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That morning, the small house located somewhat far from the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters was thick with tension, as heavy as the lingering morning mist that clung to the mountains. Sora and Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira, had married and built a life here, far from the chaos and the smell of blood. But that peace had been shattered last night.
Sanemi had been missing for a full week on a mission without sending any word. His return was met not with relief, but with an explosion of Sora's fury. The fight was heated, sharp words were exchanged, and both their hearts felt raw and cold.
Now, Sanemi sat at the dining table, hurriedly shoveling rice into his mouth. He was trying hard not to look at Sora who was clearing away the dishes.
"I've prepared your lunch box, Sanemi," Sora's voice was flat, almost devoid of emotion.
"No need," Sanemi replied shortly, his voice hoarse. He wanted to leave quickly, to escape this suffocating silence. Beside his plate lay three Ohagi, Sanemi's favorite sweet rice balls, which Sora had made just for him.
"I also made the ohagi. Please eat, at least one," Sora pleaded, her tone softening a little. She always knew ohagi could soothe Sanemi's anger.
Sanemi glanced at the sweet treats, then snorted softly. "No time. I'm in a hurry. And I'm not hungry."
It was a lie. His heart was troubled, not by the ohagi, but because he knew his harsh words last night had hurt Sora. Yet, the stubborn pride and lingering irritation kept him from uttering a single apology.
He was too ashamed and hard-headed.
Without waiting for Sora's reply, Sanemi stood up, grabbed his sword, and strode towards the door. "I'm leaving," he said, not turning back at all.
Sora could only stand there, clenching her hands as she heard the door close and Sanemi's footsteps fade away. Her tears were already dry, replaced by a stabbing pain.
Sanemi spent the day hunting demons, driven by the anger and frustration that fueled every one of his slashes. He was determined to return as quickly as possible, to complete his mission so he could come home and—perhaps—fix everything. The thought of Sora's wounded face haunted him. He pictured apologizing, holding her, and eating the ohagi his wife had made.
Exactly at midnight, he finally arrived in his yard. His breathing was ragged, exhausted physically and mentally.
"I'm home!" he called out, his voice slightly shaky.
The silence that answered him felt strange. Too dark. The lamp that Sora usually kept lit, waiting for him, was now out.
A terrible feeling instantly gripped Sanemi. He threw the door open violently.
What he saw instantly froze his blood.
A sharp smell of iron and blood filled his senses. The furniture in the living room was destroyed, the table overturned.
In the center of the dark room, bathed in moonlight streaming through the broken window, a tall, hideous figure was clutching a small body.
It was a Demon.
And in the Demon's grip... was Sora.
Blood was flowing from Sora's side, staining her white kimono a deep red. Sora's eyes, usually full of spirit, now stared blankly at Sanemi, mixed with pain and shock.
"S-Sanemi..." That was all she could whisper.
Sanemi's face was deathly pale, his earlier blazing anger now twisted into a fatal horror.
"You foul creature! GET AWAY FROM HER!"
The Wind Hashira's sword plunged forward, unleashing the most brutal Breathing Technique he had ever used. The cold night immediately turned into a horrifying battlefield, where Sanemi fought not only for his wife's life, but also to atone for the regret that would haunt him forever if he failed.
Sanemi’s roar of fury had torn through the Demon’s neck. The disgusting creature's head rolled away, its body beginning to crumble into dust, but Sanemi didn't care. He had already dropped his sword, kneeling quickly beside Sora.
"Sora! Hey! Sora!" Sanemi grabbed his wife's slumped body, blood soaking his palms. "No! No!"
In a panic, he tore off the bottom of his uniform and makeshift bandaged the wound on Sora's abdomen, trying to staunch the heavy bleeding.
"We have to go. We have to go now!"
Without wasting a second, Sanemi lifted Sora onto his back. Sora's body felt light, too light, and it terrified him to death. He tied Sora tightly with the remaining fabric around his waist, holding her thighs so she wouldn't fall.
Sanemi began to run through the darkness, as fast as a whirlwind. His main destination: the Butterfly Mansion. It was the only place that could save Sora.
Throughout the journey, he spoke, his voice hoarse, filled with panic and a heartbreaking plea.
"Don't sleep, Sora. Don't you dare close your eyes," he urged, every step pounding against the ground. "Listen to me, sweetheart. We're almost there. Do you hear? The Butterfly Mansion soon. You're going to be fine."
Sanemi was gasping for breath, but he didn't slow down. The night air felt cold against his skin, but he felt nothing but the agonizing pain in his chest.
"You have to be strong. For me, Sora. I haven't... I haven't apologized properly yet. I'm so sorry, darling. I'm sorry I didn't send word. I'm sorry we fought. I'm sorry I didn't eat the ohagi you made," Sanemi confessed, the words of regret tumbling out, mixed with spittle and the tears that he hadn't realized were streaming down his cheeks.
"I'll eat all of them tomorrow. I promise. You have to live to see me eat them, got it? You have to see me come home and hug you instead of having that stupid fight!"
Sora only groaned softly, her head resting on Sanemi’s shoulder.
"Look at me, Sora! Open your eyes! Say something!" Sanemi tried to turn his head slightly, trying to see Sora's face.
But all he felt was the dead weight of Sora's body. Sora's hand, which had been wrapped around his neck to hold on, now felt limp, drooping and slowly swaying with his running motion, falling onto Sanemi's chest. The grip was gone.
Sanemi's heart plummeted.
"Sora?" Sanemi called out, his voice cracking.
"Hey, Sora! Don't do this to me! Open your eyes! Please! DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES!"
He ran even faster, ignoring the pain and exhaustion, with only one resolve burning within him: She has to live. She has to live. His footsteps became like hammers hitting the earth, desperately trying to deny the bitter reality that was slowly creeping up his back.
Sanemi's panic now reached a boiling point. He knew that Sora's silence was the most terrifying sign. He pushed himself to the limit of human endurance. His mind was blank, leaving only the roar of his own breathing and Sora's name that he repeatedly whispered like a mantra.
When the Butterfly Mansion finally came into view—a beacon of hope in the darkness—Sanemi slammed through the wooden gate.
"KOCHO! ANYONE! HELP!" he roared, the voice of a usually powerful and threatening Hashira, now sounding broken and desperate.
The nurses and Aoi, who were preparing for bed, were startled and immediately ran out. They instantly froze at the sight before them: Sanemi Shinazugawa, the notoriously brutal Wind Hashira, stood shaking with a face soaked in sweat and tears, carrying his blood-soaked wife.
"Quick! Prepare the operating room! SHE NEEDS HELP NOW!" Aoi commanded, though shocked, her medical instincts immediately took over.
Sanemi moved toward the main door, but his steps faltered. He unfastened the tie around his waist and lowered Sora's body with extreme care, as if his wife were fragile porcelain.
"Sora..." Sanemi knelt down, cupping Sora's face with his bloodied hands. He forced Sora to look at him.
Sora's eyes opened slightly, but her gaze was blurry, unfocused. There was only a sliver of light left in them.
"Sanemi..." The whisper was barely audible, just a weak puff of breath.
"Yes, I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here," Sanemi pressed his forehead against Sora's. "Just hold on. Just a little longer, and Kocho will heal you. We'll go home. I'll cook you something. Anything. Just don't-... don't go."
Sora's lips moved into an incredibly thin, almost invisible smile, a tired smile filled with deep love.
"My... ohagi... Nemi..." Sora whispered, her breath hitching.
Sanemi's tears flowed heavily, soaking Sora's face. "I'll eat them! I promise! I'll eat all the ohagi you make! But you have to wake up first, understand?"
Then, Sora's cold hand slowly lifted. Her weak fingers touched Sanemi's rough cheek.
"I... love you... my Nemi..."
And in that moment, the touch vanished. Sora's body felt heavier and colder. The last light in her eyes dimmed, and her breathing stopped.
"Sora? Sora!"
Sanemi shook her body, panic engulfing him again, this time far worse than before. He clutched Sora tightly to his chest, refusing to let go.
"NO! DON'T! You can't leave! OPEN YOUR EYES, SORA! YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ME EAT THE FUCKING OHAGI YET! DON'T LEAVE ME!"
Sanemi's roar filled the Butterfly Mansion, a sound of pure, devastating grief. The Wind Hashira, always cruel to himself and others, was now shattered into pieces. The nurses watching him cried silently. Aoi, with tears in her eyes, reluctantly stepped forward.
"Shinazugawa-sama..." Aoi whispered gently, her hand reaching out to touch Sanemi, but she was afraid. "She... she is gone."
The words hit Sanemi like a sledgehammer. Gone. Just because of a stupid fight. Just because of his arrogance.
Sanemi clutched Sora's kimono tightly, his face buried in his wife's now lifeless shoulder, his tears staining the blood on the fabric. The newest and worst regret of his life crept in, gnawing at his soul. He had let a Demon take her. He had lost her before he could properly say the word 'sorry'.
And the damn ohagi, now, became a bitter reminder that he would carry for the rest of his life, a symbol of the love he had rejected, and a chance forever lost.
×××
A week passed since Sora’s funeral. The world felt silent; the sound of the wind, once familiar, now sounded like an empty, mocking whisper to Sanemi. His Hashira duties were done on autopilot; his mind remained stuck at the funeral, or in that bloody night.
The Kakushi had cleaned their house, clearing away the battle’s mess, restoring it to its original look—neat and quiet. The wooden door opened with a screeching sound, and Sanemi stepped inside.
The scent of the house, usually warm with Sora's presence, now felt cold and alien. Everything was too tidy, too clean. This wasn't their home, just an empty structure. Sanemi shed his uniform and hung his sword, the movements heavy and slow.
As he walked through the living room, his gaze caught the spot where Sora had fallen, a place the Kakushi had thoroughly cleaned. The tears he had held back for a week slowly began to well up in his eyes. Sanemi bit his lower lip hard, trying to suppress the sobs that threatened to escape.
He walked straight to the kitchen; for some reason, his feet led him there.
On the dining table, where he had his last breakfast with Sora, there was a small plate.
On that plate, lay three Ohagi.
Sora had set them there, exactly where he had left them a week ago.
The color of the ohagi had changed, pale and dry. The red bean paste layer was cracked. It was inedible, stale, perhaps hardened.
Sanemi stood there, staring at the ohagi—the symbol of his arrogance, the source of his regret. It was the last thing Sora asked for, and Sanemi had refused it.
His hand reached out, trembling. He grabbed the plate, as if it were the most precious artifact in the world. His eyes never left the now sickening sweet treat.
Carefully, Sanemi picked up one ohagi. A sharp, sour smell immediately hit him, but he ignored it. He brought it to his mouth, and without thinking, he began to chew.
The taste was awful. The sweetness of the sugar had turned into a bitter acidity; the texture was hard and gritty. Sanemi didn't chew it, he swallowed it, forcing it down with the hot tears that now poured down, soaking his cheeks and chin.
He took the second one, and ate it. Then the third.
Sanemi sat in his dining chair, right where he had been angry a week ago, eating the remains of the love he had wasted. He chewed hurriedly, his sobs growing louder, choked by the stale ohagi and unbearable grief.
"I ate them, Sora!" Sanemi cried out, his voice hoarse and ragged, mixed with the urge to vomit that he fought back. "I ate them! You see? I ate your ohagi! I kept my promise!"
The plate was empty. Sanemi lowered his head, hiding his face in his hands that were stained with tears and ohagi remnants.
He finally kept his promise, but he kept it too late. Far too late.
Sanemi Shinazugawa sat alone in the silent house, surrounded by emptiness, with the bitter taste of stale ohagi that would forever burn his tongue, a permanent reminder of his lost love and an unhealable regret.
Sanemi remained seated there for a long time. He could feel his stomach rebelling against the spoiled food, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the emptiness in his heart.
He stood up, his legs feeling heavy. He walked to the bedroom. Everything was neat, the sheets folded, Sora’s kimono stored in the closet. Sanemi approached the side of the bed Sora usually occupied. He sat on the edge, then lay down. He buried his face in Sora's pillow, searching for the last scent of his wife, but the fragrance had faded, replaced by the smell of detergent.
There, in the agonizing silence, Sanemi realized that he had lost not just a wife, but the softest, most human part of himself. Sora was the only one capable of breaking through his wall of anger, the only one who saw the good behind his harsh exterior. He hugged Sora's pillow tightly, letting himself be choked by sobs.
"Why didn't you fight back, Sora?" he whispered weakly into the pillow. "Why did you have to leave when I was angry? Why did we have to... why did I let us fight over something so stupid?"
Sanemi spent that night in the cold room, sleepless. When the sun began to rise, he got up. His decision was made.
He couldn't stay in this house. Every corner screamed of Sora, of lost laughter, of their final argument, of the ohagi he ate too late. This house had become a tomb of memories too painful to bear.
Sanemi picked up his sword. He would return to the headquarters, to the life of the cold, brutal, and efficient Wind Hashira. He would let his anger and hatred burn, directing all his energy toward exterminating every Demon on the face of the earth, avenging Sora, until nothing was left.
He knew, with certainty, that starting that day, the Wind Hashira would be more brutal and unforgiving than ever before. No more gentleness. No more hope for a warm home.
Before leaving, Sanemi stood at the door, turning for one last look at the kitchen. He saw the empty plate, then shifted his gaze.
He didn't close the door. He left it open, letting the cold wind rush in and sweep away the last remnants of warmth that once existed. It was a promise he made to himself: he wouldn't return to that house until all the Demons were annihilated, or until he himself died in battle.
Sanemi Shinazugawa walked out, abandoning their home, leaving everything he had ever loved behind. He returned to being the destructive storm, carrying with him the eternal pain of three stale ohagi and a promise fulfilled too late.
Sanemi returned to the Demon Slayer Corps, but he was no longer the same Sanemi. If before he was already known for his rough and short-tempered nature, he now turned into a figure who was cold, withdrawn, and far more dangerous.
He moved without speaking, focused only on one thing: fighting. Sanemi constantly volunteered for the most perilous, most distant, and most deadly missions. He sought out battles, as if he wanted to throw himself into the pit of destruction.
His Wind Breathing Technique became more brutal and uncompromising. He no longer cared about the damage around him, or even the wounds on his own body. Every slash of his sword was filled with a pure hatred for Demons, a blazing fury to avenge Sora’s death.
The other Hashira quickly noticed the worrying change.
Giyuu Tomioka, usually a loner, started observing Sanemi. He saw a cold, empty gaze in Sanemi’s eyes—the look of a man who had lost everything. Tomioka, who also carried the burden of grief, could only give a small nod whenever they passed, a silent acknowledgment of the pain they shared.
Mitsuri Kanroji, the Love Hashira, tried to approach him one day after a mission. "Shinazugawa-san, are you alright? You look so tired," she said in a gentle tone.
Sanemi didn't even turn his head. "None of your business. Go away." His reply was sharp, cutting like a blade. Mitsuri could only retreat with a wounded heart.
Gyomei Himejima, the Stone Hashira, the wisest among them, tried to talk to Sanemi several times, attempting to remind him of the importance of self-preservation and balance.
"Shinazugawa. You are fighting with a rage that will devour you," Gyomei said with a deep, calm voice.
Sanemi merely scoffed. "Let it devour me. I don't care." He always responded with rejection or mockery, further isolating himself from his comrades.
The greatest worry came from Oyakata-sama, the Master. He summoned him several times, trying to soothe Sanemi's turbulent soul. But Sanemi remained stubborn. For him, the only way to survive was to keep moving and fighting, letting the bloodshed distract his mind from the three stale ohagi and Sora's pale face.
Sanemi had sealed himself behind an impenetrable wall of ice. He had killed the warm Wind Hashira (even if only to Sora) and replaced him with a monster who only knew how to hunt and destroy. Everyone knew that Sanemi was in the process of slow suicide, one dangerous mission at a time, driven by a regret that had now become his own greatest demon.
Sanemi’s decision to fight non-stop finally bore the consequence the Hashira had feared.
The cold of winter had arrived, and Sanemi had just returned from a brutal mission in the north. He no longer returned to the house he had abandoned with Sora; he chose to stay in his old quarters at the headquarters—a cold, empty room, just like his heart now was.
That night, Sanemi came back with severe wounds all over his body. Deep cuts from a Demon’s blade, not the kind he usually ignored. Yet, he refused medical treatment, chasing away the Kakushi who tried to help him.
"I'm fine," he growled, though he could barely stand straight.
He locked himself in his room. Blood dripped from his uniform, staining the cold tatami mats. Sanemi didn't have the strength to treat himself. He didn't even have the desire. He simply sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, letting the pain take over.
His mind wandered. Not to the battle he had just won, but to their small kitchen, to the warmth of Sora’s body, to the plate of ohagi he had refused.
"Sora..." he whispered, coughing up a little blood. He tried to get up, wanting to reach for the imaginary ohagi, but his body didn't respond.
Months of exhaustion, the refusal to rest, and the wounds he had intentionally let become infected—all demanded their toll. Sanemi closed his eyes, letting the darkness creep up from his feet. He no longer fought back. If this was the end that would bring him to Sora, then he welcomed it.
In the morning, Giyuu Tomioka, who was on duty guarding the main gate, found it strange that Sanemi didn't show up for the shift change. This was unusual; though Sanemi was rough, he was a responsible Hashira.
Tomioka walked to Sanemi's old quarters. The door to Sanemi’s room was slightly ajar, emitting a strange, cold aura.
"Shinazugawa?" Tomioka called out, his voice low.
There was no answer.
Tomioka stepped inside. He stopped, transfixed by the sight.
Sanemi Shinazugawa was sitting against the wall, his sword lying beside him. His eyes were closed, his skin deathly pale, and his body was cold. Dried blood was caked all over his uniform, but he wasn't breathing. He had died in his sleep, alone and in a quiet place, his body finally succumbing to extreme exhaustion and sepsis from the neglected wounds.
Tomioka didn't say a word. He simply stood there, staring at the fallen Wind Hashira.
Sanemi hadn't died on the battlefield at the hands of a Demon; he died from a festering broken heart, exhaustion, and the regret he allowed to slowly kill him.
When Oyakata-sama heard the news, he only sighed deeply. "Sanemi fought so hard. He has found the peace he was searching for," the Master said in a gentle voice full of sorrow.
Sanemi was buried right next to Sora’s grave. Letting them lie side-by-side again. Everyone knew, in their hearts, that Sanemi had finally returned to the only person he had truly allowed to see his vulnerability.
Beside his grave, Giyuu Tomioka placed a small plate of ohagi made by the Butterfly Mansion. It was the final offering, and the conclusion of the tragic tale of the Wind Hashira, whose love was buried with his incurable regret.