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Giyu’s Diary
Giyu’s communication skills left a lot to be desired. He always meant well, but for some reason none of the other Hashira seemed to see it. They mistook his shyness for haughtiness and all thought he was the most insufferable person they had ever met. He couldn’t say he was friends with any of his fellow Hashira, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. Every time he silently walked up to one after a Hashira meeting to propose training together or grabbing udon down in the village, they always thought he was picking a fight.
Sanemi gave him a bloody nose one time when all Giyu wanted to do was to wish him a happy birthday and give him a little wooden katana he had fashioned while he was trying to get into woodworking. It didn’t help that the katana looked like some kind of cursed sex toy.
And Giyu wasn’t even sure if it was appropriate for him to try and make friends with Tokito without a parent or guardian present.
He got along well with Himejima, but spending time with Himejima was like standing next to a waterfall that wasn’t very good at making conversation.
Only Tanjiro was his friend; but, thought Giyu, I shouldn’t presume, since Tanjiro hasn’t said so himself.
The only thing that kept him from going insane from bottling up all his thoughts and emotions was his practice of keeping a diary that he had brought with him from his old life before he became a demon slayer. He told his diary things that he wouldn’t tell any living person. If he ever fell in battle, Giyu stipulated in the will that he had left with the Ubuyashikis that his diary was to be destroyed even before he was buried.
It was unfortunate, then, when, one morning at the end of a Hashira meeting, a tear at the bottom of his rucksack proved just big enough for his diary to slip out and fall silently on the tatami mat as he rose to leave, and it wouldn’t be until that evening that he would notice its absence, when he sat down to write about a certain memorable wren he had spotted in a tree on his way back home. The wren had looked strikingly like Tanjiro, complete with a little red mark above its eye corresponding to Tanjiro’s demon slayer mark.
The first person to go back to the Hashira meeting room that morning was Obanai, because he had noticed that one of Kanroji’s hair ties that he had bought for her was missing. Luckily, he found it where she had been sitting. As he bent to pick it up, his eyes fell on another object across the room that did not belong; it was Giyu’s black leather-bound diary.
Curious, he picked it up and flipped it open. Someone like Rengoku would have scrupled to open the diary except to ascertain its owner, but Rengoku was no longer here, and Obanai had no such scruples. The diary didn’t have its owner’s name on it, and it had been a while since Obanai had read a book, so he began scanning the diary page by page for something interesting to read.
Something caught his eye that made him tense up and clench his jaw so tightly that Kaburomaru around his shoulders narrowed his eyes and started hissing.
I sat next to Kanroji at the Hashira meeting today. I liked it. She is nice. It should be relatively easy to gain her confidence. I’m told girls care a great deal about their hair. Kanroji has an excellent crop of hair on her head, but it’s often a mess, especially the bangs that fall over her face, sometimes obscuring her eyes. Luckily, I picked up a pair of pretty hairclips with a heart at the end of each in the city last week that will be just the thing she needs. I plan on asking her to tea and using that as a pretext to present her with the hairclips, thus becoming her friend.
Obanai’s hands shook as he reached the end of the entry. He could barely contain himself.
“Who is this bastard who’s trying to hit on Kanroji?” he demanded. Kaburomaru hissed in response. “When I find out who owns this diary, I’m going to break their limbs and tie them upside-down to a post and use them for kicking practice.”
He flipped through the pages to see what else this pervert intended to do with Kanroji.
I dropped Kanroji’s hairpins in the river today when my foot slipped as I stepped on a rock. They were washed away before I could see where they fell. They cost me an entire month’s salary.
Obanai laughed with glee. It looked like the Buddha had his back. His eyes then wandered down to another entry at the bottom of the page.
Today at the onsen I noticed Shinazugawa had a new scar just below his navel that he didn’t have yesterday. I wonder how he got it. He didn’t appear to get injured there while sparring with Tokito this morning.
There was no way the owner of this diary could have walked up to Sanemi and asked about a scar they had noticed while they were both naked and lived to tell the tale. Since no more Hashira had passed after Rengoku had been martyred, Obanai assumed that this conversation had never taken place.
But it gave him an idea. He could ask Sanemi to help him find the diary’s owner. Normally this would be an ill-advised thing to do, but since Sanemi was mentioned in the diary by name, Obanai felt the circumstances were unique.
“The fucking fuck,” said Sanemi, snatching the diary out of Obanai’s hands so violently that several pages came loose and blew away in the wind. “Someone’s been looking way too closely at me at the onsen.”
“It’s a good thing you’re packing,” said Obanai before he could check himself.
Sanemi glared at him but let it slide.
“What’s more, this creep seems to have a catalog of every scar on my body.”
“He’s been observing Kanroji with the same creepy intensity, too,” said Obanai. “Do you think he’s a spy?”
“If he is a spy, he can’t be a good one,” said Sanemi. “Can’t even keep his spy notebook secure. But wait, you said you found this in the Hashira meeting room?”
Obanai nodded.
Sanemi’s jaw dropped.
“You mean one of those assholes is the creep?”
“We can rule out a few of them; for instance, Kanroji and Himejima-san. Himejima-san of course, is blind.”
“That’s not why we’re ruling him out,” said Sanemi. “He would never do something like this.”
“And we can rule out you and me.”
“Hang on,” said Sanemi. “We can rule out me, because they write about me in the diary… What am I saying? I know it’s not me. But how can I be sure it’s not you?”
Obanai was taken aback.
“I’d never…”
“You totally would come up with some snaky scheme like this to get me to do something you didn’t want to do yourself; not to mention the weird fixation on Kanroji.”
“Pardon?” said Obanai.
“Ah—uh—never mind,” said Sanemi hurriedly. He didn’t see the point in emancipating Obanai from the delusion that his feelings for Kanroji were a complete secret.
“Look, you’re mentioned here again,” said Obanai, pointing to the bottom of the page. It was just Shinazugawa’s name, circled, with “red bean mochi” written in small print next to it.
“The gall,” said Obanai. “Calling you a red bean mochi? You’re the least sweet person I know.”
“I will end you, little man,” Sanemi bellowed. Then he returned to the entry. “Red bean mochi happens to be my all-time favorite sweet. The fact that they know this means they’re targeting me.”
“You better watch your back.”
“No one’s gonna get the jump on me.”
“Let’s keep going,” said Obanai.
“Keep reading, you mean?”
“Yes. Don’t tell me you’re not a little curious? We may never get another chance to learn the secrets contained in this diary.”
Sanemi agreed, and the two Hashira set to work like literary scholars poring over an ancient text.
Why does Shinobu insist on asking me if I’m okay every time I look at her? I can’t even look at someone without her turning it into a medical concern. Do I have ‘trouble’ written on my face? I hope not.
Sanemi smirked. That sounded like Shinobu all right.
Today, I tried to help Zenitsu with his breathing technique. I don’t know how it turned into a full-on lecture on how he shouldn’t scream during battle, but it definitely wasn’t what I intended. He cried. Maybe I’m not cut out for this teaching thing.
Sanemi let out a bark of a laugh, and Obanai pulled the diary toward him to have a closer look.
Shinazugawa stepped on my foot today and didn’t apologize or even turn around. And people say I’m mean.
Sanemi’s eyes narrowed.
“To be fair,” said Obanai, “you’ve done this to me, too.”
“I have?”
“Numerous times. It’s like you seek out the path that lets you tread on the most feet when you walk.”
“I’ve never noticed.”
“Obviously.”
Sparks flew between them. Then Obanai spotted his own name on a page for the first time.
Why did Iguro offer me a drink? I didn’t want to refuse, but I also didn’t want to drink it. I don’t even know what it was. My gut tells me it was something strange. Now I feel like I’m being watched even more than usual. I’m definitely never accepting another drink from him.
“When did I offer you guys drinks?” said Obanai.
“You made that fortifying tea that one time, remember?”
“Oh yeah.”
“It was disgusting.”
Every time I see Tanjiro, I have this urge to tell him something encouraging, but I can never find the words. I just end up staring at him awkwardly until he does something impressive. He probably thinks I’m mad at him.
Sanemi and Obanai snorted in unison.
“Wait, there’s more about Kanroji here,” said Obanai. His eyes widened. “The fucking balls on this guy. I have to find out who this is.”
“Well, we know one thing for certain,” said Sanemi. “Whoever owns this diary is going to be back looking for it.”
“Let’s lay a trap for them.”
Giyu sat down at his floor desk, lit a lamp, and got his pen and ink pot ready. Then he reached into his rucksack for his diary, and… was it always this deep? And where was that breeze coming from? He peered in and froze when he saw the hole, which had grown bigger under the weight of the bag’s contents over the course of the day.
Dear god, he thought. He whipped his head around, hoping the diary had fallen out at his home instead of any of the countless places he had been with his rucksack that day, but the diary was nowhere to be seen. He got up and went over to the bathroom. Sometimes his creative juices would begin to flow when he was on the toilet, and it was necessary for him to write something down right away, but he had no recollection of taking his diary into the bathroom today. He stepped out onto the engawa and squinted his eyes to see if it had fallen anywhere along the path in front of his home, which was bathed in silver moonlight tonight, but no such luck. That meant he would have to retrace his steps back all the way back to that morning.
That morning they had had a Hashira meeting. Giyu had a vague recollection of his sword guard catching on a piece of fabric as he had put it down but hadn’t thought much of it at the time. But now he was sure that was the provenance of the gaping hole in his bag. That meant in all likelihood the diary had fallen out as he was preparing to leave the Hashira meeting.
The thought that his diary could have fallen into the hands of not just another demon slayer but a Hashira almost gave him a panic attack. He practically sprinted the mile between his training compound and the Hashira headquarters. It was some consolation to him when he got that there was no one around and the door to the meeting room was shut. He slid the door open and stepped in, leaving it open enough to let some moonlight in so he could see.
Suddenly the door slid shut after him, plunging the room into darkness. Before he could process what was happening, he heard a scuffle, and the next thing he knew something long slithered up the leg of his hakama and started squirming around.
Giyu screamed and beat his hakama, but the creature held fast. Was this a demon? But how did it get past all the wisteria on the compound? Left with no choice, he tore his pants off, and peeled the creature off his leg.
Just as he was about to launch it across the room, he heard the strike of a match, and a lamp came to life, lighting up the room. Sanemi and Obanai stood staring at Giyu, who was in only his fundoshi, arm wound up like that of a baseball pitcher, preparing to send Kaburamaru to the next world.
Obanai, registering the scene, gave a yelp and ran over to rescue Kaburamaru.
“I told you I didn’t like this idea,” he snarled at Sanemi as he snatched Kaburamaru away from Giyu and caressed him protectively.
“But it worked,” said Sanemi. “Hello, mysterious diarist—aka Tomioka. You have a lot of explaining to do, you creep.”
Giyu looked like he had been caught with his pants down, which he had been. He quickly put his clothes back on. His mind was going a mile a minute as he tried to remember if he’d written anything he particularly didn’t want anyone to read. He could think of dozens of things.
“I’d like my diary back,” he said. His mouth was so dry. “This is an invasion of my privacy.”
“You’re the last person who should be talking about invading other people’s privacy,” said Obanai.
He grabbed Giyu by his hakama and pointed to an entry in the diary.
Mitsuri made me wear a flower crown today. She said it ‘brings out my eyes.’ I wanted to refuse, but I couldn’t say no to her. Now I’m walking around with flowers in my hair. This is not a good look. I’m going to have to burn the crown later.
“Using her first name so casually!”
He flipped angrily through the pages and pointed to another entry.
Today, Mitsuri smiled at me. She said something, but I couldn’t hear it because my brain completely shut down. This is why I think talking is a waste of time. Or I need to practice before I can communicate at her level.
“How dare you make a pass at Kanroji and then insult her?”
“I didn’t realize you were her gatekeeper,” Giyu mumbled, trying to pry Obanai’s hand off his clothes. “She talked to me first. And I don’t think I insulted her.”
“You do not get to talk to Kanroji, you got that? And if you do end up talking to her and she says the flower crown brings out your eyes, you make a shrine for it and pray to it every single day.”
“Don’t do that,” said Sanemi, extricating Giyu from Obanai’s clutches. “As much as I want to kick his teeth in, it’s disrespectful to Oyakata-sama for a Hashira to fight another Hashira in his compound.” He cast a look of disgust at Giyu. “It’s clear Tomioka thinks he can strut around like the king of the world, looking down on the rest of us. Why should it be any surprise that he writes about us the same way?”
Giyu looked down at his feet. There was only one way he could think of to earn the trust of the other two Hashira.
“Please sit,” he said. The three of them sat down on the tatami mat. “I want you to read my diary from cover to cover.”
Sanemi raised an eyebrow but flipped open the diary. He started reading the entries aloud for Obanai’s benefit. Giyu closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists in his lap to keep them from shaking.
Saw Shinazugawa execute a stunning move on the mission today. Was that his breathing technique or is he just that good a swordsman? I feel like no matter how hard I train, I’m always going to be second rate.
Sanemi coughed in embarrassment.
“That was a nice thing to say,” he said; and in a lower tone, “And I don’t think you’re second rate.”
Iguro’s snake scares me, but he looks so gentle when he’s wrapped around his shoulders. I wonder if he’d let me pet him. Do snakes have emotions?
Obanai stroked Kaburomaru’s head. Kaburomaru closed his eyes and almost purred like a cat.
“Kaburomaru is a highly intelligent and sensitive animal,” he said. “Sometimes he tries to eat others’ crows, but never mine.”
Tanjiro brought me a box full of fried rice balls today. They were delicious. I ate so many I thought I was going to throw up during training that afternoon.
Both Obanai and Sanemi had quarrels with Tanjiro, so this entry was a throwaway.
Shinzaguwa flipped through the pages some more, and his eyes widened as he started reading the next entry.
Obanai looked up at Giyu, who was doing his best to pretend he was anywhere but here.
Something eerie happened today. I brought up the incident that occurred during my final selection when Tanjiro came to visit (I didn’t actually pass; I don’t care what anyone says). Tanjiro said Sabito had appeared before him and helped him split his boulder before final selection. I thought he was making it up, but I hadn’t mentioned Sabito by name, and he had no way of knowing how he looked. But does that mean Sabito’s soul is still stuck on Mount Fujikasane? Is he unable to move on and be reborn because of me?
“This is heavy stuff,” said Sanemi. “I think we should leave it there.”
“It’s probably just a one-off. He’s going to go back to saying nasty things about us in the very next entry.”
Sanemi read the next entry:
Woke up from a dream about Sabito last night. My pillow was soaked in tears. I had to go out and train for an hour before I could go back to sleep. Second time this week.
“Er—” said Sanemi awkwardly.
Today was my birthday, but it’s not like anyone here knows or cares. Shinazugawa threw water in my face at lunch and stormed off. It’s clear they don’t think I’m worthy of being a Hashira. Not to worry; I don’t think I am either. Happy Birthday, Giyu.
“Gee, Shinazugawa,” said Obanai. “On his birthday?”
“I must have had a good reason,” Sanemi insisted, trying hard to recall whatever slight he had been avenging.
Dear God, will this be the year I finally make friends with the other Hashira, or am I going to be alone again? And what if I fall in battle? I will have died friendless, as I deserve to.
“I think that’s a good place to stop,” said Sanemi.
“Agreed,” said Obanai.
Giyu opened his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, and emotionally he felt wrung out like a towel. His eyes met Sanemi’s.
“Wanna… talk about some of that?” said Sanemi.
For the first time there was no bite to his words.
“You’re not planning on dying on us, are you?” said Obanai softly. He even sounded… solicitous?
Giyu took a deep breath and reached for his diary. He opened his mouth and closed it again. No one spoke for what felt like five minutes.
“Hey,” said Sanemi. “Iguro and I were thinking of heading down to the village to grab some drinks before the bar closes.”
Obanai raised an eyebrow. This was news to him.
“Would you care to join us?”
Giyu didn’t drink; none of the Hashira did. All of them knew this but were too awkward to say anything at this point.
“Sure,” he said.