Yuichiro.
“Yuichiro,” she starts softly. “I understand this is difficult to believe. Most people go their entire lives unaware of what lurks in the shadows. But ignorance does not mean safety. Denying their existence won’t protect you or your brother.”
“I don’t care,” Yuichiro snaps, his voice laced with venom. “You show up here, spouting nonsense about demons and organizations, and now you’re trying to drag us into it?! We don’t need you, and we don’t need your Corps!”
“Yuichiro—“
“No!” Yuichiro cuts her off, his voice rising. His fists clench at his sides, the tension in his body radiating like a palpable force. “You don’t know us! You don’t know what we’ve been through! And you sure as hell don’t get to waltz in here and tell us what we should do with our lives!”
Amane bows her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “You’re right. I don’t know everything about you. But I do know strength when I see it. And I know what happens when people like you try to live in ignorance of the world’s dangers.”
Yuichiro opens his mouth to retort, but Muichiro speaks up first, his voice soft but trembling. “Are… are they real? The demons?” His wide eyes are filled with uncertainty, fear, and a glimmer of curiosity.
“Yes,” Amane says, turning her attention to the younger brother. Her tone softens, becoming almost maternal. “They’re real, Muichiro. And they’ve taken countless lives. That’s why the Corps exists—to fight them, to protect those who can’t protect themselves.”
Yuichiro steps between them, shielding Muichiro from Amane’s gaze. “I don’t care what you’re selling,” he spits. “We’re not interested! Leave!”
Amane studies him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. Finally, she sighs, a trace of sadness slipping through her composed exterior. “I won’t force you to join.”
She straightens, smoothing the folds of her kimono. “I’ll take my leave for now. But consider my words carefully. Your strength is a gift, and gifts like yours are rare. It’s up to you how you choose to use it.”
Amane turns and begins walking away, her footsteps eerily silent against the soft earth. Muichiro watches her go, his small hands gripping the edge of his seat tightly.
Yuichiro lets out a sharp exhale, his jaw tight. “Don’t let her get into your head,” he mutters, glancing back at his brother.
“But… what if she’s telling the truth?” Muichiro whispers, his voice barely audible.
“She’s not,” Yuichiro snaps, though his tone is more forceful than convincing. “We don’t need her, or anyone else. We’ve made it this far on our own. That’s not going to change.”
But as Amane’s figure disappears into the distance, a sliver of doubt crept into Yuichiro’s mind—one he refuses to acknowledge.
Amane’s visits continued, despite Yuichiro’s protests and increasingly harsh words. She never stays long—always arriving with the same sentence presence and leaving before sunset. Each time, she brought something with her: a small basket of food, a spare blanket, or a bundle of herbs she claims could help with light sicknesses.
Yuichiro refuses her offerings, shoving them back toward her with a scowl but Muichiro, with his soft heart, would quietly accept them when his brother wasn’t looking.
Yuichiro hated it. To him, her presence was a threat, a reminder of how precarious their lives had become. He didn’t trust her, not her calm demeanor, not her soft-spoken words, and certainly not her talk of the Demon Slayer Corps.
“What does she want from us?” Yuichiro mutters one evening. “She won’t stop coming, no matter how many times I tell her to leave us alone.”
Muichiro hesitates, sitting cross-legged on the floor across from him. “I think she’s just trying to help.”
“Help?” Yuichiro barks, his voice rising. “We don’t need her help.”
Muichiro lowers his gaze. “She said we’re strong. What if we can help people… protect them.”
Yuichiro scoffs. “Protect people from what, Muichiro? From demons? She’s feeding you stories. There’s no such thing.”
“She doesn’t seem like the type to lie,” Muichiro murmurs, glancing up cautiously.
Yuichiro turns toward the window, his jaw tight. “Even if she’s telling the truth, it’s not our problem.”
The next time Amane comes, Yuichiro confronts her before she even steps into their home.
“Why do you keep coming here?” he demands, blocking her path. His tone was cold, his eyes narrow.
Amane doesn’t flinch. Her composure remained intact as she folded her hands neatly in front of her. “Because I see something in both of you—a strength that could save lives.”
“We don’t want anything to do with your Corps,” Yuichiro snaps. “We don’t need saving, and we’re not interested in whatever it is you’re trying to recruit us for.”
Amane tilts her head slightly. “You may not see it now, but the strength you both possess isn’t meant to be hidden away in isolation. It’s meant to protect, to serve a greater purpose.”
Yuichiro let out a bitter laugh. “Protect who? Serve what? You think the world cared about us when we were starving through the winter? When we had to claw our way to survive? No one came to save us then!”
Amane’s expression softens. “You’re right,” she says gently. “The world can be cruel, and there are times when no one will come. But that is exactly why people like you are needed. So others won’t have to endure the same pain.”
Yuichiro clenches his jaw, her words stirring something deep inside him—something he didn’t want to feel.
“Leave,” he says, his voice low and cold. “Don’t come back.”
Amane doesn’t argue. She simply inclines her head and turns to leave. But as she walks away, her parting words lingers in the air.
“The strength you have, Yuichiro, isn’t just meant to endure hardship. It’s meant to protect what you hold dear.”
Yuichiro slams the door shut, his chest heaving with anger. But as he leans against it, he couldn’t shake the weight of her words—or the flicker of doubt they had planted in his mind.
“She’s no good!” Yuichiro yells after a few minutes the woman left.
Muichiro now has begun encouraging the idea of them going with her, sprouting nonsense that Yuichiro was most definitely not having. He has been ever since Amane’s forth visit.
“But we can help people!” Muichiro protests, his eyes wide with conviction.
“Help who?!” Yuichiro snaps, his voice rising In frustration. “Ourselves? Because no one else is going to! You can’t even help yourself! We’re eleven! What can we do?! Why can’t you see that she doesn’t care about us!”
“She’s kind, Yuichiro! She’s only trying to help!”
“You’re so stupid!” Yuichiro yells, the words sharp and cutting. “She’s just saying what you want to hear so we’ll do what she wants!”
“That’s not true!” Muichiro fires back, his cheeks flushed with frustration. “You don’t know that! You’re just mad at everything!”
“Yeah, I am mad!” Yuichiro snaps, stepping closer to his brother. “I’m mad because you don’t get it! We don’t need her—we don’t need anyone! It’s just us!”
“But it doesn’t have to be!” Muichiro shouts, his voice breaking as tears stream down his face. “She said we can help people, Yuichiro! We can do something good!”
Yuichiro scoffs, shaking his head. “Good? What’s the point of ‘good’ if we end up dead?!”
Muichiro’s bottom lip trembles, and he lowers his gaze, his fists clenching at his sides. “You’re wrong,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah? Then go with her if you think she’s so great!” Yuichiro challenges, his chest heaving.
Muichiro looks up at him, hurt and defiance warring in his teary eyes. “Maybe I will!”
For a moment, neither of them says anything. The air between them feels heavy, thick with emotions they’re too young to fully understand.
Finally, Yuichiro turns away, his shoulders stiff. “Do whatever you want,” he mutters, walking toward the door. “Just don’t expect me to save you when it all goes wrong.”
Muichiro watches him leave, his chest aching with emotions he can’t put into words. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to stay angry—not at Yuichiro, not at anyone. But as he stands alone in the quiet house, he wonders if wanting to help people is really such a bad thing.
The silence in the house is suffocating. Muichiro sniffles, wiping his face on his sleeve as he glances toward the door Yuichiro slammed shut behind him.
He sits down on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. The argument plays over and over in his mind, twisting his thoughts into knots. Yuichiro’s words sting, but they don’t drown out the hope Amane’s visit had sparked.
Why can’t Yuichiro see what he sees? Why can’t he feel what he feels—the possibility that they could do something more?
Outside, Yuichiro leans against the doorframe, staring into the thick trees that surround their home. His chest rises and falls with uneven breaths as he tries to calm the storm raging inside him.
“Stupid…” he mutters under his breath, his hands trembling as they clenched into fists at his sides. He doesn’t know if he’s talking about Muichiro or himself anymore.
He doesn’t want to lose Muichiro. He doesn’t want to risk everything they’ve barely managed to hold onto. But deep down, something about Amane’s words had shaken him, planting a seed of doubt he couldn’t shake.
“What if…” he whispers, his voice almost too soft to hear.
But he shakes his head, banishing the thought. No, they’re fine on their own. They have to be.
Still, as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest, Yuichiro can’t bring himself to go back inside. The weight of his fears and his brother’s quiet hope presses down on him, leaving him frozen in place.
Inside, Muichiro stares at the flickering candlelight, his thoughts filled with images of Amane’s kind smile and the stories she told about the Demon Slayer Corps.
He wants to believe her. He does believe her.
And he hopes—desperately—that one day, Yuichiro will too.
Days passed, and Amane didn’t return.
The silence between the brothers stretched thinner and thinner, broken only by the necessary exchanges of daily life. Yuichiro busied himself with chores as though he could scrub away the remnants of their argument.
Muichiro, on the other hand, remained quieter than usual, retreating into himself. His small frame seemed to shrink under the weight of unspoken thoughts. He would sit by the river sometimes, staring at the water as if searching for answers or better yet waiting for Amane to show up.
One afternoon, while Yuichiro was chopping firewood, he noticed Muichiro sitting on the porch, fiddling with a small wooden carving he’d been working on.
“Are you planning to do anything useful today?” Yuichiro asks, the words coming out harsher than he intended.
Muichiro doesn’t look up. “I was thinking… about what she said.”
Yuichiro slams the axe down into the chopping block, the sound echoing through the clearing. “Of course, you were,” he mutters, turning away.
“She wasn’t lying, Yuichiro,” Muichiro says quietly. “You know it, don’t you?”
Yuichiro freezes, his back still turned to his brother. “It doesn’t matter,” he says after a moment. “Even if she wasn’t lying, it doesn’t change anything. We’re fine on our own.”
“Are we?” Muichiro’s voice was soft, but there was a tremor in it that made Yuichiro’s chest tighten.
Yuichiro whips around, his expression a mix of frustration and fear. “What are you saying, Muichiro? That you want to run off with some stranger and fight demons? You don’t even know what that means!”
“I’m saying—” Muichiro hesitates, gripping the carving tightly in his hands. “I’m saying I want to do something more than just survive!” I want to be useful!”
The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Yuichiro stared at his brother, his heart pounding in his chest. “ No .”
“Huh?”
Yuichiro feels his throat tighten, the truth of it almost too much to bear. The thought of Muichiro, his little brother, out there fighting demons—facing death every single day—it’s unbearable.
“I won’t let you,” Yuichiro says, his voice trembling now, the walls he’s built for so long starting to crack. “I won’t let you throw yourself into a life like that! I won’t let you go and get hurt! You can be useful here!”
“But—!”
“I can’t—I won’t ,” Yuichiro repeats, his eyes desperate now, his hands grabbing at his sides as if holding on to something, anything, to stop the truth from tearing him apart. “We already lost mom and dad! I can’t lose you too!”
Muichiro’s heart skips. He wants to say something, anything to ease the tension, but his words don’t come. Instead, all he can do is stand there, stunned, watching as Yuichiro’s eyes shimmer with unspoken fear. The truth hits him like a wave.
For a long while, neither of them speaks. The only sound is the wind rustling the trees, and the distant call of birds flying overhead.
Then, before Yuichiro can react, Muichiro suddenly flings himself against his chest.
“Muichiro what are you—?!” Yuichiro starts but his words die in his throat as he feels his brother’s trembling form pressed against him.
Yuichiro tries to pull away, but Muichiro’s grip is tight, stronger than usual, and as he hears the small sniffles and cries of his little brother, he freezes.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Muichiro sobs, his voice breaking. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to make you think I didn’t care!”
Yuichiro’s breath catches in his throat. His brother’s tears are like needles piercing his chest, and for a moment, all the anger and fear he’s been holding onto melts away. Slowly, his hands come up, hesitantly, unsure, but eventually, he wraps his arms around Muichiro, holding him close.
“Don’t… don’t cry,” Yuichiro says, his voice thick with emotion. He gently pulls him in tighter, as if trying to shield him from everything, even the weight of their past.
“I’m just scared,” Yuichiro admits quietly, his own voice cracking. “I’m scared of losing you. I’m scared of everything that might happen to us.”
Muichiro sniffles, his face buried in Yuichiro’s chest. “I’m scared too,” he whispers. “But— I want to be strong like you… I want to be able to protect you too.”
Yuichiro’s hands tighten around him. He wants to say more, but the words feel too big, too heavy. Instead, he just holds Muichiro there, feeling the warmth of his brother’s presence, and for the first time in a long while, he lets himself just be.
A few more days go by, and there’s still no sign of Amane. Yuichiro subconsciously hopes that means the end of her visits, that she’s given up and won’t bother them again. He tells himself it’s for the best, that things can finally go back to normal—just the two of them, like always.
Muichiro, on the other hand, finds it harder to accept. Yuichiro notices the subtle changes. He’ll catch Muichiro lingering by the window, his small frame framed by the light as he stares down the path where Amane always appeared. Sometimes, Muichiro will ask questions he knows Yuichiro won’t answer, like, Do you think she’ll come back? or What if she’s waiting for us somewhere?
Yuichiro brushes it off every time. “She’s gone. And that’s a good thing,” he says firmly, chopping firewood or fixing something around the house to avoid looking at his brother’s disappointed face.
One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Yuichiro spots Muichiro sitting outside on the porch, his knees drawn to his chest, eyes fixed on the forest. The sight makes Yuichiro pause. He knows Muichiro well enough to see what he’s thinking, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.
“She’s not coming back,” Yuichiro says as he steps outside, leaning the axe against the wall. His voice is more tired than harsh, though he doesn’t look directly at Muichiro.
Muichiro doesn’t turn around. “How do you know?” he asks softly, his voice barely audible.
“Because people always leave,” Yuichiro mutters. “That’s just how it is.”
Muichiro finally looks over his shoulder, his expression a mix of sadness and quiet determination. “But… not everyone. Right?”
Yuichiro doesn’t answer. He looks away, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “I’m still here. That’s enough.”
Muichiro blinks, then a smile spreads across his face. “Mmhm!”
The moment lingers, quiet and fragile like the cool breeze brushing through the trees. Yuichiro sighs and sits down next to his brother, the weight on his chest easing just a little. For now, the world feels still, and for now, that’s enough.
“Can we keep the door open tonight?” Muichiro asks suddenly as sweet drips from his forehead.
“What? Why?”
“It’s hot Yui!” Muichiro whines, fanning himself drastically with his hands.
He’s not wrong, though. Spring has become increasingly hot, with the once gentle breezes replaced by stifling, humid air that clings to their skin. The days feel heavier, the sun lingering in the sky longer than usual, and even the nights offer little relief. Spring must be short this year, Yuichiro thinks, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where the faint glow of the sunset seems to shimmer in the heat.
“We can’t keep the door open, the windows should be enough.”
“Pleaseee?” Muichiro clasps his hands together dramatically and pleads. “Come on, Yui! I love you! Pleaseee.”
Yuichiro raises an eyebrow. “Really? What about last week when you wanted me to catch that frog for you?”
Muichiro flushes, his pout deepening. “That was different! The frog was important!”
“Right,” Yuichiro says dryly, rolling his eyes. He sighs. “Fine. We can leave it open tonight. Tonight . That’s it.”
“Yes!” Muichiro grins. “Thank you! You're the best!”
“Shut up,” Yuichiro grumbles, but there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Now finish eating.”
Muichiro hums happily, digging into his meal with renewed energy, the heat forgotten in his small triumph. Yuichiro watches him for a moment, shaking his head. “You're lucky I’m too tired to argue.”
Yuichiro should’ve argued harder. Should’ve said no to Muichiro’s pleas to keep the door open. He should’ve gotten up, should’ve closed it himself once Muichiro went to sleep.
But he didn’t.
His heart felt like it stopped as he stared at the dark figure towering over Muichiro. It took a moment too long for his brain to process what he was seeing. The figure moved—an arm raised—and instinct took over.
He didn’t think. He just ran.
The next moments were a blur of panic and pain. Yuichiro didn’t even see the strike before his arm seared with excruciating pain, the likes of which he had never known. It started in his shoulder, spreading like fire through his entire body. He collapsed, doubling over with a scream that tore from his throat, raw and terrified.
Small hands gripped at him desperately—Muichiro’s. “Yui!” his brother cried, his voice trembling with fear. But over that, there was laughter. Sickening, hollow laughter.
Yuichiro forced himself to look up, his eyes hazy with pain. The figure’s sharp teeth gleamed in the moonlight, its crimson eyes glowing with malice. The first thought that crossed his mind: Demon. The word burned into Yuichiro’s mind like a brand.
Muichiro tugged at him frantically, trying to pull him away. Yuichiro’s body screamed in protest as he staggered to his feet, his legs threatening to buckle. His brother’s trembling frame clung to him, but the sound of heavy footsteps closing in spurred him forward.
They didn’t make it far. Yuichiro’s legs gave out, the burning in his arm making it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He felt helpless. But Muichiro was behind him. He had to protect him. He had to—
A scream ripped through the night, piercing and guttural. Yuichiro’s blood ran cold as he realized it wasn’t his own. His heart nearly stopped when he saw Muichiro break away from him, running toward the demon.
“Muichiro!” Yuichiro tried to yell, but his voice cracked, the words stuck in his throat. He reached out, arm trembling and useless—
And then it was gone. His arm.
Yuichiro’s world tilted as he stared at the blood pouring from where his arm should have been. The ground beneath him blurred as he fell, the pain so overwhelming he couldn’t even scream anymore. His vision swam, his mind frantic.
“Mui…” His voice was weak, barely above a whisper. “Muichiro…”
He couldn’t see him. He tried to move his head, to find his little brother, but his body wouldn’t listen. Panic clawed at his chest, worse than the pain. Where was Muichiro? Was he okay? Was he—
Yuichiro felt tears welling up, hot and stinging. His breathing grew shallow, his strength fading fast. The blood pooling around him felt endless, soaking into the floor beneath him. He was lightheaded, his vision darkening at the edges. He knew. He wasn’t stupid.
He was dying.
Time became meaningless as he lay there. Seconds dragged on like hours, each one stretching painfully long, yet blurring together all the same. Maybe it had been hours—he couldn’t tell anymore. But through the haze of pain and exhaustion, one thought anchored him, refusing to fade: Muichiro.
His sweet little brother—so flawed, so naïve, but good to his very core. He wanted to help people. Yuichiro had always called him foolish for it.
“Please…” Yuichiro choked out, his voice barely audible. “God… Buddha… save my brother… please…”
The words tumbled from his lips in a broken whisper, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. His surroundings blurred, his mind growing foggy.
His eyes fluttered shut. But just before the darkness could take him completely, he felt something.
A hand.
Small, trembling fingers wrapped around his own. Yuichiro forced his eyes open, just barely. Through the haze, he saw Muichiro’s face, streaked with blood and tears. He was crying, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
But he was alive.
Yuichiro felt a faint, fleeting relief. His lips twitched. “Mui…” he whispered one last time, his voice a mere breath.
And then, everything went still.
Muichiro wakes with a gasp, his chest heaving as if he’d been pulled from drowning. His body feels heavy, weighted down by something unseen. A soft hand presses gently against his chest, grounding him.
“Easy,” a familiar, sweet voice soothes. “Don’t move too quickly.”
His vision is hazy, disoriented. One of his eyes is covered, and it takes him a moment to focus. The face above him sharpens into view—Amane, her kind features tinged with sadness.
“Amane?” Muichiro’s voice cracks, hoarse and weak.
Her eyes widen slightly before she offers him a soft, almost apologetic smile. “Yes, it’s me. You’re safe now.”
“What… happened?” he murmurs, his head pounding as fragments of memory begin to surface.
Amane hesitates, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting his again. “You were attacked,” she says quietly. “I should’ve come to get you both sooner. I’m so sorry, Muichiro.”
Her words hang heavy in the air, but they don’t register immediately. His mind is sluggish, trying to piece together the scattered images: the open door, the towering figure, the blood—so much blood.
“Yui…” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Where’s Yui?”
Amane’s expression crumples, the sorrow in her eyes deepening. She opens her mouth to speak but falters, her lips pressing into a thin line. Muichiro’s breathing quickens, his chest rising and falling erratically. Panic creeps into his voice.
Tears pool in Amane’s eyes as she gently places a hand on his forehead, her touch trembling. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking.
The world around him collapses. Muichiro’s uneven breathing turns into gasps, his body shaking as tears stream down his face. He tries to sit up, to move, but his strength fails him.
Amane’s own tears spill over as she leans closer, her hands gripping his shoulders gently but firmly. He shakes his head violently, fresh tears falling.
Amane’s heart aches for the boy before her, so small, so broken. She kneels beside him, her hands still on his trembling frame. “I know this pain feels unbearable,” she murmurs, her voice soft but resolute. “But you’re not alone, Muichiro. I’m here. And I’ll do everything I can to help you through this.”
Muichiro doesn’t respond, his sobs filling the room. He curls in on himself, his tears soaking the thin blanket covering him. The memory of Yuichiro’s smile, his warmth, even his anger—it all comes crashing down like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. But as the pain swells, something within him pulls away, retreating into a quiet, unreachable place.
Yuichiro wakes with slow blinks, his body unsettling still. His eyes wander, adjusting to the dim light above, staring at the worn wooden ceiling. Everything feels wrong, distant like he’s detached from his own skin. He doesn’t feel cold or warm. He doesn’t feel much of anything, really. Is this the afterlife?
“You're awake,” a voice cuts through the haze, low and steady.
It rumbles through him, more felt than heard, making his chest tighten in discomfort. His gaze shifts, pulling away from the ceiling to the far corner of the room, where a figure stands, just barely visible in the lantern’s faint golden glow.
“Who…” Yuichiro’s voice is hoarse, strange in his ears, the words catching on his tongue.
His lips part instinctively, and something feels off—his tongue brushes against the edges of two unfamiliar points.
The figure steps closer, their features still obscured in shadow. “Get up. Time to eat.
And then, almost as if triggered by the words, a scent floods the air—foul and rancid, yet enticing in a way that makes his stomach lurch and his senses sharpen.